Willow
THIRTY-SEVEN
Iknew this was a bad idea the second we got out of the SUV.
There are crowds outside the studio building. Actual crowds.
People pressed against barricades with phones raised, security guards trying to hold everyone back while camera flashes explode nonstop across the sidewalk like tiny lightning strikes.
And somehow, impossibly, they’re yelling my name, too.
“Oh shit,” I mutter, freezing halfway out of the car. “Absolutely not.”
Julian appears beside me, sunglasses on despite the cloudy weather, grinning like this is the greatest day of his life. “Relax, Trouble.”
“There are people screaming.”
“That’s generally how fame works.”
“I hate it.”
He laughs softly and reaches back for my hand before I can retreat into the vehicle again.
Unfortunately, that only makes the screaming louder. Fantastic.
Cameras swing toward us.
“Willow!”
“Julian!”
“Are you all dating?”
“Willow, look over here!”
I nearly trip on the curb, but Gabe catches my elbow.
“Keep moving,” he says beside me, calm as ever.
Easy for him to say. He looks built for this world.
All three of them do.
Xander walks ahead with that same expression he always wears when things get intense, broad shoulders tense beneath his black coat while security clears a path toward the building entrance.
Meanwhile, I’m trying not to throw up in front of several hundred strangers.
The lobby inside is somehow worse. Bright lights. Staff everywhere. People with headsets moving at alarming speed.
And every single one of them stares at us when we walk in.
Or, more specifically, at me.
I understand what zoo animals must feel like.
A woman with sleek dark hair rushes toward us.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” she says breathlessly. “We’re already trending, and you haven’t even gone live yet.”
“Comforting,” I mutter.
She blinks. Julian snorts beside me.
“This way,” she continues quickly, clearly deciding not to unpack my attitude, and leads us down a long hallway lined with framed platinum records and artist photos.
The deeper we go, the more surreal this all feels.
Because a few weeks ago, I was arguing with Bill about pancakes. Now, I’m walking into the studio of one of the biggest music podcasts in the country beside three men the entire internet is apparently obsessed with.
Life is stupid.
The studio itself is smaller than I expected. The lighting is warm and inviting, but the expensive equipment gives the room a more sterile feel. And sitting casually behind the central desk is Marcus Reed.
He’s big in the podcast world. A music journalist and some sort of professional instigator. Basically, the human embodiment of “I’m just asking questions” right before ruining someone’s life.
He stands when we walk in, smiling broadly.
“Well,” he says. “This is already the most intense room I’ve had all year.”
“You interviewed Machine Riot last month,” Gabe replies smoothly.
Marcus points at him. “And somehow, I still think this might beat it.”
That’s not reassuring.
Introductions happen quickly after that. Then suddenly I’m seated slightly off camera on a couch near the back while the guys settle into their chairs opposite Marcus.
Gabe looks composed. Julian looks entertained. Xander looks like he’s preparing for war.
Red light flashes overhead.
And just like that, we’re live.
“Welcome back to SoundWave,” Marcus says easily into the microphone. “Today’s guests have decided subtlety is for cowards.”
Julian grins. “Correct.”
“Great. Starting strong.”
The crew laughs softly around the room.
Marcus leans back in his chair. “So. Redemption Records. The mysterious upstate compound. Secret artists. Public scandals. And now whatever the hell is happening romantically between the four of you.”
I want to die.
Gabe jumps in first. “The label’s the priority.”
Marcus points at him dramatically. “That answer alone tells me the gossip’s true.”
“It tells you I understand media training.”
“It tells me you’re avoiding the question.”
Julian leans toward his microphone. “He does that.”
Gabe shoots him a look.
Julian looks delighted by it.
Marcus turns toward Xander next. “You’ve all spent months refusing interviews, then suddenly you appear together publicly with Willow Jameson and the internet collectively loses its mind. So, let’s start simple.” He pauses. “Are the rumors true?”
Silence settles across the room for half a second.
My stomach flips violently.
This is fine. Everything is terrible.
Gabe answers first. “Yes.”
No hesitation. No attempt to dodge. Just yes.
The room somehow feels quieter afterward.
Marcus blinks once, clearly surprised by the directness. “Oh,” he says. “Okay then.”
Julian smirks. Xander says nothing.
Marcus recovers quickly. “So, you’re all involved with Willow romantically?”
Again?
“Yes,” Gabe says calmly.
I stare at him.
Sir. Could you not?
Marcus looks openly fascinated now. “And everyone’s aware of this arrangement?”
Julian bursts out laughing. “Arrangement sounds weirdly corporate.”
“You’re sitting next to a man who alphabetizes whiskey,” Marcus replies, nodding toward Gabe.
“That was one time—”
“Three times,” Julian corrects.
Marcus looks thrilled. “This is incredible.”
“It really isn’t,” I mutter from the couch.
Unfortunately the camera picks it up.
Marcus swivels toward me. “There she is.”
Every camera in the room swings toward me, too.
Traitors.
“How are you handling all this attention, Willow?”
Poorly. Violently. With stress eating and emotional instability.
I force a tight smile. “I’d rather fight a bear.”
Marcus nearly chokes laughing. “Oh, you really don’t like this.”
“I work in a diner.”
“You worked in a diner,” Julian corrects softly.
The words hit strangely, because technically, he’s right. I haven’t worked there in weeks. I haven’t been able to, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss my old life in a lot of ways.
My chest tightens unexpectedly.
Marcus notices. “You’ve had to step away because of the media attention?”
Before I can answer, Gabe cuts in smoothly. “We made that decision for safety and privacy reasons.”
“But she’s staying at the compound with you?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
Translation: The internet is going to become unbearable in approximately twelve minutes.
Marcus shifts gears again. “So, are we talking casual situation here, or something more serious?”
The room stills, and nobody looks relaxed anymore. Not even Julian.
My pulse starts climbing.
Marcus notices that too. “Ah,” he says. “That got real quiet.”
Gabe folds his hands calmly on the desk. “It’s not casual.”
The words hit me square in the chest.
Marcus looks toward Julian. “Same answer?”
Julian’s expression softens when he glances toward me. “Yeah,” he says. “Definitely not casual.”
I actually might pass out.
Marcus turns last toward Xander, who’s remained mostly silent the entire interview. “And you?”
Xander doesn’t answer. He just looks toward me across the studio. That intense, piercing gaze pinning me in place like always. Then he says, “I don’t do casual.”
Every atom in my body overheats simultaneously.
Marcus goes completely still. Then grins like a man realizing Christmas came early. “Well,” he says. “That’s going to devastate the internet.”
I want the floor to swallow me whole. Instead, things somehow get worse.
Because Marcus keeps digging.
Questions about the compound, about fame, about the leaks, about Dylan, about the videos online.
Gabe keeps trying to steer things back toward the label itself. The artists, the vision, the rebrand.
And for a while, it almost works.
Until Marcus says, “So, what exactly, is Redemption Records building that’s worth all this?”
And something shifts beside me. I see it happen in real time.
Xander leans back in his chair, jaw tightening once. Decision settling in.
Oh no. I know that look now.
“Xander?” Gabe says carefully.
Too late.
Xander looks directly into the nearest camera. “The Lonely Ones are releasing a new single.”
The room stops.
Marcus blinks. Julian turns toward him.
Even Gabe freezes completely beside him.
I stare at Xander like he’s lost his damn mind. Because surely, I heard that wrong. Surely.
Marcus speaks first. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“The Lonely Ones recorded new material last week.”
I didn’t know this. I didn’t know this was even in progress. The band hasn’t released music in years. Not since Josiah died and Xander publicly swore he would never touch a stage again.
Marcus looks genuinely stunned now. “This wasn’t announced beforehand.”
“No.”
That finally jolts Gabe back to life. “Xander—”
“It’s done now,” Xander says calmly.
Marcus is staring at him like he’s witnessing a historical event. “This is enormous.”
“Yes.”
“Why now?”
Xander hesitates.
His gaze flicks toward me again briefly before returning to Marcus. “Because some things are worth coming back for.”
Oh.
Oh no.
The internet is going to explode.
The rest of the interview becomes a blur after that.
Questions flying faster. Producers panicking behind cameras. Phones ringing nonstop in the control room.
By the time the recording finally ends, everyone looks shell-shocked. Especially Gabe.
The second the microphones cut, he stands abruptly, leading the way out.
Once we have a moment of privacy, he hisses, “What the fuck was that?”
Xander remains calm. “A solution.”
“That wasn’t the agreed strategy.”
“There wasn’t time.”
“You don’t announce a reunion live to millions of people without discussion first.”
Julian runs both hands through his hair. “Okay, maybe everyone breathe before Gabe has an aneurysm.”
“I’m fine,” Gabe says tightly.
Which means he is absolutely not fine.
Then, privacy evaporates. Marcus follows us out. People rush into the studio. Publicists. Assistants. Production crew.
Everyone talking over each other.
“#TheLonelyOnes is already trending globally—”
“Streams just spiked—”
“Management teams are calling—”
“Someone get Billboard on the line—”
The noise becomes unbearable.
And underneath it all my name still keeps surfacing, too, because the story hasn’t shifted away from me. It’s just gotten bigger. Much bigger.
Xander clenches his jaw, tension radiating off him now despite the calm mask he’s wearing.
Gabe is already on his phone firing off instructions in that cold controlled voice that means he’s operating entirely on stress and instinct.
Julian looks caught somewhere between excitement and panic.
I can’t breathe properly.
This was supposed to help. Instead, it feels like standing at the edge of something collapsing in real time. Or maybe, exploding.
Julian notices first. “Hey,” he says softly, appearing in front of me. “You okay?”
No.
Not even remotely.
“I think,” I say, “my life may have officially become unhinged.”
He snorts softly despite everything. “Yeah. Probably.”