“Love Rip mansplaining misogyny to you,” says Ginny. “Classic.”
Theo scrolls back to the top. “This video went up last night and already has over ten million views. We’re thinking it’ll hit fifteen before tomorrow.”
It’s a shocking number, almost too big to process. Ten million people watching me? Just a year ago, this would’ve been transformative. But now, there’s no spark of excitement in my chest, no buzz of nerves. My capacity for joy has flatlined. I suck in a breath. “I don’t know why you’re showing me this. The band no longer exists.”
Ripper and Kenny shift uncomfortably, and I immediately regret my harshness. Ginny’s the one who’s always been good at dealing with people, not me. “But,” I attempt, “if you’d let me explain why I quit—”
“Hannah,” Theo interrupts. “Overten millionpeople. Do you understand? My phone’s been blowing up all day.”
All day? I glance at the bright windows. “What time is it?”
“Three in the afternoon,” Ripper says dryly.
“The point is,” Theo says quickly. “The Future Saints are going massively viral. Manifest wants to seize the moment.”
“Meaning?”
Kenny finally meets my eyes. “They want to extend our tour.”
I can’t help it—I laugh. And then turn to Theo. “Putting aside the apparently unimportant fact that I quit yesterday, what about our album? I thought you were sent here to make us buckle down and work hard.”
Theo clears his throat. “The owner of the Sunset Theater in LA saw the TikTok and reached out to see if he could book you.”
I blink. The Sunset is an iconic venue. Part of rock history. We’ve never been on their radar before. “So I was hoping we could do both. A couple more shows and the new album.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “How delusional of you.”
He tips his head back and groans. “Jesus, Hannah. This is your big break, okay? That lightning-bolt moment you’ve been waiting for. It’s here. It’s happening. You have to decide what you’re going to do about it.” Theo’s chest rises and falls. “And you, all of you, would be cowards if you give up and let this chance go.”
The room is silent. Something about Theo’s intensity is contagious. Or maybe it’s the magic of the wordsbig break. The mythical moment we’ve been chasing since college, if not earlier. I glance at Kenny and Ripper. “What are you thinking?”
“That we hope you quitting was a mistake,” Kenny says.
“Or a joke,” Ripper adds. “Although a really messed-up one.”
Kenny nods. “But one that Ripper and I would forgive . . . in light of everything.”
Theo’s eyes ping-pong between us, trying to read between the lines. “We want to do this,” Ripper says bluntly. “I know it feels like a chapter of our lives is over—”
My throat seizes. A chapter? It’s so much more than that.
“But breaking out with the Saints is our dream,” Ripper says. “We promised we’d stick it out together.”
“I still need the Saints,” Kenny says. “And the dream.” He rests a warm hand on my arm. Kenny always runs warm. On tour, sometimes I used to fall asleep with my leg pressed against his for comfort.
Silence reigns once more. Suddenly the hotel room feels too crowded, the sunlight too glaring, Kenny’s hand too hot. He’s completely wrong about why I quit. “For argument’s sake,” I say, “what exactly is Manifest proposing?”
Kenny squeezes my arm.
“I know it’s unusual to tour and record at the same time,” Theo says. “But it’s also unusual to have a viral moment like this. According to our analytics department, people are searching Spotify for ‘Six Feet Under,’ posting TikToks begging to buy it, googling to see if you have tour dates. If we play a few more shows while you’re hot, and release the single, we can stoke excitement for the next album. And in between the shows, we can write new songs. Forget eking out an album just to satisfy your contract—we’ll have something people will be lining up to buy. Roger called about it himself.”
“Oh. Well, inthatcase.”
“Please, Hannah.” Shockingly, Ripper falls to a knee beside the bed. “Just a few more shows. After that, if you still want to quit, we’ll bury the Saints together. No hard feelings.”
Ripper looks so much like I did onstage last night—on his knees, begging—that it burns to see. I jerk my gaze away.
“Just give the Saints one last chance.” Kenny’s voice is so earnest.
