Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
As seen on Punk-Tune TV
“It looks like there might be love in the air, folks. Vicious Velvet and The Rogues, famous for being at each other’s throats in the media, are officially halfway through their conjoined tour but things might not last much longer.
Last night in Albany, things came to a head between the two rival bands when The Rogues started their show with an unprompted and unreleased song titled ‘Rosewood,’ leaving their audience stunned.
Sleuths speculate that the song is about Vicious Velvet’s lead guitarist, Josephine Rosewood, who, rumor has it, has had a falling out with her bandmates recently.
She was apparently seen looking ‘stunned’ backstage, an account given to us by a behind-the-scenes witness.
They also said that lead woman, Cleo Del Rossi, was not too happy about it… ”
“Well, you lot made a right mess of things,” one of our label’s execs mutter, their frown prominent on our computer screen.
There are four of them present for this Zoom meeting, but I can’t remember any of their names.
It’s not really my job to keep up with them, but it is our agent’s, who is sitting by us with a grimacing smile as he responds.
“Aren’t rock stars known for being messy, Emerson?” He grins, trying to form a connection so we don’t get our asses handed to us, but I couldn’t care less. Not after seeing Josie’s face after the concert, hearing her affirming words that she loved the song and consequences be damned.
We were all nervous, but Jamie and Remi had put a lot of heart into the new ballad and we couldn’t wait another second to perform it.
It may not have been authorized, and it may have been a bit unorthodox to tell the world of our affections this way, but we knew we had to take matters into our own hands.
Even if it was just a tiny seed of hope, we had to water the fuck out of it just in case.
Even though I should be listening to the meeting happening in front of me, all I can see is Josie’s smiling face behind my eyelids when we came off stage. How she hugged each of us, both fear and joy mixing in her scent.
I would break a million rules to see that kind of glee on her face, no hesitation. Every. Damn. Time.
“We have to come up with a cover story,” another exec says, pulling me back from the memory. His brown hair is slanted, like he just woke up from a nap and turned on his computer for the meeting.
My jaw clenches at the inhumane way they deal with issues.
They don’t ask us for the real story, or how we feel about the situation; they just go right into solutions like fucking robots.
Not that we can tell them the real story, anyway.
We all went into this meeting with the plan to keep our connection to Josie a secret, but I have a feeling that’s going to be hard to withhold when he says the next horrible thing.
“Yes, and here’s what we’ve come up with,” another starts.
“The public doesn’t know a lot about Josie.
She used to be a classical pianist before she started Vicious Velvet with her friends.
Cleo and her go way back, but there’s been tension lately that gossip blogs have speculated about.
We’re going to spin the story, claim that Josie is jealous of Cleo, of her stardom since being in Vicious Velvet, and that she went after Cyrus as soon as she could in order to steal him from her best friend—”
“No,” Cyrus interrupts him, immediately shutting it down. “We’re not doing that.”
The brunette sighs. “Here are the facts. The public thinks you and Cleo Del Rossi had a short-term but passionate relationship. That is still the story, so the idea that you went after Josie Rosewood, someone she is closest to in the entire band, looks bad. We cannot have this narrative get out of control. You guys are rock heartthrobs, not heartbreakers. This does nothing for your image.”
“So you want to throw Josie under the bus to save us?” Jamie argues, his forehead scrunched in frustration. “I would rather the entire world hate us than to even consider doing that.”
“Agreed,” Remi cuts in.
I grit my teeth, trying not to growl at them, but my alpha is unsettled.
There is worry and pain twisted in all of my bandmates’ expressions, and I internally scream.
My eyes go to my prime, who is just as visibly frustrated as the rest of us, and I know he is questioning our agreement completely.
Everything could be solved if we told them the truth, but it could also be used to harm us.
The only way you get any kind of freedom in this industry is by holding your secrets close to your chest, but I don’t think I can keep them contained anymore.
“Well, we can’t say anything else,” Emerson speaks again.
“The Rogues and Vicious Velvet are rivals. This is how things have been for the past year and a half, all because you”—he points at us, but I think he means Cyrus—“decided you wanted to go head to head with Cleo Del Rossi any chance you could. Now we have no option, because let’s admit it, going after your ex’s best friend is a pretty shitty move, real or not. ”
“Cleo is the one who started going off script. I wasn’t going to let her bias toward me mess things up for my band. My pack!” Cyrus’s voice heightens in volume, his control slipping from his fingers.
“You guys will do what we ask because we pay your fucking bills. You signed a contract, and that means you have certain obligations to us. Moral clauses. Don’t you remember?”
“Let’s just calm down—” Mac starts, his hands coming up like he might need to keep Cyrus and Emerson from fighting each other through the screen somehow.
“I’m sure there’s a way we can compromise,” Izzy says, her brown hair pulled up in a tight, military bun. Despite her broad stature and her alpha demeanor, she is a mother bear deep down, and I can see the worry in her eyes.
“No, this is bullshit,” Cyrus continues. “We are not going to imply that Josie is a slag or anything else of the sort!”
My heart starts to pound, sweat collecting on my brow as a heavy contortion begins in my chest.
“There are consequences to your actions, boys. You decided to play that song without running it by anyone, and now you have to deal with the fact that it’s landed you in a pile of shit.”
My entire body seizes. I can’t conceal these secrets anymore. The knowledge of everything is curdling in my gut, bursting at the seams. If I don’t get the truth out, I might explode. The weight of it might literally crush me into the dirt.
They all continue to argue, talking over each other, and I can barely hear the individual points as things fall apart.
“Josie didn’t do anything wrong,” I hear from Malaki.
“Can’t we turn it into something more romantic?” This one from Jamie.
Remi is just cursing, calling the execs very specific names that the American execs probably wouldn’t understand.
My hands go to my head, pulling at my hair as everything speeds up and leaves me in the dust. There’s a weight on my chest, something physically pulling me down, like a boot bearing down and crushing my bones—over and over and over again.
My body stands and I explode involuntarily, like a power expelled without my permission. “She’s our fucking scent match and I won’t let you harm her, you heartless pieces of shit!”
It cuts through all the bullshit, the room going silent, but I can’t stop.
The floodgates have opened and are finally running clear.
“You tell us how to do everything. What to wear, what to sing, who to date, how to take a piss! You won’t let Cyrus tell anyone about his bond with Jamie or that we’re a pack, and I can’t take it anymore.
And guess what else? I have fucking lupus, and we never told you because you’re a bunch of controlling dickheads who don’t have any clue what this job is like.
All you do is sit behind a desk and yell orders at the people making fucking money for you! ”
Everything stops, the bus going quiet. Despite this, everything feels just as heightened, just as heavy, my words doing nothing to alleviate the anxiety thrashing through my body.
In the silence, there’s only a short wheezing sound. It takes a few long seconds to realize it’s me, and suddenly I can feel my chest twisting in on itself. My hand clutches it, realizing I can’t breathe. What the fuck?
Cyrus and Remi are beside me in less than a second, touching my arms as their eyes go wide with terror.
“Lennon? Are you okay?” I hear through a fog, the sound slightly off-track with the movement of Remi’s lips.
“Shit.” Cyrus panics. “I think he’s having an asthma attack.”
He turns back, saying something to the others. Without being able to read his lips, it’s all muffled. My hand keeps clutching my chest, and I can’t fathom what’s happening as I’m guided to the floor, my pack mates holding my back to keep me upright.
“Try to find your breath, Lennon,” my prime encourages, the sound still muffled like we’re underwater. “Jamie is getting your inhaler.”
I nod, the tightness becoming so unbearable that a dreadful sound escapes me, causing a wince on Malaki’s face.
Izzy is there, too, looking concerned, and Mac is talking to the computer, probably explaining the situation or doing damage control, but I can’t find it in me to care as a sharp pain shoots me right in the lung.
When Jamie puts the inhaler to my mouth, I black out from the instant relief it shoots through my body.