Tokyo was nuts. Busy, crowded, loud and super fun, and the people were so polite. We spent two days just seeing the sights—usually through the tinted windows of a limo; being whisked from place to place, always entering through the back entrance. Seemed like a lot drama to me, but Myles took it seriously. We ate in fancy restaurants and simple little holes-in-the-wall, went to shows, nightclubs, and one night Myles even got me drunk enough on sake to do karaoke, which he then recorded and put up on his socials. Suddenly I had my own following and hashtag, and he showed me thousands of comments of people wanting to know who I was, and if I was going to be on the tour. Thousands of comments––I could barely get my mind around it.
He scrolled through them, and had to scroll for what seemed like forever, just so I could see how many there were.
It didn’t seem real.
I didn’t really believe it.
And then Canaan and Corin sent over another video, edited from more of the same footage, and this one was just Myles and me in a duet, with footage of us together. A lot of the footage was from when we did the duets at Badd Kitty. The video racked up hundreds of views within seconds of going live, millions within hours, and then it got picked up and spread around. The number of people who had seen it was higher than I could fathom.
The count was more than most of Myles’s band videos, including the ones he had Grammys for.
This was crazy…and exciting all at the same time.
But I couldn’t believe this was because of me––it didn’t seem real. Or right. I was no one. I’d done nothing. Sang a few songs into a mic, in a little studio in Alaska.
And now?
#Lexie&Myles was trending on Twitter.
Then, our two days of playtime in Tokyo was over. We showed up at the venue—the Tokyo Dome, a place with fifty thousand seats. Empty, for now. The stage was still being set up—lights, sound, effects––it was a whirlwind of activity. Once the sound was up, Myles and the guys settled into a sound check, found their marks on the stage, and then went through their set list.
The setup and rehearsals took a few days, but it was becoming a familiar routine for me—I’d sit side-stage, a bottle of water near me, watching the techs bustle and the guys play, stopping as they missed a note or messed up a chord or forgot a lyric. The day before the show, they went through the entire set from start to finish in a full dress rehearsal, necessary after more than two months off, to make sure the show went off without a hitch.
The last night, before the big show the next day, after their rehearsal, Myles sat down with me at the side of the stage.
He was sweaty from jumping around the stage, shirtless, a towel around his neck, chugging a bottle of water. “Hey, you.”
“Hey yourself,” I said. “You guys look and sound great.”
“We’re all right,” he said. “A little rusty. We’ll do a quick run-through tomorrow, and we’ll have it down by then.” He winked at me. “You know who looks great? You.”
I snorted. “Quit winking. It’s smarmy and stupid.” He was quiet, and I knew he had something to say. I poked his ribs. “Well? Out with it.”
“I want you to do something for me.”
“No promises. But what?”
“Practice some songs. Your own. Your favorites. The ones that really show the world who you are. Your best songs.”
“My songs, like my own personal ones?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
He just stared. “You know.”
“I’m not going on stage with you.”
He chugged more water. “You are.”
“I can’t play in front of fifty thousand people, Myles.”
“You can.”
“I’ll suck.”
“You won’t,” he said with utter confidence. Not a shred of doubt in him.
“I’ll mess up.”
“They won’t know.”
“I’ll embarrass you.”
“Never.”
“Myles, I can’t.”
“Lexie, you can.” He crumpled the plastic bottle, twisted the top back on to suction it closed, and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. He turned to face me, and took my hands. “Listen to me, Alexandra.”
“The full name, is it?” I went for breezy, came off snarky.
“Eyes.”
I begrudgingly met his gaze. “What, Myles?”
“I believe in you.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay.”
“Hear me. Don’t look away. Don’t give me fuckin’ attitude.” He was serious, harsh. “I—believe—in you.”
I blinked, my eyes were wet with tears. “Please stop.”
“You need to hear it. Know it. I believe in you.” He gestured—Jupiter, Brand, and Zan were standing, watching, listening. “They believe in you.”
“Sure as fuck,” Jupiter said. “You’re the real deal, Lex.”
“We’re with you all the way,” Zan said.
Brand: “Word.”
I shook my head. “Thanks, guys, but…”
“But nothing. Has anyone ever said that to you? Anyone ever make you believe it?” He held up his phone. “Believe the millions of views your two videos have gotten in under a week. Nobody even really knows who you are, yet. Those numbers are organic. They are all yours. My reach, sure, but it’s you. They want you.”
I shook my head. “I can’t, Myles, I’m too scared.”
“You can.” He touched my chin, so I had to look at him. “I’ll be right there with you, every single moment. Promise, my heart to yours.”
“Why are you forcing this?” I asked, my voice raspy.
“Because you’ll never jump if I don’t push you. The only way you’ll ever fly is if I push you out of the nest, because I know you can fly.” He cupped my jaw, his smile so tender it cut like a razor to my heart. “Because I believe in you.”
“Dammit,” I whispered. I shot to my feet and did what I always did—I ran.
He let me go. I only went as far as the limo, because I’d learned my lesson about running off in strange places—no
