10. Eli
Eli
“You killed it,” I murmur in Beck’s ear as he steps into the wings of the small stage.
He just finished doing the first live audience performance at one of the bigger radio station shows.
Even though there weren’t a whole lot of screaming teenage girls because the venue was capped at maybe a hundred or so people, any number above maybe twenty-five of them is enough to feel like a tsunami.
We all thought it was best, given the circumstances and Beck’s stress levels, to do smaller, more intimate shows until things settle down.
“Thanks,” Beck says in response, shaking out his hands. He melts into my touch in the dark wings of the stage, resting his forehead against my chest and breathing in my blood orange scent.
I let him. Because that’s my job. My role in everything has been to take care of Beck. It’s always been that.
Ever since he presented as an omega and I helped him through his first heat. Ever since he decided he wanted to come to LA and made me his manager. Ever since this emotional rollercoaster with Andi started.
But for the first time in my entire life, my attention has been split, torn away from Beck.
Ever since Andi collapsed into our lives, there’s always been a part of me taken with her. At first, I was a fucking asshole because I didn’t understand that Beck’s attraction to her didn’t mean there was less room for me. The moment I let myself admit that I was attracted to her? I was a goner.
And I’ve done jack shit to help her.
Everyone else has had shit they’ve been able to do—ways in which they’ve contributed to getting her back.
I love Beck. Pretty sure I always have and always will, but I’ve been itching to help in more ways than just supporting him.
“You’re thinking a lot—I can practically hear your mind racing,” Beck murmurs, lifting his head from my chest.
“It’s nothing,” I answer, brushing some of his hair away from his eyes. It’s grown longer recently, he hasn’t been in for a haircut in a while and it’s starting to cover his eyes. “No need to worry about it.”
Beck takes one last steadying breath of my scent before he straightens.
“What’s next?”
“You’ve got someone here to do a VIP meet and greet,” Leo says, appearing at our sides. His brows, illuminated by the glow of his phone screen in the dim space, drawn down.
“Oh, okay,” Beck nods.
“Didn’t know we were doing those for this show.”
“We weren’t, but the radio station said there was a special request,” Leo says, turning his attention to Beck. “You don’t have to do it—if you’re not feeling up to it.”
“It’s cool, I’m feeling pretty pumped. The crowd was pretty happy to see me play, you know?”
“Great. If you want to cut it short, though, just let one of us know,” Leo says.
“Yeah, just give one of us a look and we’ll come up with an excuse or something,” I grunt, following along as Leo leads us down some of the hallways towards a green room.
Beck shakes out his hands again, a nervous tic he’s been doing more often, before reaching for the doorknob and swinging it opening.
He freezes, his eyes going wide, and his burnt caramel scent bitter with fear. I’m immediately tugging him backward, filling the doorframe, my eyes scanning the room to see what’s got Beck freezing up like that.
No fucking way.
Ezra Fletcher stands from one of the green room couches, taking a step closer to us, his mouth open to spew bullshit.
The images Leo showed us, the ones of Ezra’s hands on Andi’s waist while she wore that barely-there lace dress at that bullshit charity gala a couple weeks ago flash in my mind.
And I see red.
The red of my own rage, but also the red of Andi’s blood that first night when she collapsed into Beck’s arms.
“Holy shit—” Beck breathes out from behind me.
“Eli, don’t—” Leo’s words barely register.
I move forward, using all of my enhanced alpha speed and strength to grab Ezra by his collar and slam him against the wall so hard, the picture frames of other famous people who’ve performed at this radio station rattle.
Ezra lets out a choked wheeze as all the air from his lungs escapes.
I don’t give a shit.
I cock my fist back and slam it into his face, channeling all the emotions that’ve been building up in the pressure cooker that is my mind. My fist meets his jaw and his head cracks backward with a satisfying sound.
But it’s not enough. Because no matter how many times I punch this bastard, it won’t undo what he did to Andi and it definitely won’t bring her back.
I manage to punch him a second time; this time, there’s a spray of blood from his nose. It drips down onto his expensive black hoodie; the color barely staining the fabric.
I must be losing my fucking mind because the sight of the red disappearing into the black fabric makes me long to see his blood splattered everywhere, just like Andi’s blood stained the fabric of her dress that night.
“Dude, stop!” Leo hisses, the only one brave enough to come up behind me and grab my cocked fist. “You can’t be catching assault charges in the middle of this mess.”
My knuckles are already swelling. I flex my hand and welcome the ache. Better this than the alternative. It’s at least slightly more cathartic than putting my fist through the wall.
That’s not a hypothetical comparison either. There’s a hole in the wall of my bedroom back at our penthouse, from before we pseudo moved into Edison’s home and I’d found the t-shirt Andi wore while I picked her up and we kissed for the first time in the kitchen.
I sniffed it like a fucking weirdo, praying I could catch a hint of her scent, but it’s been too long since she wore it. I’ve never been good at releasing my emotions like Beck, or directing my emotions towards something productive like Leo. All I have are my fists.
It seems like without Andi’s soothing presence, I’m backsliding into the shadow of my pops.
“It’s... fine...” Ezra wheezes, his voice thick as the blood as his fucked-up nose drips down the back of his throat.
His lip is split and swelling from where I landed the first punch.
He meets my gaze, his dark eyes sharp in a way that just serves to piss me off further.
“I hit her... three times. You’re only at two... go for it.”
If it weren’t for Leo’s surprisingly intense grip on my arm and the tone of his voice, I would’ve taken him up on his offer and probably punched him a hell of a lot more than three times.
But even though the words seem like they’re a taunt, his tone tells a different story.
He sounds resigned. Almost... guilty? Ashamed?
It’s the last thing I’d expect from an omega-beating alpha nepo-baby who still has his reputation.
I settle for shoving him back into the wall. Through the haze of my rage, I catch the way he tucks his chin down ever so slightly so the back of his head doesn’t slam into the plaster. He knows how to take a hit. The same way I do.
My fists clench at my side.
I shouldn’t feel bad for this fucking asshole, but I can’t help but remembering the way Leo told Beck and I, that apparently Jonathan Fletcher has been an abusive piece of shit for decades, according to Edison. Wouldn’t be a stretch to assume he beat his son, too.
Still, that’s not an excuse for what he did to Andi. Not at all.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I snarl, my lips peeling back in a grimace that bares my teeth.
“I’m calling Everett,” Leo murmurs, stepping aside and putting his phone to his ear.
Ezra’s eyes flicker to Leo, flashing with recognition at the mention of Everett’s name before he shuts it down. I’m too pissed off to figure out what that look meant. Regardless, it doesn’t matter.
“I’m—I’m here because I’m one of the only people allowed to see Andi, and she—she obviously needs all the help she can get.”
The low growl that leaves my chest at the mention of Andi’s name on his lips has Ezra flinching. Beck lets out a soft cough at the intensity of my blood orange scent, sour from my anger and thick with dominance.
The door behind me flies open to reveal Everett and Cameron. I barely register their shocked expressions before my eyes lock back onto Ezra. If he so much as moves wrong, I’m reintroducing his face to my fist.
“What in the world are you doing here?” Everett says, his voice low.
His dominance fills the room, making my own fury look like a child’s tantrum. It has everyone in the room stiffening, especially Beck, who takes a subtle step back. This can’t be good for his hormones.
“Look,” Ezra says, standing up straighter. “Andi told me to come find you.”
That admission has shock rippling through the entire room.
“So you decided to sign up for a VIP meet and greet?” I growl.
“What the hell else was I supposed to do?” Ezra snaps. “You never would’ve seen me otherwise. And my dad’s PR rep has access to all my socials, and I didn’t want me reaching out to you getting back to him, okay?”
That confirms my theory that he and Daddy dearest aren’t as tight as the media portrays. You can never trust anything the media puts out, especially for a name and brand as big as the Fletcher’s.
Ezra’s gaze darts warily between the five of us, blood slowly oozing from his nose. I should’ve punched him harder.
“I showed her your music video,” Ezra mumbles, glancing over at Beck.
Beck’s bright blue eyes widen, and I can see the way his pulse jumps at his neck. “She—she saw it.”
Something about the hope, relief, and gratitude in Beck’s voice bleeds into my own emotions, but I shut that connection down. I’m determined to stay pissed.
“You here to gloat or something, you pathetic piece of shit?” I snap, imagining this douchebag at Andi’s side, showing her the product of everyone’s hard work.
We’re supposed to be the ones to show her.
Hell, she was supposed to be there when it was happening.
Not locked away with her psycho mom and her abusive ex-boyfriend.
At least, I hope he’s still her ex.
She wouldn’t go back to him… She wouldn’t.
The bitter taste of doubt creeps in at the back of my throat.