Page 38 of Now Their Starlet

“You killed it,” I murmur in Beck’s ear as he steps into the wings of the small stage.

He just finished doing the first live audience performance at one of the bigger radio station shows. Even though there weren’t a whole lot of screaming teenage girls because the venue was capped at maybe a hundred or so people, any number above maybe twenty-five of them is enough to feel like a tsunami.

We all thought it was best, given the circumstances and Beck’s stress levels, to do smaller, more intimate shows until things settle down.

“Thanks,” Beck says in response, shaking out his hands. He melts into my touch in the dark wings of the stage, resting his forehead against my chest and breathing in my blood orange scent.

I let him. Because that’s my job. My role in everything has been to take care of Beck. It’s always been that.

Ever since he presented as an omega and I helped him through his first heat. Ever since he decided he wanted to come to LA and made me his manager. Ever since this emotional rollercoaster with Andi started.

But for the first time in my entire life, my attention has been split, torn away from Beck.

Ever since Andi collapsed into our lives, there’s always been a part of me taken with her. At first, I was a fucking asshole because I didn’t understand that Beck’s attraction to her didn’t mean there was less room for me. The moment I let myself admit that I was attracted to her? I was a goner.

And I’ve done jack shit to help her.

Everyone else has had shit they’ve been able to do—ways in which they’ve contributed to getting her back.

I love Beck. Pretty sure I always have and always will, but I’ve been itching to help in more ways than just supporting him.

“You’re thinking a lot—I can practically hear your mind racing,” Beck murmurs, lifting his head from my chest.

“It’s nothing,” I answer, brushing some of his hair away from his eyes. It’s grown longer recently, he hasn’t been in for a haircut in a while and it’s starting to cover his eyes. “No need to worry about it.”

Beck takes one last steadying breath of my scent before he straightens.

“What’s next?”

“You’ve got someone here to do a VIP meet and greet,” Leo says, appearing at our sides. His brows, illuminated by the glow of his phone screen in the dim space, drawn down.

“Oh, okay,” Beck nods.

“Didn’t know we were doing those for this show.”

“We weren’t, but the radio station said there was a special request,” Leo says, turning his attention to Beck. “You don’t have to do it—if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“It’s cool, I’m feeling pretty pumped. The crowd was pretty happy to see me play, you know?”

“Great. If you want to cut it short, though, just let one of us know,” Leo says.

“Yeah, just give one of us a look and we’ll come up with an excuse or something,” I grunt, following along as Leo leads us down some of the hallways towards a green room.

Beck shakes out his hands again, a nervous tic he’s been doing more often, before reaching for the doorknob and swinging it opening.

He freezes, his eyes going wide, and his burnt caramel scent bitter with fear. I’m immediately tugging him backward, filling the doorframe, my eyes scanning the room to see what’s got Beck freezing up like that.

No fucking way.

Ezra Fletcher stands from one of the green room couches, taking a step closer to us, his mouth open to spew bullshit.

The images Leo showed us, the ones of Ezra’s hands on Andi’s waist while she wore that barely-there lace dress at that bullshit charity gala a couple weeks ago flash in my mind.

And I see red.

The red of my own rage, but also the red of Andi’s blood that first night when she collapsed into Beck’s arms.

“Holy shit—” Beck breathes out from behind me.