Gabe
THIRTY
By the third unanswered knock on Xander’s office door, my patience is wearing thin. It’s tightening beneath my ribs alongside the headache that’s been building since seven this morning.
“Xander.”
Nothing.
I glance through the glass wall beside the door. He’s inside. Sitting behind the desk, shoulders tense, fingers drumming once against the armrest before going still the second he realizes I noticed.
So, he’s graduated from ignoring me to deliberately ignoring me.
Progress.
I push the door open anyway.
The studio office smells faintly of coffee and cedarwood, the buzz of equipment vibrating through the walls from somewhere deeper in the compound. Outside the windows, rain rolls steadily over the grounds, turning the trees beyond the gates dark and blurred.
Xander doesn’t look at me.
“We need to talk.”
“We already did.”
Not technically true. Yelling isn’t talking. It’s just louder avoidance.
I shut the door behind me carefully. “You’ve been avoiding me for two days. The only time we crossed paths is when we went to the bridge—”
Maybe not the best time to bring that up, but I need him to talk to me.
His jaw flexes once. “You went behind my back.”
I lean against the opposite desk, folding my arms. “Dylan reached out because he wants help.”
“He reached out to you because he knew I’d tell him no.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”
Finally, Xander looks up, his eyes flat and emotionless. “He slept with my fiancée.”
I hold his stare evenly. “I’m aware.”
“And you still thought bringing him here was a good idea?”
“No,” I reply calmly. “I thought keeping one of the biggest rock bands of the last decade away from a label we’re trying to build was a bad business decision.”
His laugh is humorless. “Christ, Gabe.”
I let the silence settle before answering. Because this is the part people misunderstand about me. I don’t rush emotion; I wait it out until it stops clouding the real issue.
“You think I’m dismissing what he did,” I say. “I’m not.”
“Sure feels like it.”
“I’m saying your brother struggling helps no one. Not him. Not us. Not you.”
His expression hardens further. “This isn’t your problem to solve.”
No. It isn’t. But I look at the exhausted tension sitting permanently in his shoulders lately, the grief he carries around like a second spine, and the answer forms anyway.
“It became my problem when it started destroying you.”
That lands harder than he expects. I can tell because his fingers stop moving entirely.
Xander exhales and leans back in the chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You don’t get it.”
“No,” I admit. “Probably not completely.”
Because grief changes shape depending on who’s carrying it, and Xander carries enough for three lifetimes.
But before I can continue, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Then again.
And again.
Rapid fire.
I pull it out, already irritated by the interruption, only for cold to settle in my stomach.
Notifications.
Too many.
Instagram, X, texts, news alerts.
My expression must change because Xander straightens. “What?”
I don’t answer right away, because I’m reading, and every second makes it worse.
My jaw tightens. “No,” I murmur.
“What?”
I open the first video.
Bennett’s. Friday Night Live. Julian and Xander on stage. Crowd cheering. Phones everywhere.
Then the camera pans.
Straight to Willow standing beside me near the bar, my hand wrapped around hers.
Another notification appears before the first clip even finishes.
Different angle. Different post. This one outside Bennett’s.
Me kissing Willow against the wall behind the bar.
Fuck.
My pulse drops.
“What happened?” Xander demands, already standing now.
I hand him the phone.
Silence fills the office as he watches.
Then another notification appears across the screen. Photos attached. I recognize the lake instantly.
Willow in Xander’s arms waist deep in dark water. His hand against her face. Their mouths together.
A third post loads beneath it before either of us can react.
Julian outside Willow’s house, his hand tangled in her hair as he kisses her inside her car.
Every angle. Every moment. Every mistake.
All connected now.
All public.
Xander goes very still beside me, which is infinitely worse than yelling.
The door swings open and Julian walks in holding his own phone. “Well,” he says flatly, “this seems bad.”
I look at him. “How widespread?”
“Trending.”
Of course it is.
Because Dylan’s post gave people something to look for.
A trail.
And the internet is very good at turning scattered pieces into narratives.
Julian runs a hand through his hair, all traces of his usual easy charm gone now. “Fans already figured out Willow’s name.”
That hits hardest. Not the label, not the headlines, not the speculation.
Her.
Because Willow didn’t choose this world, and now it’s crashing directly through her front door.
Xander is already moving. “Where is she?”
Julian blinks. “At work, I think.”
Xander grabs his jacket.
I step in front of him before he reaches the door. “Walking into the diner furious isn’t helping anything.”
“She’s alone.”
“She won’t be for long,” I say evenly. “People will look after her. Especially if reporters come.”
His eyes flash dangerously. “Then move.”
“Xander, us being there will only make it worse.”
“No, Gabe.” His voice drops now, rougher. “You don’t get to calm me down right now.”
The accusation underneath the words is obvious.
This is partly my fault. Maybe mostly. Because I knew Dylan reaching out could create problems. I knew we weren’t fully ready for public attention. And still, somehow, I underestimated how quickly drama spreads once people smell blood in the water.
Julian steps between us before the tension can snap completely. “Fighting each other is stupid right now.”
He’s right.
I force myself to think past the immediate disaster, organizing problems into manageable sections.
Current issue: Willow is exposed publicly.
Secondary issue: The label becomes attached to scandal before launch.
Third issue: The town will talk. A lot.
I pull up another article.
The headlines are already mutating.
Mysterious Woman Linked To Redemption Records Founders.
Rockstar Love Triangle?
The Lonely Ones Members Spotted With Same Woman.
Some of the comments are worse. Much worse.
I lock the screen before I can read further.
Julian’s face darkens. “People are disgusting.”
Yes. They are. Especially when they think public figures stop being human.
Xander shoves a hand through his hair and starts pacing now, energy turning volatile beneath his skin. “This is because of Dylan.”
I don’t answer. Dylan’s photo wasn’t great, but we don’t know he did this.
“You know what this becomes now?” Xander says. “A circus. We need to get ahead of this.”
He’s right. But we need to make sure we’re not the clowns. And we need to find a way to rescue Willow without making this worse.