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

Oli

DIRTY BETA GOSSIP COLUMN

SOURCES SAY DIE-HARD EDGE FANS ARE FURIOUS AT COMBINATION WITH OLI HART AND WANT MAY BACK AS LEAD SINGER

April 27th

I ’m getting dressed and ready to go to my doctor’s appointment. I need to get these suppressants because I cannot have my heat during the tour. It would devastate my fans if we canceled shows.

Dax comes on the tour bus to find me walking out of my nest.

“,” Dax’s voice is a commanding rumble that pricks at my skin in a way that has nothing to do with orders or dominance. “I’m taking you to your appointment.”

I blink up at him. Dax, standing there, all brooding intensity and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, seems like the last person who’d volunteer for this.

I tilt my head, letting my rose gold waves fall in a curtain around my face. “You?” The word is laced with surprise.

“Me.” He confirms, leaning against the doorframe. His arms are crossed over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing beneath his tight black T-shirt. The sight sends a ripple of something warm through me. “The other three have an interview, but I’m shit at press, so you’re stuck with me.”

There’s a hint of something softer in his hazel eyes. It’s a flicker, gone as quickly as it comes.

“Lead the way, then,” I quip, tossing him a playful wink as I grab my bag. I follow him out of the bus, our steps syncing up easily.

As we walk side by side, I sneak glances at his profile.

“Thanks, Dax,” I murmur, sincerity weaving through my words. “For doing this.”

He doesn’t look at me, but his response is quick, almost automatic. “Yeah, well, don’t mention it.”

The engine hums a low, soothing melody as Dax navigates the streets with ease.

I bask in the comfortable silence, letting the soft leather of the passenger seat cradle me.

“You could have had the doctor come to you,” he points out.

I shrug. “I don’t like that privileged stuff.”

He stays silent.

“Nice place,” I comment as we pull into the parking lot of a modern building exuding an air of understated elegance. Its facade has clean lines and a welcoming glow from the windows.

Dax grunts in response, shutting off the ignition before turning to face me with those piercing hazel eyes. “Come on,” he says, and there’s a gentleness beneath the gruffness that I’m starting to recognize as him trying.

We stride through the front doors together, my boots clicking rhythmically against the polished floor. The receptionist greets us with a warm smile, her eyes flicking between us with a hint of knowing. “Welcome. You can go straight through to Dr. Harris’ office. He’s ready for you. ”

“Thank you,” I beam back, the nerves in my stomach doing a little dance. Dax leads the way down the corridor, his broad shoulders set in a way that tells me he’s on high alert.

The door swings open without a knock, revealing a man who must be Dr. Harris. He has a kind face framed by glasses that slip slightly down his nose as he looks up from his papers. “ve Hart? Nice to meet you.”

“Dr. Harris,” I greet, my voice steady despite the whirlwind inside me. I perch on the edge of the plush chair while Dax takes up residence beside me, his posture rigid.

“Is this your alpha? Would you like him here for this consultation?” Dr. Harris asks.

Dax stiffens at my side.

I try not to react. Dax never asked; he just followed me here. He’s not my alpha, so I don’t know how to respond, but this affects him too.

“He can stay,” I say simply.

“We’re here to talk about suppressants,” Dax cuts to the chase, his fingers drumming a silent beat on his thigh.

“Of course,” the doctor nods, folding his hands on the desk. “Why are you looking to go on suppressants?”

“I’ve been having heat spikes, but my heat isn’t due for another month,” I explain.

He glances at Dax. “And are there new alphas in your life?”

Dax crosses his arms but doesn’t respond for me.

“Yes, scent matches, too.”

“Scent matches can bring on a shorter heat we sometimes refer to as a mini heat. It shouldn’t affect your regular heat. I would suggest you stay off suppressants as they can have unwanted side effects, and you go through your mini heat with your new alphas. ”

My pulse quickens. Suddenly, the room feels warmer and smaller.

“That won’t work,” I reply, my gaze flickering to Dax. His jaw is clenched tight. “I’m on tour and have people relying on me.”

“Then we can start a suppressant that you can stop when it’s time for your heat,” the doctor says simply.

“Do we need to worry about the side effects? Because her health needs to come first,” Dax asks, his voice low and commanding.

“One round should be fine. Extended use is when we become concerned for the omega,” he tells Dax before turning back to me. “, these suppressants will help, but I must emphasize—they aren’t a foolproof solution. It would be best if you exercised caution at all times. The ones we’ve developed are quite effective but not infallible. You’ll need to be cautious, especially around potential scent matches.”

He hands me the prescription, his gaze earnest over the rim of his glasses.

“Got it,” I say, taking the bottle from him.

“What about birth control? Do you need anything?” The doctor asks, once again making Dax stiffen next to me.

I block out his emotions and focus. “I got the shot before I went on tour, so I am covered.”

“Then, I think we are all set here.”

We walk out of the office, the click of the door shutting behind us, marking the end of one daunting conversation and the beginning of silence.

“Hey,” I chirp, turning to Dax, my hair bouncing as I try to shake off the unease. “How about we do something fun? Y’know, to take the edge off? ”

His brow arches.

“Something that’ll help you work out some of that constant aggression,” I add, tossing him a playful wink.

Dax’s lips twitch, a hint of a reluctant smile threatening to break through his grumpy facade. “And what did you have in mind?”

“Let’s keep it a surprise,” I quip, my heart hammering with a mix of excitement and nerves. I have the perfect idea—one that’s bound to get our blood pumping.

“Fine,” he concedes, and I can tell by the gleam in his eyes that curiosity has piqued his interest. “But we have to be back in time for the show tonight.”

“Trust me,” I assure him, grinning from ear to ear as we make our way back to the car. “Of course, I wouldn’t miss the show. It will be fun.”

“Everything with you is fun, Hart,” he mutters, and even though the words are gruff, the affectionate undertone isn’t lost on me.

“Damn right,” I shoot back, the sparks of attraction and desire lighting up the spaces between us, warming me against the chill of concern that lingers at the back of my mind.

I give him directions that I pull up on my phone without revealing our destination.

“Okay, brace yourself for the grand reveal,” I announce as we approach the nondescript building nestled between a row of bustling shops and cafes. The neon sign above reads ‘Axe Appeal,’ flickering with the promise of adrenaline and excitement.

Dax raises an eyebrow, his hazel eyes scanning the facade. “We’re throwing axes? Seriously?”

“Yep,” I reply, popping the ‘p’ with a grin. “You need to let off steam. I can’t think of anything better than hurling sharp objects at a target.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes, pushing open the door for me. “Lead the way, .”

Inside, the air is charged with the sounds of metal clanging and triumphant cheers. I glance over at Dax, whose gaze is locked on the axes whirling through the air, and I can practically see his inner alpha rising to the challenge.

“I had Riley call and book us a private room so no one would see us,” I say, leading the way to a room in the back.

“Smart.”

It’s a cozy space with wooden targets and a rack of axes that glint under the overhead lights.

“Ever done this before?” I ask, picking up an axe and testing its weight in my hand.

“Can’t say I have,” Dax admits, mirroring my actions. “But how hard can it be?”

“Famous last words,” I tease, approaching the marked line. I take a deep breath, feeling Dax’s intense gaze on me. With a flick of my wrist, I send the axe spinning toward the target, where it lands with a satisfying thunk.

“Clearly you have,” Dax mutters.

“Your turn, grumpy.” I step aside, gesturing grandly to the target.

Dax exhales, rolling his shoulders back before launching the axe. It thuds into the wood, not quite center, but damn impressive for a first try.

“Looks like we’ve got a competition brewing,” I say, the air between us crackling with something more electric than rivalry.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replies, offering me a rare smile that makes my heart do a backflip.

“Next round, then?” I ask, the challenge clear in my voice.

“Bring it on,” Dax answers, determination etched in every line of his body.

As we take turns hurling axes, the rest of the world fades away until it’s just the two of us, lost in the thrill of the game.

With each whirling axe that hits its mark, I can’t help the whoops of excitement that escape me. The thrill is infectious, and even Dax, with his usual clouds of broodiness, starts to break into rare chuckles.

“See? It’s not so bad to let loose,” I say, my voice light and teasing as I retrieve our axes for another round.

“Guess you’re a good influence on me,” Dax admits, and there’s something warm in his hazel eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Only took a bunch of flying axes for you to admit it,” I retort playfully, handing him his weapon.

“Watch and learn,” he says, stepping up to the line with newfound ease. He throws, and the axe slices through the air, embedding itself dead center.

“Okay, okay, no need to get cocky,” I laugh, shaking my head. But deep down, I’m buzzing with pride.

He’s one sexy alpha while he’s showing off.

I immediately cut that line of thought off. I promised not to read into things, and he’s just holding up his end of the deal.

Our turns blur together, an easy rhythm developing between us. His grumpy edges seem to soften with each successful throw. Each shared laugh chipping away at the walls he’s built so high. It’s like watching the sun peek through storm clouds, and I find myself basking in the warmth of his smiles.

We go for one final round, side by side, our movements syncing.

When we release our axes together, they hit the target in unison, a perfect mirrored pair.

“Look at that,” Dax says, his voice low and laced with something I can’t quite name as we walk to retrieve them.

“Perfect harmony,” I reply, our fingers brushing as we pull the axes free.

For a moment, we simply stand there, locked in a gaze that feels like it’s diving into the very core of me. His hand hovers near mine, the air charged with the possibility of touch. Dax’s eyes are soft now, a contrast to the usual stormy seas I’ve grown accustomed to navigating. There’s a vulnerability there, a silent question that makes my breath catch.

“…” he starts, and I hear the faintest tremor in his voice.

“Yeah?” I whisper back, aware of how close we are and how every instinct in my body pulls me towards him.

“Thanks for this… for today.” His words are simple, yet they carry the weight of something more.

“Anytime, Dax,” I say honestly.

As Dax and I leave the axe-throwing place, the cool night air brushes against my skin.

“Don’t expect this to last long.” He nudges me gently with his shoulder, and I stumble a bit, only for his hand to shoot out and steady me. His touch is warm and electrifying, sending jolts of awareness through me.

“Of course not,” I tease, looking up at him as we walk. “Will it last until we get back to the bus?”

“Maybe,” he concedes, giving me a half-smile that does funny things to my heart. It’s so rare and beautiful, like witnessing the first crack of dawn after a long, dark night.

We drive home in silence and reach the tour bus .

“Today was… unexpected,” Dax admits, sinking into one of the plush seats. I don’t hesitate to join him. Our thighs brush, and neither of us moves away.

His cinnamon roll scent surrounds us.

“Good unexpected or bad unexpected?” I ask, tilting my head to catch his gaze.

“Definitely good,” he replies, and my stomach flutters.

“Me too,” I whisper, feeling bold under his intense stare. “I didn’t know you could let your guard down like that.”

“Neither did I.” His voice is a low rumble, and it feels like we’re sharing secrets meant only for each other.

We sit there, side by side, his gaze holding mine.

The bus is quiet, save for the occasional creaks and groans of its resting frame. In this hushed atmosphere, I’m acutely aware of Dax’s presence—his warmth, his scent, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

I can’t help but blush under his gaze. Daxon Grey, the man who usually has a scowl etched onto his face, is looking at me like I’ve hung the stars. And it’s not just the flattery that gets to me—it’s the raw honesty in his expression, the way he seems to be seeing me for the first time.

My fingertips graze his skin, and I feel a jolt of electricity. He leans into the touch, a small sigh escaping him.

Before I can think better of it, I lean in, drawn by the magnetic pull of his presence. Dax tilts his head, mirroring my actions, and our breaths mingle. Just as our lips are about to meet in a kiss that promises to be as thrilling as the rest of our day…

“Honey, I’m home!” The voice booms through the quiet, and I jerk back, turning to see the rest of the band filing into the lounge, grins plastered on their faces .

Fuck! I can’t break my promise to Dax! I’m so stupid that I almost did.

“Nothing, you missed absolutely nothing,” I grumble, though my racing heart begs to differ. Beside me, Dax lets out an annoyed growl.

Probably that I just threw myself at him.

The other three look between us, but I push past them.

“We need to get to sound check!”

And I run out of there like a coward.