I swipe open one of the apps we’ve been using to upload all of our videos and click through to find trending hashtags. #RainaExposed, #ScandalStorm, #SleepingHerWayBack.
They make me wince, but aren’t worse than what I was expecting. Then I see something else, sandwiched between the sludge… #WhyShouldRainaChoose?
It doesn’t even register at first. I click, bracing for cruelty, but the top post is a video edit set to my old single—clips of me on stage, the guys goofing off in the studio, laughing, singing, dancing together. Text overlays read: “She’s survived so much. Let her have her happiness.” Underneath, hundreds of reposts, thousands of likes, and a comment section filled with hearts, clapping hands, and Storm Chaser emojis.
The next post is a fan account, and her sass comes across immediately. “Can we just agree that all five of them are soulmates and move on???” She flashes up pictures giving a commentary of how cute I am with each of the guys, making my heart beat harder.
My hands now shake for a different reason. There’re still haters—there always will be—but for every sneer there are a dozen defenders.
#WhyShouldRainaChoose is suddenly everywhere. Everywhere I look, fans are arguing, not about my virtue, but about which of my guys is the hottest, or sweetest, or most deserving. “Keaton is the real MVP,” one says, then another: “Nash would burn the world for her, prove me wrong.” And so on, building and building, until it’s almost funny.
Tristan quietly climbs into bed, trying his best not to disturb me, but I know he’s watching over my shoulder as he wraps an arm around my waist and tugs me flush against him.
There are drawings—me in superhero capes, the guys in matching uniforms, an adorable sketch of us all tangled up like cats on a couch. There are video edits, each one more unhinged and loving than the last.
I’m not the villain in their version.
I’m not even the punchline.
I’m the girl who survived. The one who took the hit and kept singing, kept loving, even when it was messy and too much and real.
I put the phone down and let the waves of relief wash over me, salt in the wounds but also a kind of healing. I remember what Keaton said. It’s not a scandal unless we let it be.
Maybe it’s not a scandal, I think, drifting in that warm space between awake and asleep. Maybe it’s simply a love story with too many leading men.
There’s an odd sense of calmness filling me. You’d think I’d be nervous or fearful of getting on stage again, but I’m not. This is exactly where I should be and what I should be doing.
Sure, my voice isn’t the same as it used to be, but I’ve grown to love what it is now.
This is a new era for me, and I’m embracing it with my entire being.
Raina! Raina! Raina!
The chants from the crowd can clearly be heard in our dressing room, and it makes me smile. The support they’ve given me is everything.
“Your fans are calling,” Dare tells me, a smirk on his handsome face. His hands land on my hips and draw me in, making me tilt my head back.
“At this point, I think they’re fans for all of us.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “They’ve proven they love us all.”
“That’s true, but it’s mostly because they love you so much.” He leans down, but I’m already meeting him part way for a sweet kiss.
“My turn! Good luck kisses all around!” Nash exclaims, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You know, unless anyone needs a friendly hand with some stage fright.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
The comment so reminds me of the day we met, and that hot as fuck conversation I overheard.
Before I can get too distracted going down memory lane, Nash smacks a kiss to my lips and moves out of the way for Keaton to sweep me into a bear hug.
“You’re ready for this,” he tells me, so full of confidence there’s no way I could argue with him, if I even wanted to. He lowers me until my feet touch the ground, and I turn around to find Blake.
He holds his hands out for me to take, and I close the space between us. Before he can say anything, I beat him to it. “How are you doing?” I whisper, keeping it between the two of us. Nash might joke about stage fright, but Blake really has struggled with it in the past.
“I’m actually really good. This is the first time I can remember being excited to get on stage. I’m proud of this set and can’t wait to perform it for everyone.” This is huge for him, and I can’t help but lift on my toes and give him a kiss. He tastes so sweet until he sucks in my bottom lip and nips at the sensitive flesh. It reminds me of all the other love bites he’s given me, making my cheeks flush red.
A knock at the door stops me from saying anything. “I’ve got it,” Tris claims, glancing at me before he twists the knob to make sure I don’t have any objections.
Gill steps through when it swings open, signature tablet in hand. “Everyone ready?” she asks.
A roadie passes by in the hallway with Izzy hot on his heels. “Hello, hello. Is everyone ready to go?” She bends her arms at the elbows and shakes her hands like a set of pompoms.
