Aiden
ALPHA TEA GOSSIP COLUMN
THE EDGE AND OLI HART COMBINE AND ANNOUNCE NEW NAME: THE HART’S EDGE
July 5th
T he bass still thumps in my chest as we spill out into the busy backstage. Oli’s laughter dances over the hum of conversation, her rose gold waves catching the light like liquid fire. She’s the sun in our little universe, and we’re all just planets caught in her gravity.
“Did you see them headbanging during the bridge?” she beams, green eyes sparkling with delight.
“Couldn’t miss it,” I reply, my voice quieter than the rest. The sound of my keyboard lingers in my fingers, a phantom sensation that keeps the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
We navigate the crowd, a small pack moving as one. There’s a sense of invincibility among us, the high of our performance making us feel untouchable. It’s moments like these, surrounded by my pack, that I can let my guard down and bask in the shared triumph.
That’s when I spot him—Tommy. He’s like a shadow trying to detach itself from the wall, his body held tight and movements tentative. His sheepishness stands out amongst the exuberant crew milling around as if he fears being caught in our orbit. He keeps his head low, casting furtive glances our way before quickly averting his gaze.
“Hey, isn’t that—” I start, but the words get lost in the shuffle.
He darts a look at Oli, then skitters back like a startled deer, trying to blend into the backdrop of leather jackets and band tees. I can almost smell the nervous energy rolling off him.
“Who, ?” Oli asks, her voice a melody even in speech.
“Tommy,” I say, nodding toward the retreating figure. “He looks like he’s about to bolt.”
“Should we—”
“Tommy!” Dax’s voice slices through the cacophony of chatter and laughter, as assertive as his bass lines. He strides toward the skittish figure with a determined gait, an alpha on a mission.
I watch Tommy freeze like he’s caught in a spotlight. His eyes, wide and reflecting the neon glow from a nearby sign, flicker to each possible escape route before settling on the approaching Dax. The tension in his body is palpable, even from several feet away.
He’s afraid, but based on what I feel through the pack bond, he doesn’t need to be. Dax is determined but not mad.
“Thanks for what you did when Oli was attacked,” Dax says, closing the distance with a few more steps. “You didn’t have to jump in during that mess, but you did.”
Tommy’s response is a choked-up kind of hesitation, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if he’s swallowing down the urge to run. But as Dax stands there, offering nothing but genuine gratitude without any hint of the gruff exterior we’re used to, something shifts in Tommy.
“Uh, yeah, no problem,” he mumbles, almost inaudibly, his gaze darting down to his scuffed boots, then back up to meet Dax’s hazel eyes. The small smile that starts to form on Tommy’s lips is hesitant.
“Really, man,” Dax continues, the edges of his usually stern mouth curving into a soft smile. “We owe you one.”
Tommy shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, but the flush of pride creeping up his neck can’t be mistaken. “It was nothing, really. Just… glad I could help.”
Now that I’m looking at Tommy with an objective outlook, I don’t think he’s in love with Oli. He actually seems more shy in front of Dax than her.
“We’ve been looking for you to say thank you, but you’ve avoided us,” Dax points out. “We aren’t mad. You don’t need to hide.”
Tommy’s standing there, caught in the spotlight of Dax’s unexpected gratitude, the tension washing off him like rain on pavement.
“But just because we are grateful doesn’t mean we will let you date Oli. She’s bonded and ours, got it?” Dax ruins the moment by adding.
Oli smacks him and hisses, “What is wrong with you?”
However, my alpha settles at our claim being laid.
Tommy’s eyes widen, and his jaw drops. “You think I like Oli?”
“Uh, yeah, you’re always hanging around and watching her,” Chase points out.
Tommy blushes and glances at me. “Uh, she’s not really my type. Actually, is more my style.”
Me? Now, I’m the one blushing and feeling uncomfortable.
Oli growls softly before grabbing my hand in a firm grip. I move closer and wrap my arms around her from behind, purring softly while I run my finger over my bond mark on her hand.
“I’m not trying to hit on him, just saying I’ve never wanted Oli that way,” Tommy says, and Oli relaxes further into my arms.
“What way do you want her?” I ask gently.
“Look,” he starts, his voice a notch above a whisper, “I need to come clean.” Tommy’s eyes, wide and earnest, lock onto Oli’s. “I’m not just some fan or intern crew member. I’m—”
“What is it, Tommy?” Oli interjects, her protective stance softening as she senses the gravity of Tommy’s confession.
“I’m an omega, hiding it, trying to make it in music without… all that comes with being outed.” His words tumble out, rushed and raw. The vulnerability crackles in the air, sharp as a snare drum hit.
A collective breath seems to snag in our throats. My heart skips a beat, then doubles down on the next, thumping hard against my ribcage. Alphas, we’re wired to protect, to stand guard, and the thought that Tommy’s been shouldering this alone twists in my gut like a guitar string pulled too tight.
“Tommy…” I start, my voice trailing off, grappling for the right notes in this unfamiliar tune.
“Damn,” Jack murmurs, and I catch the flicker of regret crossing his face—regret for every sideways glance, every judgment. We’ve all felt it, that sting of misjudgment, and it hits sharper now, knowing we’ve aimed it at an omega.
“An omega, huh?” Chase finally says, his voice steady as a drumbeat. “Well, you’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”
“More than guts,” I add.
“Tommy, you’ve always been kind, and I’ve never felt threatened by you. I want to help you as much as I can. I’m so glad you told me,” Oli says, wrapping Tommy up in a hug.
Tommy’s chest rises and falls with a shaky breath. His smile is no longer hesitant but bright, lit from within, like a stage spotlight shining on a star in the making.
Tommy nods, his eagerness as palpable as the bassline in a killer chorus. “I can’t thank you enough for even acknowledging me.”
“I’m sorry my alphas have given you a hard time. They’re just protective,” Oli apologizes.
“I’m sorry I made them think I was a threat,” Tommy says, looking around at us.
I scoff in my head but don’t say anything aloud. He helped us find Oli when Trevor attacked her, and he deserved this apology.
“Oli, I can’t tell you what this means to me,” he breathes out, the tremor in his voice a harmony to vulnerability.
He’s shed his armor, and I can see the real Tommy underneath. The vulnerable omega who just wants to make it in this industry but knows how hard it is. His admiration of Oli was because she did what most thought was impossible.
I catch the other alphas’ glances. Their eyes are wide as saucers before they slowly morph into understanding pools of acceptance.
“I will find a time to meet with you and help you make connections,” Oli tells Tommy.
She’s exhausted after the show, and this revelation is taking a lot out of her.
“That would mean the world to me, and please…uh… don’t tell anyone I’m an omega,” he whispers.
“Of course, we won’t,” Oli declares.
We spill out into the cool night, the air refreshingly contrasted with the heated energy of the packed venue. I feel their bodies press close to mine, forming a protective circle as we navigate the throng of fans and paparazzi.
“Tommy’s gonna be alright,” I muse aloud, glancing back at the venue, feeling the invisible thread that ties us to the shy omega we’re leaving behind—with hope as his new companion.
“Thanks to you,” Chase says, bumping shoulders with Oli gently.
“Thanks to us,” she corrects him.
We tumble into the bus, and I sit on the couch while Oli goes to shower.
The memory of standing beside Oli, her voice entwined with mine, has me grinning like an idiot. We were electric, our voices sparking against each other, igniting something that felt a lot like magic.
I can’t help but pull out my phone and look online for reviews of the song. The search results already include a full page of articles about it.
My heart kicks against my chest like it wants to break free when I see how much they loved it. Website after website writes about how good our new sound is, and fans are excited to hear me sing.
They were excited to hear me sing? I didn’t know anyone cared about me.
“You shouldn’t be looking at that.” Oli’s voice is amusement laced with honey. Suddenly, her arms are a warm fence around my waist. Her body presses lightly against my back, reminding me I’m not alone in this spinning universe.
“Can’t help it,” I say, even as I tilt my head back to rest against her shoulder. She smells like tart strawberries on a creamy cheesecake with a perfect graham cracker crust.
I scroll past glowing words that echo the cheers still ringing in my ears. But then, one review catches my eye, standing out like a sour chord in an otherwise perfect melody. Alex Moore’s headline blares with criticism, her words trying to undercut the magic of the night. “Except for this one. Listen to this— ‘ Adams’ duet with Oli Hart fell flat, his vocal range as limited as his stage presence.’ ”
“You don’t need their approval,” she whispers, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
I chuckle, locking my phone and turning within the circle of her embrace to face her. “Easy for you to say. You’re perfect.”
She grins, cheeky and unapologetic. “But so are you, .”
With a roll of my eyes, I let the phone slip from my grasp, forgotten on some cushion. I don’t care what Alex Moore has to say. I’m indifferent to her bitter words.
The band is scattered around, some lost in their own post-show rituals, but Oli’s emerald eyes hold me captive now.
“Seriously though,” Oli says, her hands finding mine, squeezing gently. “Did you feel it tonight? That shift when we sang together? It was magical and I know the fans felt it.”
“Definitely magical,” I agree, the corners of my mouth lifting in a smile that feels like a promise. “Our sound, it’s going to shake things up. Can’t wait to see what the future holds.”
“Me neither.” Her grip tightens, and it’s like an unspoken vow passing between us. “And who knows? Maybe our next song will break the internet.”
“Or at least bury Alex Moore’s site with all positive reviews,” I add with a wink, and we both burst into laughter, light and carefree.
Oli bumps her forehead against mine, a simple touch that feels like it’s sealing the deal. We’re in this together, come what may.
Oli reaches out and cups my face tenderly. She pulls me down to meet her lips in a kiss. Her kiss deepens, and I’m swept along as her lips move against mine.
Pride swells within me, mingling with a joy so potent it could power the stage lights for a month straight.