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I’mbusy sulking in a dark back corner of the small hotel bar. Everything in here is dark. Dark wood, dark walls, dark tables. It’s easy to hide back here, away from anyone that would recognize me. Except Belle. She just walked in and locked eyes with me immediately. Like she has some sort of a homing beacon on my location. The thought would make me smile if I wasn’t so pissed.
She slides into the booth next to me and takes my hand. It’s wet from the condensation on my glass. I’ve been gripping the ice water I ordered for a better part of twenty minutes.
“That wasn’t fair of Cal to do, but neither was you taking off on me,” she says, not a hint of the anger I was expecting.
“I know. I’m sorry. That song just brings me back to nights in my garage with all of us. It’s difficult for me to sing it every night,” I tell her, not mentioning that singing it with her brought me straight back to watching her and Ezra compose it. That memory is painful for several reasons.
“I get it. I’ve been writing. Maybe you can help me with it and “Shattered Dreams” can be a song we only sing occasionally?”
Her compassion is something I love the most about her. It’s moments like these when I just want to pull her into my lap and kiss all the bad memories away.
“Think about it,” she says when I take too long to answer. “I need to shower the show off.” I nod, which makes her smile. She leans over and kisses me on the cheek before sliding out of the booth and walking to where Willa was waiting by the elevators.
I watch them as they enter. Belle smiles at me when she catches me watching right before the doors shut. I try not to picture a naked Belle in the shower, but she put that image there and it won’t leave. The last thing I need is a hard on in a hotel bar.
The part of me that used to drown my pain in whiskey is itching to order a drink. That part of me is kept at bay more easily than it used to be. Just Belle’s smile alone keeps me from self-destructing.
I love her. I love her so fucking much, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do about it.
“You’re joking. This is a joke. Ha ha. Very funny. You got me!”
Belle is panicking, her eyes are wide, and all the color has left her face. Cal just informed her they want her on the morning show with us, and he’s pushing it because hethinks she’s going to save the band. I can’t blame her for her reaction. He’s thrown a lot at her at once. We’ve managed to keep her from the few interviews we’ve had, but this is the last one and it’s also the one with the biggest audience. I’m not sure she would have been able to avoid it, even if Cal didn’t suggest it.
“Please, Belle! The producers promised to keep you out of most of the discussions. They know you’re a newborn when it comes to this. Still slimy and everything,” Cal says.
“That’s disgusting,” Willa mutters next to me.
“I’ll wear a full shirt for tomorrow’s show!” Cal says, eyes pleading, hands folded together in front of him.
Belle considers for a moment. “Full shirt and you get me the most expensive room at the hotel.”
“Deal!” Cal shouts before grabbing his sister and spinning her around.
Belle came with us to the tv studio this morning under the impression she was just going to watch it. I think she was the only one that believed that.
“Alright. The set has a loveseat with three stools behind it,” one producer, I think he said his name was Don or Dave, something with a D, tells us while pointing. “When you’re introduced, you’ll enter Willa and Bellamy to the couch, then Callahan, Maverick, and Malikai. In that order. We’ve framed it perfectly, so no rearranging.” Then he points at Belle. “You need to hurry to hair and makeup!”
We all tell him we understand and wait for Belle to come back. They must have given her the basics because she comes rushing back a few minutes later, looking just as beautiful as she always does. The only difference I notice isthe smoky eye they gave her, and her hair seems to have a product in it to tame it a little. She’s in tight red jeans and a black crop top, looking every bit the rockstar she’s becoming.
They call the morning show Rockin’ ‘Round and it’s hosted by two former rock stars, Billie and Stevie. Both women. They’re badasses and this was the only interview I’ve been looking forward to. The only part I dislike is the amount of fan interaction they allow. It’s filmed live and fans can ask questions. Sometimes they’re even allowed to interrupt the interview. Makes for great TV. Especially in Scotland, where heckling is part of the culture.
“They brought down the house in Munich last night, and now they’re here in Glasgow to chat with us! Please welcome, Shattered Halo!” Billie growls out our band name, making it sound cooler than it is.
We file onto the stage in the order Don Dave told us. Shaking hands with both hosts and smiling politely. Four of us are at least. Belle looks like she’s about to be led to her death. I squeeze her shoulder reassuringly, and I feel her relax under my hand. Interviewers can sense fear and they’ll pounce on her. Cal shouldn’t have pressured her into this. Stevie is short, with long, straight, black hair, and a tiny waist. Billie is her opposite, a tall and curvy blonde.
The interview gets underway quickly, and like it always does, veers toward my missing twin. You’d think they’d leave it alone after five years.
“So, Kai. What would Ezra say if he were here today?” Stevie asks. That one is a favorite. No fucking idea why.
I put on my tv smile and answer. “Well, I can tell youright now that he would have loved your introduction, Billie. Ezra was a huge wrestling fan, and you sounded like a ring announcer.” Am I trying to deflect? Yes. But it wasn’t a lie. Ezra would have had her saying the most random things he could think of.
“I love that! How would Ezra feel about Belle joining the band?” Billie asks.
Dammit.
“Belle was always part of the band. She just stepped away to focus on her education. Ezra was proud of her, no matter what. He’d be thrilled she was back,” I answer honestly.
“What would he think about you dating her?” Someone yells from the audience.
