Tilting her head to the side, Holly’s eyes brightened. “Well, you’re here,” she pointed out with a wave of her hands. “Surely, some part of you must have thought you had a chance.”
“Braxton was headhunted,” Houston interrupted before Braxton, who was tongue-tied and unsure of how much to reveal, could think of what to say. “She didn’t find us. We found her.”
“Incredible. So the question must be asked. Why her?” Holly blurted.
I felt Braxton tense next to me.
“Excuse me?” Loren asked, tuning in for what was likely the first time. Even to the most forgiving ears, Holly’s question had sounded condescending.
“I-I just mean with all the talent out there, most of whom are either recognized or acclaimed, there must have been a special reason you went with someone unknown.”
“I believe you just answered your own question, Hillary.”
“Holly.”
Loren blinked at her, not bothering to acknowledge his mistake. What he did confess was something that made Braxton stop breathing. “She’s special.”
I wasn’t sure if his statement or the missing sarcasm surprised me the most.
“How so?” Holly inquired.
Squinting, I turned her question over in my mind before deciding for her sake that she was simply curious and not challenging Loren’s claim.
“To start, it would be pretty hard to find someone willing to learn after being told a thousand times how perfect they are,” Loren answered without missing a beat. “Baby fawn is a sponge. She soaks up everything we give, and the wetter we get her, the more she takes.”
I didn’t have to see the smirk on Loren’s face to know he’d meant that in more ways than one. Luckily, Holly was too busy scribbling down everything we threw at her to analyze our words.
“She defies,” I blurted, causing them all to look my way. I only had eyes for Braxton as she stared up at me, her brown eyes bright with emotion. I noticed her nostrils flaring, not in anger but in response to something teasing her senses. Her brows dipped a moment later as if she didn’t recognize whatever it was. “She defies not just us but anyone willing to suppress her. Everything Bound has, we’ve all contributed—our lyrics, our melodies, every single bit. We chose Braxton because she’s willing to look beyond what’s been put in front of her.” Braxton smiled softly at me, and I found myself grinning back, forgetting where we were. It was that easy to get lost in her.
“Anyone can mimic art that already exists,” Houston spoke, stealing her focus from me. I made my fingers ball when I nearly reached out to grip her chin and force her attention back on me. I’d never been this greedy. “That’s not a testament of talent. She’s unknown, yes, but she’s far from unworthy.”
A rare blush warmed Braxton’s cheeks, and then she quickly looked down so that we wouldn’t have a chance to notice.
Too late.A month after the interview, and I was once again questioning my choices. It all began last weekend when I told Houston I wouldn’t be available to rehearse. It had been harder to convince Houston than my actual boss to give me the weekend off, and only when I finally confessed the reason I couldn’t be at his beck and call.
I’d driven to Faithful and willingly suffered through Mass so that my family wouldn’t find out from someone else that I was going on tour with Bound.
I might as well have announced that I’d joined a cult.
As prepared as I thought I was for their disapproval, my parents had topped anything I could have imagined.
There are five stages of grief, and Amelia and David Fawn had only made it to stage two. They’d briefly reached the third when they offered to pay for a lawyer after I brought up the contract I’d already signed. Then they backtracked from bargaining and remained steadfast at anger. The worse part had been the split moment when I was tempted to take them up on their offer.
You can still back out. There’s hope. There’s a chance.
Except, the hope I felt burning in my gut wasn’t for breaking free of Bound.
It was liberating Bound.
I hated Oni for stirring that need in my gut and making it my burden to bear. I’ve been inside the lions’ den. I’ve seen the carnage that no one on the outside could see. Something was ripping them apart at the very seam of who they are—Houston, Loren, Jericho—each different in their own way but incomplete when apart.
I thought back to the words I knew would be the last I’d speak to my family for a long time, possibly forever.
“I don’t want out. I’m going to see this through.”
“See what through?” my father demanded. “This is unacceptable, Braxton.”
“Bound,” I whispered. “I’m going to see them through.”
Fast forward to Monday, and I was left wondering if I’d imagined the interview. Houston, Loren, and Jericho hadn’t just convinced that reporter they respected and needed me—they’d convinced me too. Had it been all for show?