The stage lights burned across my skin as I forced myself to stay present. Two hundred people were watching, owed the best performance we could give them. I couldn't abandon my bandmates mid-song, no matter how much my instincts screamed at me to follow Tessa. Had the others seen what I had? I glanced around. No, they were lost in the music. The thrill. That had always been a fundamental difference. I didn’t get lost in a song. When I had as a kid, I’d be accused of not focusing. You could only have your hands whipped so many times before enjoyment changed to obligation. A person doesn’t lose themselves in the joy of obligation.
I desperately pushed Tessa out of my mind—the past her, the present her, the future her—and I leaned into the bass line, letting the vibrations travel up my arms as we transitioned into the bridge. Right now, I wished I could lose myself in the music so it wouldn’t be so hard to give it my undivided attention. Finally, my forehead damp with sweat, “Sinner's Kiss” finished to thunderous applause, the small venue practically shaking with the crowd's enthusiasm. If that label rep was here, we were going to have zero problems convincing them to back the song.
Ryder stepped back, lifting his guitar like a trophy to salute the crowd before bringing the Gibson custom back into place. I didn’t move. The part of the set I’d been dreading the most had arrived. I should have asked the guys to move it later, maybe even dead last. Too late now. All three of my Alpha brothers turned to look at me expectantly. Taking a deep breath, I placed my bass in its stand. Two stagehands moved into view, carrying a keyboard between them. I cracked my knuckles but was otherwise frozen in place. My eyes scanned the room. I could see surprise splashed across many faces. Any diehard fan knew that I was classically trained, that bass wasn’t my first instrument. But they also knew that I refused to play in public, for reasons I’d never disclosed.
My eyes landed on the bar, mouth suddenly dry and making me wish I could walk over for a shot or two to steel my resolve. One server was leaning on her elbows, watching the stage. The other seemed to be in a heated discussion with a man in a maroon sports coat. The patron was waving money in the bartender’s face, though it didn’t seem to have the desired effect. Next, I glanced at the front doors.What if I just bolted out of The Vault? No one would miss me...
“You got this, man,” Tray shouted over the buzz of the audience.
Shifting to look at him, I offered a pathetic smile in return. I was pretty sure he was wrong, but I forced my legs to move anyway. I walked to the keyboard. And, standing, I began the new instrumental arrangement we’d put together for “Ghost of Us”.
45
TESSA
THE VAULT…
Hovering in the lounge doorway,I watched Ryder, Dixon, Mac and Tray stride onto stage.
I wasn’t sure why, but the way they moved in a straight line, evenly spaced, put me in mind of this classic album cover. Four men crossing Abbey Road. A funeral procession, apparently. That wasn’t my guys though. My guys looked like…life.A brand-new life. No more death.
As my Alphas warmed up their instruments, my eyes kept roving over them from head to toe. The way they looked tonight, I could almost,almost, imagine that we’d all traveled back in time. These were the guys from those posters I’d put up at the tender age of twelve. These were the guys I’d laid in bed at night dreaming about. Being here with them was still so surreal. I caught Ryder’s eye, and he gave me a wide, guileless smile. The others were seemingly already locked in and ready to go.
“We’ve got a treat for you tonight,” Ryder spoke into the microphone, voice almost seductive. “A brand-new song debuted here tonight as a thank you for your contributions to the Southern California Coastal Preservation Fund! Your donations will go directly to protecting the East Pacific Green Turtles!”
Clapping followed, a few hoots, and then Tray opened the song,slowly building on the drums. After a while, the other guys joined. The song came together, piece by piece, and it began casting its spell over the crowd.
I’d read magazine articles—granted they were mostly in fluffy teen Omega fashion magazines—that claimed scent was the strongest tie to memory. From the moment I heard my first Oblivion Haze song, I knew that was wrong.
Music floods a room.
It seeps into walls and carpeting, and it clings to clothing and hair.
The right lyrics become embedded in our brains, and we suffer days on end fighting an earworm that won’t die. So not smell, but hearing. Not scent, but music.
Of course… now I could also admit that the right scents, from the right Alphas, could also be just as memorable.
Barely into their first song, and my pack’s music was already saturating The Vault and sinking beneath my skin.
The song wasn't just music—it was their collective energy, four Alphas pouring their souls out to their fans. I watched, just as entranced as the audience, as Ryder commanded the stage. His voice was more mature than it had been when Oblivion Haze started, yet it still had that raw, exposed quality that made every person in the room feel like he was singing just for them.
When the chorus hit, goosebumps scattered across my skin. The lyrics of “Sinner’s Kiss” still came as a surprise, even though I’d heard the song several times already. Ryder had really felt like I was beyond his reach, like he’d ruin me if he got the chance. Part of him was glad when I’d disappeared that night, even if he had desperately searched for me after. We’d both been lost souls after Seattle. It had taken so long to be found again. Moisture built in my eyes and before I could bite back the tears, they began to fall. I swiped away the first few, the back of my hand coming away streaked with black liner. I looked at my Alphas. God, they were amazing. My heart jolted when my gaze landed on Mac. He was staring back at me. So much longing. Questions in his expression. I had to turn away from him. The intensity of it made my chest tighten. I was onthe verge of sobbing. Someone in the crowd would notice if I stayed in view.
Walking away from the entrance, I moved towards the more private back of the room stopping just short of the coffee table with its bowl of snacks.
Lord, why had those stupid lyrics hit me so hard? As if they were brand new. They’d landed like darts thrown by an expert hand, square in the heart. Bullseye. Target decimated. My eyes burned. I choked back the wail that wanted to escape.
I felt on the cusp of nineteen again, the world at my feet. Concert tickets for my birthday; all I wanted. My parents laughing, and finally giving in. Watching them roll their suitcases out of the mansion, disappearing into chauffeured sedans that would whisk them to the private jet. From there, they’d fly to Switzerland. What would I do if I woke up in my room, on that day, with them all alive again? Could I scare them into staying? If I couldn’t, would I join them?
The dam didn’t burst like it had several times since moving in with my Alphas. Instead, the dam gates lifted just enough to allow my overflowing feelings out. I hugged myself, letting the emotions level out. “Sinner’s Kiss” ended and there was a gap in the set. It was enough of a distraction, that unexpected pause, that I found myself stable again. I cocked my head, listening intently, and my heart jumped when I heard a piano. Mac was playing.Mac was playing the piano. I felt elated. So proud of him. For the first time, I realized I was helping my Alphas as much as they were helping me. I wasn’t just an Omega matched to tame them, not just a cure for ferality and breeding machine, me being with them meant more. I moved to the vintage sofa and sat down. Leaning back, I closed my eyes. Mac played so beautifully. I hated how his childhood had stolen that joy for so long. The other’s joined. Ryder didn’t sing any lyrics. They just offered up the “Ghost of Us” in a way that would no doubt leave an eternal mark on this venue and the patrons. Fresh tears, shed for a very different reason, skimmed down my cheeks.
I don't know when I’d started talking to myself.Had I been whispering for a while? Or had my thoughts just felt like I’d spoken them aloud?Eitherway, my lips were moving, and my words were loud enough that they couldn’t be dismissed as imaginary.
“I miss you," I said to the dust motes and the patterned carpet and the spirits of everyone I'd ever loved. "I miss all of you. I still wake up sometimes and forget you're gone. I want to argue with my idiot brothers. I want to hold my little sister after she’s born. I want to hear Mom laugh. I want Dad to teach me how to change a tire again, because honestly, I spaced out the first time. And I'm so sorry I stayed behind. I'm so sorry I got to live, and you didn't. But?—”
I hesitated, because I'd never said this part out loud. It was always the silent truth that hit me after every panicked memory.
"I'm glad, too. I'm glad I survived, because sometimes, for like two seconds, I'm happy. Like really,actuallyhappy. And I don't know what to do with that. It scares the shit out of me. I feel ashamed and selfish."
