Chapter 12

William

I'm early.

Too early, honestly, but there's no point in being anywhere else. My nerves are already frayed, and the calm of this empty room is the only thing that makes sense right now. I'm stretched out on this massive sofa, doing my best to block out everything, but it's impossible. My mind keeps drifting back to last night, to everything that happened with Jules.

I've never been the kind of guy to let my guard down, not really. But last night... She broke through it all. My caged walls. My stubborn resistance. My hidden heart. She found the key to it all. With a gentle nudge, she unlocked something inside me, something I didn't even know was there. The walls I'd carefully constructed, the ones I thought were strong enough to hold everything back, crumbled quietly, one soft breath at a time. I'm not broken—I'm just... exposed, in a way that feels real, feels true. I've given so much of myself to the band, to the stage, to the people I thought I was. But this? This is different. This is me, completely undone. And I didn't run. I didn't want to.

The way we came together last night... I can still feel the warmth of it, the way we moved like we were trying to carve out something real in the middle of all the chaos. Her lips on mine, soft at first, but then deep, hungry, like we were both starved for something we couldn't put into words. I don't know when we stopped, and honestly, I don't care. Every moment was wrapped up in that intense silence between us, the kind where all the stuff we weren't saying was louder than anything we could. And when we finally stopped, there wasn't a word spoken. Just this quiet understanding that we were in something we hadn't fully figured out yet.

I should've expected this, I guess, but I didn't. I never let anyone see me like this, never let them get close enough to even have a chance at breaking through. But I'm wide open now, and I don't feel like going back.

I can still feel her body, the way she settled against me afterward, like she knew where she belonged. It was something I didn't realize I needed until I had it. Her hair in my fingers, the way she sighed in her sleep, as though she was just as exhausted from it all as I was.

But now? Now I'm here, in a place I don't want to be—alone. I can't keep pretending. Not anymore. It's like the world's flipped upside down, and it hasn't even been twenty-four hours since I let the world see who I really am. William Dexter. Not Whip. And that's terrifying. It feels like a lifetime since I last saw the guys, even though it's only been a few days. But today? It's different. There's no going back. I'm not hiding behind Whip anymore, not hiding behind the music I've kept locked away.

I haven't even checked my socials. I don't need to. Jules's reaction told me everything I needed to know. That look she gave me when she saw it on her phone, when she saw the truth, the real me, out there for the world to pick apart. It hit me harder than anything else could have. She knows now, and she doesn't run. She's not scared or ashamed. But it's going to be different when I face the guys.

I throw an arm over my eyes, trying to block out the thoughts in my head. I can feel the weight of everything pressing in on me—the album, the secret, the vulnerability I've let go of. It's exhausting. My eyes are heavy, and I try to push it all down, to just exist in this moment of solitude before everything changes.

The footsteps are a welcome sound, something familiar in the midst of this whirlwind. The chatter reaches me first—gruff voices, easy chatter. It feels like it's been too long since I've heard it, even though it hasn't really been that long. But I can feel the difference in the air. I'm no longer the guy who's just here to play. I'm William, the guy who's exposed everything. The one who's put it all out there, for better or for worse.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes, adjusting to the light and the reality of it all. The door creaks open, and one by one, they filter in. My friends. My bandmates. The ones who've seen me at my worst, at my best. But never like this. Not like this.

I look at them, the words stuck in my throat. What do I say? What can I say? I'm not ready to explain it all, to answer the questions I can already see in their eyes. So, I go with something simple, something that feels safe. Something light.

"Morning."

The room goes silent for a moment as they stare at me. The words that had been swirling around in my head all night, all day, seem so distant now, like they're someone else's thoughts. It's not the same as being on stage, where everything is calculated, planned. This? This is uncharted.

Killian's eyes lock on me first, and his gaze is sharp, intense, like he's trying to cut through me, to get to the heart of whatever the hell I've done. His jaw tightens, and for a split second, I think he's going to say something. But instead, his voice comes out slow, controlled, laced with a bewilderment.

"Whip..." He drags my name out like he's trying to figure out what the hell just happened. "What the fuck?"

I stand taller, like I'm in the middle of a storm I'm not prepared for. I've been living with this album, with the secret of it, for months. I thought I could hide it. But now it's out there. The whole damn world can see my soul, laid bare. And for some reason, I still can't figure out how to handle that.

"I—" I swallow, the words sticky on my tongue. "I'm sorry."

It feels too simple, too small for the mess I've created. But I don't know what else to say. I should've told them sooner, should've trusted them with it from the start. But I couldn't. I didn't think they'd understand.

Jax crosses his arms, looking at me like he's trying to find the right words, his brows furrowed in an intense expression. Rye's face is set, his eyes calculating, as if he's trying to piece everything together. The silence stretches on, suffocating, until I feel the need to do something, anything, to show that I'm sorry.

Something clicks in my mind, a memory from my time in Asia, one of those small moments that I've tucked away. I hadn't thought about it in a long time, but now, with everything swirling in me, it feels like the only thing that makes sense.

Words never quite cut it, do they? They're always hollow, empty vessels trying to carry things too big for them. There's only so much you can say before it goes flat. I've known that for a while now, but I couldn't figure out why. Then I remember Japan, the way people communicated there. The gestures. The things left unsaid. There, a simple bow held more meaning than a thousand apologies. It was a gesture of respect, of humility, of quiet sorrow—everything that words could never quite capture.

I've spent so long trying to think of the words to make things right. But now I see. The words I've been carrying around are never going to be enough to show how sorry I am. How grateful I am. How raw and vulnerable I feel.

So I do what feels right. I bow my head. It's not just a gesture—it's everything I can't say. It's my apology. My understanding. My connection to them, all in that one quiet, simple act. I bow, because there's nothing more honest I can give them than this. No words to dress it up, no apologies that can fill the space. It's a moment of pure truth. Of finally showing up and letting my actions say what I can't.

"I didn't mean to worry you. Or trouble you," I say, quietly and unguarded. "I didn't mean to shut you all out."

The silence that follows my bow feels like it stretches for miles, suffocating. I hold my position, my head still low. I can feel their eyes on me—Killian's sharp, Jax's concern, Rye's unreadable. But there's no escape from the quiet, no hiding from the moment where everything I've kept hidden is finally out there for all of them to see.

I've stripped away my walls, let my emotions pour into music, and now I'm standing here exposed, waiting for them to process it all. To see if they're still going to be there when the dust settles.

And then, Killian's voice. It cuts through the air. "Lift your goddamn head up, Whip."

The command is harsh, but there's no anger in it. So, I do what he says, raising my head slowly, meeting his eyes.

His gaze is heavy, probing, as if he's trying to figure out if I've lost my mind or if this is really me. The storm behind his eyes is wild—frustration, confusion, concern, but also something softer, something almost protective. He exhales slowly, like he's wrestling with the pull between being pissed off and understanding what I'm trying to do.

"I thought you were full of shit, Whip," Killian says, his voice low but tight with emotion. "I thought you were just fucking around. But... you've been hiding this? You've been hiding you?"

I feel the weight of his words, and it crushes me a little. He's not wrong. I've hidden this side of myself for so long, kept it locked away in a room no one was ever allowed to open.

"I didn't think you'd care," I mutter, the words slipping out before I can stop them. "I didn't think anyone would."

Killian just looks at me, long enough that I brace for him to snap, to call me an idiot, to tell me I should've said something sooner. But he doesn't. His expression shifts, the sharpness in his eyes easing—not gone, just... different.

"Jesus, man," he exhales. "You never needed our permission to do your own thing. But you didn't have to keep it from us. From me."

I nod, my throat tight. "I'm sorry," I say again, voice barely above a whisper.

Before I can say anything else, I feel a sudden force, Rye's massive arms enveloping me in a bear hug. He doesn't give me a choice to back away, doesn't give me the option to refuse the warmth he's offering. And I don't want to. I let him hold me, let the mass of his body press against mine like he's trying to anchor me to the ground. His laugh rumbles deep in his chest, a sound of relief, of something unspoken between us.

"Damn, man, you really had us worried," he grunts, squeezing a little tighter before letting go.

I exhale, feeling something heavy lift from my shoulders. Rye's hug is a lifeline, a reminder that maybe I didn't mess everything up.

Jax steps in next, his grin more subdued than usual, his eyes glinting with something between admiration and disbelief. "Well, I'll be damned," he says, shaking his head slowly. "Whip, the man with the secret soul. Who would've thought?"

I chuckle, though it feels a little strangled. "Yeah, I guess I'm full of surprises."

Killian's stare finally softens as well, his expression still holding that edge, but underneath it, there's something that feels almost like approval. "You don't need to apologize, Whip," he mutters, a little quieter now. "But you do need to stop keeping shit from us. We're your fucking family. You got that?"

Scottie's been watching quietly from the side, arms crossed, his usual smirk softened into something a little more genuine. The kind of look that says he's trying to process something. "I never thought you had it in you," he says, breaking the silence. There's no mockery in his voice, just raw honesty. "But hell, that was some serious balls to just put yourself out there like that."

I laugh, the sound lighter now, more like myself. "Didn't really feel like I had a choice."

Scottie steps forward then, his eyes softening just enough to let me know he's not mad, that he's not disappointed. "I'm not saying I understand all of it," he adds, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But I can respect it. And I respect you for doing it."

I felt the love of all their words sink in. It's not about the music, not really. It's about us. The band. The family we've built, however fractured it may have seemed at times. I don't need to hide anymore. I've got them.

I glance around at them—Killian, Jax, Rye, Scottie—and for the first time in too damn long, the pressure doesn't feel like it's all on me. My chest loosens, breath rushing in where it's been stuck. We're in this together. At least, I think we are.

But then Jax catches my eye. There's something in his look, quiet but insistent, that twists my gut. He doesn't say a word, just tips his head toward the far side of the room, his meaning clear. Come on. Let's talk.

I follow him, legs heavy like I'm wading through mud, and his hand finds my arm. His grip is firm, not unkind, but there's no mistaking the resolve in the way he steers me. This isn't just a friendly chat. Not with the way his shoulders are set, each step deliberate.

We stop in the far corner, out of earshot of the others. He leans back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze pins me in place, and I shove my hands into my pockets, resisting the urge to shift under the scrutiny.

Jax doesn't speak right away. Instead, he studies me, calm and unreadable, his expression giving nothing away. But there's something in his eyes—something soft, something real—that's harder to face than anger would've been. He shakes his head slowly, like he's trying to make sense of me and failing.

It sends my stomach into a knot, the kind that says this is going to hit harder than I'm ready for.

"You know," he starts, his voice low, "I never thought I'd see the day."

My stomach twists harder. "What day?"

"This one," he says, nodding toward me. "The day you finally became truly honest with us." His words hit in a way I'm not prepared for, and I can't look at him. I glance down, rubbing the back of my neck like that'll somehow deflect the blow.

Jax isn't having it. "Nah, don't do that," he says, his tone sharper now. "Don't shrink away. Not after what you did. Releasing a full fucking album in secret and telling everyone it was you."

"What I did..." My voice feels like gravel, raw and uneven. "I don't even know if it was the right thing."

"It was," he says immediately, no hesitation, his voice steady and sure. "You think I don't get it? You think I don't know what it feels like to carry that weight? To hold back pieces of yourself because you're too scared of what'll happen if you let them out?"

His words dig deep, peeling back layers I didn't even know were exposed. I glance at him, and he's looking at me like he sees everything I'm too afraid to say.

"That album," he continues, his voice softening, "it's a fucking masterpiece, Whip. I'm not just saying that to stroke your ego. It's raw. Honest. Haunting as hell. And it's you. The real you. Not the guy we see onstage with the fake smiles and the jokes. It's the you you've been keeping locked away." He shakes his head again, his lips tugging into a small, almost reluctant smile. "And it's fucking brilliant."

I don't know what to say. Compliments have always made me uncomfortable, but this one feels different. Bigger. Heavier. I manage a nod, my throat too tight to form words.

Jax sighs like he's been carrying this for a while, like he knew we'd end up here eventually. Maybe he did. Maybe I did too. But that doesn't make it any easier.

"This might sound strange, but," he starts, voice rough, "it reminded me of the first time I sang again. After everything."

He doesn't have to spell it out. We both know what he means.

"When we came back on tour years ago, I thought it would break me," he continues. "Thought I'd stand up there and fall apart in front of everyone. But you know what I figured out?"

I shake my head, my throat tight.

"The only way out is through. The only way to survive is to let them see you. Not the version you think they want. Just you. All of you." He meets my eyes, steady and unflinching. "And that's what you did, man. You stood there and bled for them. For us. For yourself. That takes guts. Real fucking guts."

His words hit something deep in my chest, cracking me open in a way I don't know how to brace for.

Jax leans in, bracing his elbows on his knees. "You're one of the kindest people I know, Whip. And I know you put everyone else before yourself—every damn time. But you don't have to carry anything alone. We've got you. Always."

The breath I let out is shaky, my hands fisting at my sides before I force them to relax. "Jax..." I shake my head, trying to find the right words. "I should've been there for you. Back then." I swallow hard, my chest tight. "I didn't know what to say, didn't know how to help. And instead of trying, I just—" I exhale sharply. "I wasn't there when you needed us the most. And I fucking hate that."

Jax watches me, his face unreadable, and for a second, I think he's going to call me an idiot and brush it off. But he doesn't. Instead, he leans back, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"You wanna know the truth?" he says, voice quieter now. "It was bad. The worst." His eyes flick away, like he's remembering, before snapping back to mine. "But you not knowing what to do? That's not a crime. None of us did."

"Doesn't change the fact that I should've tried harder."

Jax tilts his head, considering. "Maybe," he allows. "But you didn't leave me behind, Whip. Not really." His lips twitch, but there's something raw in his expression. "You kept showing up, even when I didn't want you to. You played stupid games to distract me. Left me dumb voice memos. Sent me music you thought I'd like. Even if you didn't have the words, you never really left."

I let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through my hair. "Yeah, well you know. I don't do well with silence."

"No shit," Jax mutters, but his mouth quirks up, just a little.

Something inside me loosens, just enough to breathe again.

Jax claps a hand on my shoulder, gripping tight before letting go. "Just promise me something, alright?"

I nod, throat still too tight. "Yeah. Anything."

His gaze sharpens. "Let us be there for you. You're not alone, Whip. You never were."

The words settle deep, right in the center of my chest. I nod again, this time more certain. "Okay."

And just like that, he walks away, leaving me standing there with my heart in my throat and my head spinning. His words stay with me, echoing in the quiet corners of my mind.

The only way out is through.