Page 1 of Knot My Band: Part One
Oli
OMEGA BUZZ GOSSIP COLUMN
OLI HART TOUR SET TO START IN TWO WEEKS- HER BIGGEST TOUR YET!
March 18th
I’m in the middle of practicing one of my most popular songs when the door slams open, interrupting me.
“Olive!” Trevor Davis, my manager, shouts with a red face.
The note on my guitar cuts off with a clang before I set it down and move toward a stressed-out Trevor.
“What is it? You never interrupt my practices.”
His anxiety seeps into me until I’m gnawing on my lip so hard I might make it bleed. As an omega, I’m sensitive to the emotions around me, which can be exhausting. Trevor is radiating stress. It’s stifling.
“They’re leaving!” he grits out, pacing the floor.
The instinct to calm him down overwhelms me until I reach out to stop his movements.
“Trevor, you’re worrying me. What’s going on?” I say softly.
“Liam, Henry, Lucas, and Leo aren’t coming on tour with you,” Trevor admits.
Shock cuts through me. “My band? They’re ditching me right before the tour? It’s only two weeks away!”
Now I’m freaking out. My breathing becomes short pants until the corners of my vision go black.
I pace the length of the rehearsal room, my boots clicking against the polished floor in a rhythm that’s too erratic to be a beat. The news is still ringing in my ears. Every instinct I have is telling me to find the positive in this, but I can’t seem to shake off the panic.
“Oli,” Trevor says, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in here freaking out. I was furious, not worried. You know I’ve got this, right? We’ve hit snags before and always come out on top.”
I stop mid-stride, turning to face him. He stands there, the embodiment of composure once again with his short-cropped gray hair. Trevor’s confidence is infectious, but it’s a balm that doesn’t quite seep deep enough to soothe the raw edges of my nerves.
“Sure, Trevor,” I reply, trying to match his assurance with a half-cocked grin. “But snagging a whole new band in two weeks? That’s not exactly easy.” My hands gesture wildly, mirroring the inner turmoil that’s threatening to spill over.
He crosses the room in a few strides, the frown that seems etched onto his face softening just a touch. “You’re Oli Hart,” he reminds me as if my own name should be the pep talk I need. “Your voice could turn a pack of stray cats into a symphony. Give me a couple of days, and I’ll find you a band that can keep up with you.”
His words are meant to fortify, but the thought of stepping out without the familiar faces behind me, without the band that’s been my backbone, is daunting. I love them. Why arethey leaving me?
“Two weeks, Trevor,” I murmur, biting down on my lip. “That’s all we have. Two weeks to find a group that gets my music, that gets me. And then it’s not just about playing the notes. There’s chemistry, timing…”
“Hey,” he interjects, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that halts my spiraling thoughts. “I’ve seen you create magic with less. You make every performance look like it’s what you were born to do because, hell, it is.”
I blow out a breath, feeling the pressure ease just a fraction. Trevor has never let me down before; why would he start now?
“Alright, alright,” I concede. “Do your thing, manager man. Work your magic.”
He nods, the corners of his mouth ticking up ever so slightly. “You’ll have your epic show, Oli. I’ll comb through every hole-in-the-wall and high-end studio if I have to. We’re going to find them.”
“Okay,” I say, a grin breaking across my face. “I’m trusting you on this one, Trevor. But no more grumpy grandpa vibes, alright? We need to pump up the excitement here!”
“Grumpy grandpa?” He arches an eyebrow, but there’s a spark of amusement in his eyes now. “You’ll eat those words when you see what I pull off.”
“Promise?” I tease, my restless energy now morphing into anxiety-filled anticipation. If anyone could handle a challenge like this, it would be us.
“Promise,” he affirms, pushing away from the counter with a renewed sense of purpose.
