Page 119 of Even Beneath the Stars

“Or maybe a financial planner,” Cam deadpans, barely looking up as he scrolls. “Because if this keeps going the way it’s going, we’re gonna need one.”

I exhale sharply. The day after that TikTok hit two million, my phoneexploded. Three A&R reps—basically talent scouts—called within hours of each other. Then a talent manager. A few booking agents. Two publicists.

And I am not built for this level of chaos.

Cam nearly dropped his coffee when I called him about the first A&R rep. Now, we’re all huddled around his kitchen counter, our screens lighting up faster than we can process.

“What’s the number at now?” Tyler asks.

Cam refreshes his screen. “Seven million, five hundred seventy-two thousand, eight hundred twelve.”

Liam makes a strangled sound and shoves a hand through his hair. “What thehellis happening?”

Tyler leans in. “We’re gonna be rock stars. That’s what’s happening.”

“OrXave’sgonna be a rockstar,” Liam teases. “And we’re gonna be his backup dancers.”

“Jesus, shut up,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction. Because even though this band has totally been a team effort so far, it’s my face plastered all over those viral videos. My voice people are reacting to.

Not sure how I feel about that.

Cam gasps suddenly. “What the—” He looks up from his phone. “Holycrap!Did you see who just commented on the video?”

“Who?” I’m still wading through thousands of notifications.

“FreakingJasper Quinn.”

Liam freezes. “TheJasper Quinn?”

“Frontman ofThe Fallouthimself.”

“Are you messing with us right now?” Tyler breathes.

Cam flips his screen around, showing the comment:Haunting in the best way[fire emoji]

Liam grabs my shoulders. “Xave. Your voice just gotJasper Quinn’sstamp of approval. Do youget how insane that is?”

I nod, but I don’t think Idoget it. None of this feels real. Last week, I was worried about a chemistry test and whether I’d croak on stage at the Foundry. Now I’ve got record labels sniffing around and musicians I’ve idolized for years sliding into my DMs.

Cam leans against the cabinets. “Alright, so what’s the game plan? Are we calling these A&R guys back?”

Tyler smirks. “Maybe we should take a meeting on theSalt Veinprivate jet.”

Cam throws a cheese puff at him. “We don’t even haveband fundsyet, dumbass.”

Liam grins. “Rockwell’salready got the jet.”

I roll my eyes. The guys hardly bring up my financial situation, or ask questions or dig or anything the way most people do once they find out who I am. That’s the thing about true die-hard musicians, I think. They might joke about making millions and the jet-setting lifestyle, but ultimately, nothing truly trumps their passion for the music itself. They geek out over that more than the money. Or fame. Or girls. It’s partly what I love about these guys.

“Hey, maybe wewillbe doing that world tour,” Tyler grins.

My stomach twists, excitement battling with something heavier.World tour.The words make my pulse spike, and not entirely in a good way.

Performing every night in a different city. Constant motion. Being away for months.

I swallow hard. It’s the first time I’ve let myself think past the initial thrill ofholy shit, people like my musictowhat does this actually mean?

Iwantthis. It’s beyond anything I’ve ever dreamed of—being able to do something large-scale with the thing I love doing the most.

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