Knot My Band, Part One (Knot My Band #1)

Jack

ALPHA TEA GOSSIP COLUMN

MAY THORNTON WAS ARRESTED AFTER ATTACKING AN OFFICER WHILE UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF DRUGS. WHERE DOES THIS LEAVE THE EDGE?

March 18th

T he stale scent of sweat and electric tension hangs thick in the cramped rehearsal space, clinging to my skin like a second-rate cologne. I’m slouched in a worn-out armchair, the faux leather sticking to the back of my legs, as the rest of the band members trade glances that are as heavy as the bass line we can’t seem to get right.

“Can you believe May would pull this bullshit?” Dax growls, scrunching up his forehead until it looks like a crumpled piece of paper. The frustration is practically oozing out of him. “After everything we’ve been through to get here, and now she screws us over once again.”

I drum my fingers against my thigh, trying to beat out the sour mood with a rhythm all my own. “I’m glad the label used the morality clause to kick her off. She was always a poison,” I say, tossing a crooked grin at the guys, “It’s finally time we stopped drinking it. ”

Chase chuckles, shaking his head at me while Aiden rolls his eyes, but there’s this tiny upward twitch at the corner of his lips that tells me he’s fighting a smile. Mission accomplished.

I kick a stray guitar pedal out of my way and push myself to stand, the movement sending a ripple through the tense atmosphere.

“Tour’s down the drain. At least they didn’t start selling tickets yet, or our fans would be pissed,” I mutter, stretching my arms above my head. My muscles flex and protest. “It’s like we’re cursed or something.”

“Feels like it,” Aiden agrees quietly, his voice carrying the weight of our collective dreams, now as derailed as a train gone off its tracks.

“At least May wasn’t part of the pack,” Chase tosses in, humor edged with bitterness. I throw him a dry look.

“She never would have been part of our pack,” I defend, running a hand through my short, messy white-blond hair. It sticks up in different directions, defying gravity and order—much like our current situation.

“We are better off without her,” Dax retorts. The corner of his mouth twists despite the anger in his eyes.

“But down a lead singer,” I shoot back, leaning against the wall and crossing my arms over my chest.

“Maybe this time we can find someone we get along with,” Aiden adds, adjusting his hat. His tone suggests resignation, but a spark of fight remains in his soft brown eyes. “We could get to pick.”

“You’re right. Let’s not give up yet.” My voice comes out more commanding than I intend, but I can see it has an effect. Heads turn toward me, drawn by my alpha energy.

We’re a band—a pack—and if one thing’s for sure, it’s that we’ve got each other’s backs, even when the spotlight’s turned off and the stage is empty.

“Performing with someone not in the pack was the problem,” Dax growls.

“Except none of us are lead singer material, so we are going to have to do it again. Maybe not a female alpha this time,” I say.

The air is thick with a cocktail of frustration and electric anticipation, the kind that makes your skin prickle and heart thump.

In the midst of our pack’s verbal sparring, Aiden sits off to the side, quiet as a shadow. He’s always been the observer, the one who holds his tongue until he’s got something worth saying. His eyes track the conversation, dark pools of thoughtfulness in a face that’s all sharp angles and secrets.

Those soft brown eyes are a stark contrast to the usual alpha bravado, and they don’t miss a beat. They see everything. Aiden’s gaze is steady, never wavering, thoughtful as if he’s piecing together a silent puzzle only he can see.

Aiden is huge and built like he could handle himself in a fight, muscle layered over muscle in a way that speaks of disciplined workouts. But it’s not just his physique that commands attention; it’s the energy he exudes, calm and unwavering like a lighthouse in rough seas.

“Earth to ,” Dax snaps, pulling me back from my unintentional admiration of Aiden’s aesthetic. “You planning on joining us in this century or what?”

“Sorry, man,” I say with a grin.

The vibrating hum of my phone on the metal table cuts through the tension like a knife. All our heads snap toward the sound, and without missing a beat, I snatch it up and put Trevor on speaker. “ here. Lay it on me.”

Trevor became our manager when we signed with Alpha Surge Records. He’s never been my favorite, but we handle it.

“Get your asses over to the studio, now,” Trevor’s gravelly voice commands from the other end, every word laced with urgency. “I’ve got a fix for this.”

“Tell me you’ve conjured up a miracle,” I say, unable to mask the hope threading my tone.

“Close enough. Do you know who Oli Hart is? Who am I kidding, of course you do. She has a major tour happening in two weeks and needs a band. You need a lead singer, so the label is putting you together.”

Dax shoots out of his seat, comes closer, and shouts, “You’re making us some backup band to a pop princess and taking away our autonomy?”

I think he could be more diplomatic, but he’s right. We don’t want to be some backup band. We were supposed to have our own tour.

“No. You have your own fans. I’m merging you. Come to the studio, and we will talk it through.” The line goes dead.

“What the fuck just happened?” Chase’s anxious laughter fills the space as we’re already scrambling to our feet, grabbing guitars, drumsticks, and whatever bits of self-respect we’ve got left.

“Who cares? As long as this is something that’ll get us back on track.” Aiden’s growl betrays his eagerness, though he’d never admit it.

“This isn’t on track, Aiden! Didn’t you hear him? He’s ruining us for some little girl!” Dax snaps.

“Oli Hart is not a little girl,” I say quietly. Oli Hart is sex on a stick, and the world knows it. With pink hair, bangs, a sexy body, and a sultry smile, she’s known for her sex appeal.

“He said we are being combined. She’s huge. This could be good for us. Let’s at least listen,” Aiden tries again.

“All she writes music about are ex-boyfriends!” Dax snaps.

“We need to go to the studio now so we don’t get dropped. Let’s roll!” I shout, slinging my guitar case over my shoulder with more energy than I’ve had in days. I have no idea how this is going to go, but we won’t know until we get there.