Page 74 of Knot My Band: Part One
“Oh!” Oli pops up, checking the time. “You’re right, Dax. We should be there any minute.”
She pushes the curtains, pulling them back to look at the skyline of Philadelphia.
The bus comes to a stop, and someone knocks.
Trevor, our manager, asks, “Can I come in?”
While he talks about logistics for today, an idea comes to me.
“Another night in Miami,” I say, words clipped. “Add it to the schedule.”
Everyone freezes, turning to look at me.
“You want to add a night to the end of the tour?” Oli asks, frowning.
Jack, Aiden, and Chase are all staring at me with wide eyes, knowing what’s in Miami.
Trevor whistles. “Dax, that’s not exactly a small ask. We book venues out way earlier than this.”
“Can it work?” I press on because if I hesitate now, I might lose the nerve to do what needs to be done.
Trevor rubs at his temple, glancing back at Oli, and I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. “Why, Dax?” he asks, and there’s something like concern in his voice, but also curiosity.
All eyes are on me, but I keep my reasons locked down tight. “Just… make it happen,” I growl, frustration simmering.
Jack steps up. “It’s important to Dax. We would be grateful if there’s any way to make it work.”
“It’ll sell out and be more money, right? It’s a win,” Chase adds.
It feels good for them to have my back.
I need to be there for them more.
Trevor turns to Oli, who looks pale. Did I do something wrong again? Maybe I should have asked her in private before bringing it up to Trevor.
“Oli, I don’t know if this is a good-” Trevor starts.
Oli cuts him off. “It will be fine. Go ahead andbook it.” But she doesn’t sound certain. She meets my eye. “Anything Dax needs.”
“Fine,” Trevor grunts, irritated before leaving.
I nod, a barely perceptible lift of my chin.
I’ll deal with my past in Miami, and then I can be the alpha Oli deserves.
Oli
PACK ‘EM UP GOSSIP COLUMN
ARE THE EDGE AND OLI HART DATING?
May 19th
Istrum the guitar with my fingertips. Across from me, Aiden’s fingers dance across the keyboard, teasing out a melody that syncs with my rhythm.
“Try that again,” I suggest, nodding toward a particularly haunting progression he just played. He gives me a shy smile, more at home with his keys than with words, and complies. His shyness is endearing, and I find myself drawn to it, the way he allows himself to get lost in the music, almost as if he’s revealing parts of his soul with each keystroke.
This is our time to really connect.
