Chapter 8

William

Our after party's got that low-key craziness to it—laughter, chatter, the clink of glasses filling the air like a live wire buzzing in the background. It's the kind of gathering that comes with the end of a big show, where the adrenaline's starting to ebb, but everyone's still riding high on the rush of being alive.

Normally, I'd be caught up in the whirlwind, loud, stupid, teasing, maybe even taking shots to keep the energy up. But tonight? Tonight, I'm just on the edge, perched on the sidelines, watching as the rest of the guys take over. The others are letting loose—Killian's singing something way too high for him, Rye's trying to outdo him with his own rendition of some throwback jam, and Jax is mouthing the lyrics and pretending to be in tune when he's really just there to make everyone turnt.

I'm not participating in the nonsense. Usually, I'm just keeping the beat for the guys, tapping my foot, clapping my hands, the rhythm in my blood grounding me even as I'm stuck in the mess. I'm here, but I'm not fully there. Not until I'm behind the drum kit, letting my hands fall into familiar patterns. But the karaoke mic? Nah, not my scene. I'll keep the tempo, let them butcher one karaoke song after another. At least, they're having fun. And that's what matters. They're here, together, doing what we do best—freaking out, making memories.

"Alright, Whip," Rye calls out between sips of beer, "Your turn! What song are you picking?"

I shake my head, grinning. "Never me, man. You guys have the stage. I'll just keep the beat."

Brenna's next to me, her voice light and teasing. "Come on, Whip. Don't be shy."

I wink at her, raising my hands in a mock surrender. "I'll keep my talents to myself."

Killian's over by the karaoke mic, pulling on his usual performance charm. "Alright, it's Aerosmith's 'Walk This Way'—Rye, you take the rap part. Libby and I will do the other half."

I roll my eyes and grab my sticks. "Go on. Don't make me regret this."

Everyone's laughing now, catching that familiar energy they bring to the stage, even though we're nowhere near it. I tap out a rhythm on my knees to match their silliness, smiling despite myself. This? This is fun in its own way.

After a while, the laughter begins to lose its edge, and I find myself needing a little air. It's not that I'm not enjoying myself, but at some point, the scene gets too much. It's like I need to reset, to find my quiet space again before I can jump back in.

"Where are you going?" Rye asks as I stand up.

"Just gonna grab some ice from the hotel bar," I say, though I know I could have room service bring it up. I just need a moment away from everything.

I pass through the lobby and head toward the second floor, the stillness welcoming me, though it's a strange kind of peace. I need to recharge. It's like a pressure cooker inside of me, the weight of it all. But the minute I step away, even if it's just for a few minutes, I can breathe again.

My feet carry me down the corridor, and I find myself wandering, not caring where I go. I end up outside a door that's slightly ajar, the sound of something familiar drifting out—piano keys.

I peek inside. A grand piano sits against the far wall, polished and inviting. Without much thought, I step in, the silence settling around me like a soft blanket. I sit down on the bench, my fingers itching to touch the keys. And when they do, it's like I'm unlocking something I didn't know was there.

And then I hear footsteps behind me.

I don't need to turn around to know who it is. Jules. She was never one for the spotlight, just like me. So, I'm not surprised when she steps into the room, silently watching me.

I keep playing, letting the keys guide me through the tension of the night, the adrenaline. I'm not thinking—just feeling. And I can tell she's listening, too.

I'm not sure what pulls us into this moment, but I don't want to let it go.

I pause, glancing up at her as she stands a few meters away, a peculiar expression on her face.

"Yeah?" I ask, but it's not really a question. It's more like I'm wondering if she knows what I need right now, even without me saying it.

She watches me for a moment longer, and then she steps closer, her eyes locking with mine as she takes a seat on the edge of the piano bench. We're both quiet for a second, before she speaks.

Her gaze is on the keys. "You're always stepping out like this, huh?" she asks, her voice soft.

I stop playing, but only for a moment. "I never used to," I admit. "I just... need to recharge."

Jules smirks. "That's because you're getting old."

I let out a dramatic gasp. "Old? Excuse you. I prefer 'seasoned.' Like a fine wine. Or, I don't know, a really expensive cheese." I pause, frowning. "Wait. That makes it worse."

Jules laughs, bright and unrestrained, and damn if it isn't one of my favorite sounds. It's the kind of laugh that makes my chest feel lighter, like I did something right just by existing in this moment with her.

Then she speaks again, and her voice breaks through the stillness. "You paid attention to those boys earlier."

I stop, my fingers stilling on the keys as the interaction with the fans at the red carpet comes rushing back. I try to dismiss it with a shrug. "It wasn't a big deal."

But Jules doesn't let me off that easy. "No, Whip. It was kind. You gave them a moment. You encouraged them."

I feel a pang of something I can't quite name at the mention of the boys—their music, their raw talent.

"I believe in that," I say, my voice quieter now. "In following your drive. Kill John was once just like them. We all started from somewhere, you know?" I pause, letting the weight of my words hang in the air between us. "My parents are successful lawyers, but I never saw that life for myself. I didn't want to just follow the path laid out for me. And Kill John... it gave me the freedom to do this. To create."

"How did your parents feel about you being in a rock band?"

"They hated it," I say, because there's no point in sugarcoating it. "Especially my mum. She lost her damn mind when I told her. Tried to bribe me out of it—said I could do music, sure, but only if it was classical." I huff out a laugh, shaking my head at the memory. "Like that was ever gonna happen."

Jules watches me, waiting, so I keep going. "She threw a fit when I didn't cave right away. So eventually, I made a deal—took opera lessons for a few years to keep the peace. But I still played with Kill John on the side, kept it quiet. Pulled straight As, stayed in the top five percent of my class, did everything right so they wouldn't suspect a damn thing." I glance at her, smirking. "Worked like a charm. They had no idea."

Jules gapes at me, clearly appalled. "Hold up—you can sing opera? No way. Prove it."

I chuckle, pushing up from my seat. "You doubt me, love?"

Checking that the door is closed—no chance I'm giving the guys ammo to roast me for eternity—I warm up my throat and launch into a piece I used to practice all the time. Full tenor, dramatic hand gestures and all, because if I'm doing this, I'm doing it right.

Jules bursts into laughter, clapping like I just brought the house down. "Bravo! That was absolutely incredible!"

I give her a deep, obnoxious bow before flopping back down beside her at the piano. "Told you."

Jules tilts her head, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "So what about now? Are your parents happy with all the success in music?"

I snort. "They still don't approve. Every now and then, they'll call me up just to bitch about it—tell me I'm wasting my potential, try to lure me back into law. Hell, they even tried to send police after me."

Her eyes go wide. "What the fuck?"

"Right?" I huff out a laugh. "I'm telling you, they're crazy." But then I shake my head, the grin fading just a bit. "They keep telling me I'm wasting my potential, but let's be real—they don't see any to begin with. Just a bunch of criticism, moving the damn bar higher every time. No matter what I do, it's never enough. I'm never enough for them."

"No, Whip—"

"Doesn't matter, though. It's not happening. I'm never going to pursue law. Kill John is my calling. Always has been. They'll just have to deal with it."

Jules nods, her gaze softening, pondering. "I get that. Sometimes, I wonder too, if I'm enough for this. Like, when you asked about Kill John retiring...what then? Can I make it out there on my own?"

Her voice cracks slightly, and for a moment, I see the vulnerability she usually hides so well. I don't hesitate.

"You're never alone, Jules. Even without Kill John, you'll have us. You'll have everyone on your side."

She looks at me, her eyes searching, like she's not sure if she believes it. "Even Scottie?" she asks, the corner of her lips turning up.

I snicker. "Especially Scottie. He'd move mountains for his people. You'll always have him, too."

Jules looks at me for a moment too long, her gaze soft, like she's seeing something she hasn't before. The air between us ignites, just the tiniest bit, but I feel it—like the world is holding its breath. Her eyes linger on mine, something there that wasn't there before, something unspoken. Maybe it's just the quiet, the way the distance from the guys lets us breathe a little easier.

But whatever it is, I catch it. She doesn't look away right away, and there's something soft in her expression—warm, open. Inviting in a way that makes me want to know everything there is to know about Jules.

I lean in slightly, voice easy. "What about your family? How do they feel about all this?"

She shrugs, a small smile playing at her lips. "They're supportive. Always have been. But they used to worry—a lot. The entertainment industry is so damn unstable, and they weren't sure if I'd actually make a career out of it." She lets out a short laugh. "My older brothers are in tech, so my parents kind of expected me to go the STEM route too. Thought I'd follow the 'stable' path."

I smirk. "Yeah? Can't really picture you in a lab coat."

She snorts. "Right? Me neither. But once I found my footing, they relaxed. Let me do my own thing."

I nudge her shoulder. "Hope they know they raised a badass. 'Cause you've done a hell of a lot for us, Jules. We're lucky to have you."

She blinks, looks away, and I swear, the air between us gets thick. She says, "Thanks, Whip," but it's not the same. It's heavier, as if there's more to it than just words.

I push down the feeling that rises up, the urge to say something that could calm this moment. But I don't. Instead, I return to the piano, fingers grazing the keys, letting the simple melody wrap around me like a shield. Even so, the sensation lingers, I can't quite shake this subtle feeling I'm experiencing.

I add a few more notes, a few more words, almost without thinking.

What am I here for, what am I fighting for?

Lost in the commotion, waiting to be more...

Jules watches intently as I test more lyrics, simple notes filling the space. I can tell she's really listening, every word hitting its mark.

"That's beautiful," she says quietly.

I shrug, not quite knowing how to respond. "It's just... what I feel. What I'm thinking of now."

Her smile widens. "That's exactly why it's so special. Your music isn't just sound—it's your heart. That's what makes it so amazing. You're amazing."

For a moment, it's like the world stops turning. I glance back at her, feeling something stir deep inside me again.

I break the silence, trying to lighten the moment. "Better get back. They'll think we're up to something dirty."

Jules chuckles, standing up. "Yeah. Of course."

We walk back into the room, the bucket of ice clinking in my hand. The party's got a different vibe now—but still crazy. The energy's thick in the air, the way it gets when everyone's loosened up and drunk.

Brenna's got her phone hooked up to the speakers, playing whatever random Top 50 tracks the app decided on. Jax and Killian are on their solo karaoke moment, half-drunk and belting out some classic rock song that's probably barely recognizable at this point. Stella, Libby and Sophie are tucked away in the corner, champagne glasses in hand, the soft clink of glass punctuating their low conversation. Scottie's passed out on the couch, snoring lightly, and Brenna and Rye are off somewhere probably fucking around.

I set the bucket on the counter, trying not to draw attention. Jules moves further into the room, taking in the scene. I'm about to call out to her when a familiar beat starts playing through the speakers, rhythmic and heavy—

It's my song.

My heart drops into my stomach. I freeze, my mind trying to catch up to the reality of what I'm hearing. Jules pales next to me, the color draining from her face in an instant. I keep my expression neutral, but inside, I'm torn between shock and confusion. How the hell is this playing?

Before it can play more than a few bars, I make my move, heading straight for Brenna's phone like it's my lifeline. I swipe at the screen, changing the track before anyone can react.

Jax looks over at me, his eyes half-lidded from the booze. "Yo, why'd you change it?"

I shrug, keeping my voice light, cool. "I'm in the mood for some ABBA."

Killian's head jerks up from his beer, giving me a confused look. "ABBA?!"

"Yeah, ABBA," I say, a faux grin pulling at my lips. "'Voulez-vous,' let's get this party started again, huh?"

As the upbeat song pulses through the room, I start tapping out the rhythm on the counter with my hands, letting the beat of the song take over. The room fills with energy as people pick up the energy, the party turning back up to full volume. People get louder, drinks flow freer, and laughter fills the air.

But Jules and I, we're not caught up in the chaos like the others. I can see the question written all over her face, and I know I'm feeling the same thing—what the hell is my song doing on a Top 50 playlist? How the absolute fucking fuck?

I drum harder, trying to push the thought out of my head, but it sticks there, just beneath the surface, like a shadow I can't shake.