11. Jez
CHAPTER 11
Jez
Ash kneels beside me and the Fable guys stand in the door gaping. After a minute of awkward silence, Caylee arrives, pushing her way in and giving Thomas, Holden, and Nico a look.
“Somewhere to be, lads? Coming through. What’s she need?”
Caylee kneels on my other side and she and Ash exchange a look. I can’t tell if they know what’s going on, or think they know. They’re probably both missing at least half of it. But hopefully someone here has the brains to ascertain that I am in heat, and if I stand up, everyone else will know, too. Something I’d quite like to avoid.
Because claustrophobia and going into heat for the first time in a decade is genuinely the worst way to open a tour. I guess I should consider myself lucky it didn’t hit me all at once on stage, anyhow. Would’ve been way worse to crumble in front of the crowd. I guess.
I don’t want to look at the Fable guys and, in fact, want to tell them to fuck off down the hall and go gape at their own dicks.
“Guys, can you give us a minute?” says Ash gently, when they haven’t responded to Caylee’s comment. All three heads disappear, but I know they’re only standing out in the corridor, exchanging looks and gestures and wishing they all knew sign language.
Ash turns his ice-blue eyes to me, and Caylee takes one of my hands.
“What happened?” she asks softly.
“The room—it—it felt like it was closing in. Panic attack. It doesn’t usually happen in a space of this size, but with everyone going on… ”
“You were in here alone, right?” Ash makes a show of looking around and there’s nowhere for anyone to hide.
“I was. And I think that was the problem. I couldn’t open the door for some reason. And I started to hyperventilate.” Which is why I sat right down, as much in the middle of the room as I could, to give myself the illusion of the most space. And that’s when the tsunami of slick began coursing out of me.
“Security said it was locked from the inside, and we didn’t know if you were asleep, or not here, or hurt or something.” Ash’s face is taking a concerned father-figure kind of expression, and I’m kicking myself. I’m sure he’s wondering if it’s going to be like this every night. I would, if I were him. What a liability.
A sigh shudders out of me. After I hung up with Viv, I was alone. I sat on the sofa and the worries of how I will survive this heat, without suppressants and without her for the next two shows began to hit deep. I went to the door to get a draft in, I couldn’t open it.
Or at least … I told myself I couldn’t. Sometimes my anxiety is like that. Honestly, though, this is the weirdest I’ve felt in a long time. The pre-heat earlier, not actual heat, I presume, and the anxiety of missing the meds, the excitement and fear of the show—all of it made me crumble. Maybe I hadn’t even tried to open the door. Maybe I’m not safe.
Whatever it is, it’s bad. I look at Ash’s face, and I know it.
I turn to Caylee. I barely know her, but she knows about my condition, and she knows the history between Fable and I. She looks at me with sympathy, if not empathy, her big brown eyes blinking rapidly and looking me over.
I lick my dry lips and Ash stands, looking around for an unopened water, then brings one to me.
“Drink this. Are you feeling any better?”
Ash is an Alpha. I knew that from the media, but also, he carries that look about him. Tall with a certain charisma, though more lean than obviously muscular like a lot of Alphas tend to be. Of course, not every one’s the same anyhow. But he seems like a sure thing when you look at him, even if you didn’t know about him and Cami, and his choice to not join a pack, least of all Arcadia Echo.
All of this to say, not only can Fable probably scent me from the hallway, but Ash certainly can. I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes.
“My biggest fear,” I start softly, “is that I’ll prove them right. That I’ll prove Kai right.”
“That you don’t belong here, and you’ll fall apart.” His voice is gentle, not accusatory. Caylee gives a small moan of frustration, and squeezes my hand. She probably has no idea I’m in heat. But Ash will tell her the second they leave the room, if I don’t.
“We have to sort this out or you really won’t last. Don’t think about Kai and that lot right now.” He ignores the open doorway and the fact they can probably hear our every word—or maybe he’s saying it partly for their benefit.
“I chose you because I see your talent, and I see the way you can charm a crowd with your voice and your presence, Jesamine. But if we don’t find a way to get these things under control, it will be make things—trickier.”
He could replace me. That’s what he means. He’d have to, whether he wants to or not. And it sounds like he doesn’t want to. But he’s running a business, first and foremost. And this I understand.
“It’s not just about you, but the others in your band, too,” he says.
I nod. “I know. This isn’t a charity you’re running. I’ve got to pull my weight, and pull it together.” I try not to lose control of my quivering insides but I haven’t been in heat since my first one at fifteen, so this is pretty well new to me. The nausea is back, but at least the room isn’t shrinking. Ash and Caylee’s presence is a help, for now.
“I don’t want to let them down. Shay, Ry, Gareth, Murray.” I nod to show I understand, but true fear that I could be my own worst enemy—that Kai really was right three years ago to bar me from entering an industry that could chew me up and spit me out—threatens to drown me.
“They’re touring musicians, Jez,” Caylee murmurs. “They can play for anyone. You don’t need to spend your energy worrying about anyone else on this tour.”
“That’s right,” says Ash. “Focus on yourself.”
I have no trouble reading between the lines of compassion: You’re the only one who stands to lose here. Everyone else has a job if you’re gone. You’re the expendable one.
I thought I had gotten it together, but today proves me so wrong. I thought I’d been brave, facing this tour, this show especially, without my best friend and manager by my side. The one who’d managed my life down to the smallest details and enabled me to just write, just play, for seven long years.
I feel more alone than ever. Everyone else may suffer temporarily if I have to quit, but I’ll suffer for the rest of my life.