Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
ALBANY, NEW YORK
“You come out here to watch them a lot.”
I turn to see Nicola, her smile teasing as she walks up beside me, her sour kiwi scent bursting in the air.
Her outfit for tonight is one of my favorites of hers, a messily stitched green and black dress over completely distressed tights.
Her boots are thick and covered with fur, making her look like they are holding her to the ground or else she’ll fly off.
And knowing Nicole, she probably would.
I shrug. “I quite like their sound. And it calms me before we go on. Reminds me why we do this.”
I spend a lot of time in the wings while the guys are performing.
I love watching them. It’s like a dose of something forbidden that I can’t get out of my system.
Seeing them in their element, doing the thing they love, it’s the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen.
Not to mention, they sound really fucking good.
Their sound has always appealed to me, but I’ve really fallen in love with it since we started this journey.
Just like I’ve really fallen for them, consequences be damned.
Nicola crosses her arms and looks out at them. “It’s not because they’re extremely hot and you’d like a piece of them?”
My eyes flash at her. A part of me probably should be territorial, but this is Nic. She is the last person who would do anything like step in the way of my scent matches. Still, I didn’t know I was that transparent.
“I don’t… they’re not…” I stumble over my words, completely caught off guard by her statement.
“Relax,” she tells me, giggling. “He isn’t really Cleo’s ex, remember? You can lust after them all you want. I don’t blame you.”
I breathe easy. Nicola doesn’t think I’m with them, just that I want to be. I can work with that.
Honeysuckle joins our unique scents as Lark steps beside me.
“No pre-show ritual for you?” I ask, surprised.
“I wanted to see where you two snuck off to,” Lark jokes, crossing her arms. “Plus, I love this song. I wanted to hear it in person.”
I nod. It’s a really good song.
We stand there and watch them, their joy and energy rocking the audience in a way that makes it look effortless.
Cyrus holds the microphone in both hands, singing passionately.
Lennon drums like he’s on autopilot, flipping his sticks.
Remi and Malaki focus on their parts, occasionally moving around and interacting with Cyrus.
And Jamie stands behind his keyboard, his fingers working masterfully in a way that I remember all too well.
They’re magical, and they’re mine.
When the song ends, there’s a pause as all of them take a moment to cool off. Cyrus drinks some water, and Malaki and Remi give each other a very specific look before glancing over into the wing. I can see the second they recognize me, their eyes flitting with mischief.
I pause, confused, and then Cyrus looks at Remi, searching for something, and when he gets a nod back, his face beams brighter than I’ve ever seen it.
He walks up to the microphone and adjusts the aid in his ear.
“Hello Albany, how is everyone doing tonight?” His question erupts a deafening applause, his audience roaring in response.
“Hell yeah! Thank you all so much for coming out tonight. We have a very special treat for you. As some of you know, we have been working on our next album for you all, and we were wondering if you’d like to hear one of our new tracks? !”
The screams get even louder, and Nicola laughs beside. “Holy shit, are they allowed to do that?”
“I don’t know,” Lark says. “Maybe their label is more lenient on it.”
The next words out of Cyrus’s mouth cause all the air to rush from my lungs.
“We hope you all enjoy! This song is called ‘Rosewood.’”
The song starts before I can get my bearings. I can feel the hesitation from my friends to say anything, both of them just as frozen as me. I exhale a shaky breath as the lyrics start.
Vicious midnight alibi,
you’re the only one for me.
Precious little butterfly,
you’re the one who sets me free.
“Oh my god, Josie,” Nicola says, her hand over her mouth. “They wrote you a song?!”
“I…” I’m not sure what to do. My heart beats wildly in my chest, the song a beautiful melody that makes me want to cry.
That’s when I smell it: singed saffron hanging in the air like a sad hymn warning me to turn around.
When I turn, Cleo is there, her eyes looking past me to the stage. Instead of anger as I expect, her features are sad, her lip wobbling before she stills it. “What the hell, Josie?” she says in a whisper.
Every time before, I’ve had the instinct to comfort Cleo, run to her side and make everything better for her. But now, even without the anger I’ve become used to, I can’t find it in me to placate her.
So I don’t say anything. I’m not her punching bag, and I’m not the real thing tearing her apart.
She gives me a look, like she’s expecting me to deny whatever’s happening, call it a coincidence, but I’m not going to do that.
My guys were brave enough to stand on that stage and claim me. Now, I have to do the same.
“They wrote me a song,” I tell her, my voice unwavering.
She’s shocked, or maybe a little bit hurt as she flinches. Then she turns and walks out, leaving us in the wing to simmer in the truth for the first time this entire tour.
Nicola squeezes my arm as I turn back to the stage, the song still blaring on, beautiful and powerful all at once.
They wrote me a song. They are telling the world who I am to them. I should be angry or worried about the consequences of it, but I feel nothing but relief. This is the most public claiming I’ve ever witnessed, and my omega is preening at the magnitude of it.
I love them so much that it splinters me open.
This entire situation is weird, and messy, and hard to bear, but none of that matters.
All I can see are them, leaving their hearts out in the open on the arena stage for me to pick up and cherish.
And god, I am going to cherish them with every piece of me.
“They wrote me a song,” I repeat, tears in my eyes.
Lark puts out her arms and lets me curl inside. I don’t have to worry about this anymore. All I want to do is stand here and listen.