HGT Drag Queen Karaoke (Chaos in Bloom: Part One - Chapters 36-38)

Baby HGT is trying to write a rock anthem for their demo. Emma and Liam are stuck. They don’t want noise. They want meaning. They want something that lights a fire.

Emma

After shopping, we swung by Liam’s place. We were starving. So our plan? Order some food before heading to the loft. 

But Dan and Max were there, sprawled on the couch, arguing about takeout and aching for entertainment. I texted Sal to grab Susie and come join the chaos. 

The night was turning into one of those rare, perfect ones—the kind you knew you’d look back on and miss before it was even over.

Sal showed up with Susie in tow and a couple of her friends—Ray and Simone—coworkers from Carriage & Co. in WeHo. 

I loved Carriage & Co. bags, and thanks to her employee discount, Sal had snagged at least eight of them.

“If you ever need designer bags with that perfectly scuffed look,” Ray said with a grin, “we’re your dealers.”

“Oh, you guys have the good stuff,” I teased.

“Yes,” Simone added, crinkling her nose, “we can be your fashionable accessories hookup, girl.”

They fit right in—like they’d always been part of the group.

“Are you two ever gonna find an apartment?” Max asked, pointing his chopsticks at Susie and me like he was delivering a royal decree. “Or are you still one foot out the bloody door?”

Susie raised an eyebrow and signed, as I made sure everyone caught it. “Keep being a smart arse, Max, and you’ll answer your own question.”

“We’re gonna start looking,” I said, trying not to laugh.

We had resorted to ordering noodles because the battle over pizza had spiralled into a heated debate about toppings—bacon, pineapple, green peppers. No one could agree, and honestly, it wasn’t worth the war. 

“Yes, thank God,” Susie said, sighing dramatically and turning back to the group. “I cannot stand being in such close quarters with Emma anymore. So much hairspray, I’m choking.”

The group laughed.

“Tell me about it,” I shot back. “Susie is so annoying,”

“What with her wild ways and her constant partying?” Liam joked, sitting beside me on the couch. 

“Yes, so out of control.” 

Susie, not missing a beat, threw an unopened chopstick set at my head. I dodged easily, grinning.

“Seriously, I’m over that hotel,” I said, twirling noodles around my chopsticks—a misguided attempt as the noodles immediately hit my chin. 

Classy.

Liam started laughing. 

“Look at you,” he smirked. “You’re a bloody mess, Hartgrave.”

I grinned at him, feigning confidence. “I know. Think I am ready for my close-up now.”

He just shook his head at me, clearly amused.

“You two are painfully cute,” Ray said, pushing up his thick black frames. “Please tell me you’re a couple.”

“They aren’t,” Dan groaned, throwing a napkin at us. “They just need to stop flirting.”

I made a face at him.

“Shut it, Dan,” Liam said, tossing the napkin right back.

“No, Liam—you need to shut it down or better yet—lock it up,” Max added, firing a napkin at him.

Dan pointed at Max like he was proud of him.

I shook my head.

“So,” Sal said, ignoring their antics and turning to me, “I take it you two haven’t actually started on the anthems yet?”

“No,” I admitted. “Not yet. We needed refuelling. And I needed supplies—I’ve got no stuff here. We’ll have to go back to Nashville at some point. Our old landlord kindly put everything in storage.”

“What little there was,” Susie added.

“Maybe while you two work on those tracks,” Sal said, glancing between us, “I can help Susie find you guys a place.”

“Oh, please let me help,” Simone added, practically bouncing in her seat. “I love scoping out neighbourhoods.”

“Yes, please. Help us. We need a home,” Susie signed, giving them her best pleading look.

“That makes us sound like sad little orphans, Susie,” I teased.

She shot me a look and signed, “Shut up. We ARE.”

Sal leaned forward, nodding. “Let’s start looking tomorrow. Liam and Emma can work on bringing the house down.”

At that, the whole group chimed in at once, echoing, Bringing the house down.

I laughed, shaking my head. “No pressure or anything.”

Liam smirked, nudging me. “None at all, Hartgrave. Just us under the cosh for the umpteenth time.”

“Right, just a couple of anthems to solidify our entire sound. No big deal,” I muttered, twirling my noodles again.

I made another attempt to get a noodle into my mouth without it sticking to my chin. This time, I draped it over my chopstick, held it high in the air, and tried to lower it in.

Liam bit back a smirk.

“Emma, you are the worst at eating noodles,” Susie signed, watching me with clear disappointment. 

“What?!” I chuckled, feigning offense.

“I’m ashamed to call you my sister right now.”

“Oh, please.” I made an exaggerated pouty face at her. “You love me.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

“So, let me get this straight,” Max cut in, shaking his head. “You two just handed us three—”

“Four,” Dan corrected.

“Right. Four fairly decent tracks,” Max said, pulling a face.

Liam and I both grimaced at his word choice.

“‘Decent’? They’re great fucking songs,” Sal chimed in. “I passed on a legit opportunity to get into sound design to join this freaking band. That’s how fucking good I think we are. And trust me—I know good sound when I hear it.”

Ray pointed at her. “She does. Nobody messes with Sal’s music choices at the store.”

“She’s like our personal DJ,” Simone added with a grin.

“I also happen to have a music degree from UCLA,” Sal went on, deadpan. “But sure—being DJ for Carriage & Co. on First and Bow is the title I’ve always dreamed of.”

That got a laugh.

“Circling back to the anthem,” Max said, twirling his chopsticks once the laughter faded.

“Yeah… it’s tricky,” Liam admitted, setting his down and leaning back slightly against the couch.

He glanced at me before continuing, like he was making sure I wouldn’t protest. 

“Emma’s songs tell stories,” Liam said. “Anthems can sound hollow to her. The whole ‘dream big, live free’ bit—it’s not her speed.”

“That’s why she didn’t like Dream Girl,” Max said.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it,” I corrected quickly. “I did—I just wanted more. Because all your other tracks were fire.”

“See?” Liam gestured toward me like I had just proven his point. “If it’s not real and meaningful, Emma doesn’t like it.”

I shot him a look, but he wasn’t wrong.

The way he knew that—the way he casually dissected my brain and nailed it—made me want to climb across the table and kiss him until oxygen was optional.

Jesus fucking Christ, get it together, Emma.

I cleared my throat, suddenly very aware that the entire table was waiting for me to say something.

I could feel the heat creeping up my neck.

I swallowed hard and pointed my chopsticks at Liam. “What he said.”

Dan, watching me a little too closely, just smirked before slurping up his noodles, then jabbed his own chopsticks at Liam. “So take it, then. Do the anthem.”

“I’m trying,” Liam said, picking up his chopsticks. “But I agree. I don’t want to do a throwaway anthem—or any throwaway songs, period. I want something real. The anthems need to hit, but they also need to mean something. Hold up a mirror to some truth. Be something people can rally behind because they feel it.” He gestured vaguely with his chopsticks. “That’s just harder to pull off.”

“Oh yeah—like how Livin’ on a Prayer is actually about the working class,” Max added.

“Or how Fortunate Son is a song about class inequality. You know, John Fogerty wrote that about Eisenhower’s grandson getting married during ‘Nam and not getting drafted. Bloody bollocks,” Dan chimed in.

We all nodded. 

“That exactly,” Liam said, nodding. “It’s gotta have that depth, right?”

“Okay, so no generic anthems,” Sal mused. “We want something that gets people shouting the lyrics back at us but also means something.”

“Yes,” Liam and I said at the same time.

Our eyes met, something unspoken passing between us.

This wasn’t just about writing a hit. It was about saying something. Making people feel something.

We just had to figure out what that was.

“What does our generation have to say? What are our pain points? Our ‘Nam? Our issues?” I asked, tapping my chopsticks against my take out container.

“How much time do you have?” Sal said, smirking. “We’re rarely heard or understood by our parents, bosses, or family. They don’t get us…at all.”

“Yeah,” Dan added. “We have to find ourselves in all this bloody noise and chaos.”

“Make our mark in an oversaturated, overstimulated world that we didn’t get a say in,” Max chimed in.

“Chasing dreams while the world’s on fire,” Simone said. “Leaders chasing profit, not working for the people. Rights disappearing. Racism. War. Famine. Homelessness.”

“Damn,” Max said, pointing at her. “Simone just got real.”

“Those are all really good,” I admitted, nodding. “We are using all of those ideas at some point.”

“You’re welcome,” Simone sing-songed, flipping her hair. “I expect royalties.”

“Fair. I would too.” I smirked. “The rest of you are already getting them, so…”

They groaned, waving me off.

We’d agreed at some point—unofficially, and then officially—that whatever we made as a band would be split six ways. Evenly. That conversation had been… fun.

We were holed up at the Long Songs Hotel—rock-and-roll nostalgia meets vintage kitsch. Andy and Wade had booked it for Susie and me when we first landed in L.A., and since we still didn’t have an apartment, we hadn’t left. It was fine, for now. The place looked like 1950s Hollywood had thrown up in Technicolour—wildly appropriate, all things considered.

“What if we just did, like, one big pot?” Liam had suggested, flipping a burger at the poolside BBQ. “And everyone gets a dole.”

“That’s a bloody ridiculous idea,” Max barked, nearly dropping his beer. “I refuse, bruv.”

“What if we gave half our earnings to good causes?” Sal offered. She’d shown up straight from her shift at Carriage & Co., still in her uniform. 

Dan scoffed. “Not unless we’re making quid coming out of our ying-yangs.”

“Ew, Junior Teller,” Susie signed. 

“I’m holding you to that, Dan,” Sal fired back.

“I hope you do, Chari,” he said, sprawled out on a lounge chair in trousers and a garish Hawaiian shirt he’d left unbuttoned. Cat-eye sunglasses—stolen from me—perched on his nose like he was ready to audition for a 70s Bond film.

“I say we split everything six ways,” I said finally. “No egos. No hierarchies.”

“Why?” Susie signed, deadpan.

“Because the second we start playing favourites, this stops being a band.”

“Exactly,” Sal said. “Also, I’d like to point out that this is why women should be running the country.”

“So you’re saying, for it to be a proper democracy, we all need to be on an even playing field?” Liam asked.

“Exactly.”

“No argument here,” Liam muttered. “I just don’t trust these two nutterheads with their shares.” He pointed at Max and Dan.

They both gasped like he’d just insulted the mums.

“We are financially responsible adults,” Max declared, dramatically offended. 

Dan pointed at himself. “Excuse you—I once saved over £240 when I was twelve to see The Antarcticas with Sarah Lehman. Birthday money. Gran money. That’s discipline.”

Liam didn’t even blink. “You scalped those tickets.”

Dan shrugged. “And used those pounds to buy a new set of sneakers. That’s called financial ingenuity.”

The argument spiralled, as always. At one point, we actually discussed giving Max and Dan allowances. It was a terrible idea. Hilarious, but terrible.

Liam mostly didn’t want to end up supporting them down the line if they pissed all their money away. 

Honestly? Fair enough. 

It did seem likely.

Susie, who had been suspiciously quiet during our conversation about anthems as we all ate takeout in Liam, Max and Dan’s living room, started chuckling and drew everyone’s attention in the room. 

She signed something fast, her expression smug.

“What’s going on, Susie-Q?” Sal asked from her spot between Ray and Simone.

“I have an idea,” Susie signed, her expression unreadable.

“Tell us,” Dan said, leaning forward.

“It’s evil,” she smirked.

“Tell us,” Dan said again, practically vibrating now.

“I know how to get Emma to write a bring-the-house-down anthem,” Susie signed, smug as hell.

“No, you don’t,” I said immediately.

“Oh, I do.”

“Oh, please—I can't take the suspense. Tell us!” Dan threw his hands up like God himself would hand him the holy scroll of music if he hollered loud enough.

Susie smirked, then signed, “We need to go out. And do tequila shots until Emma—,”

I cut her off immediately, mid-translation. “I’m not finishing that sentence.”

The group erupted like I had just ended their favourite show on a season-ending cliffhanger.

Susie, not missing a beat, whipped out her phone while keeping her eyes fixed on me and texted Dan. He read it, then immediately doubled over laughing.

“Oh fuck yes,” he wheezed. “We have to do that.”

Liam, who had been watching all of this unfold with increasing amusement, groaned, shaking his head. “Okay, what did she say?”

I gave him a look.

“What?” He shrugged. “I’m wildly curious.”

“We’re going out,” Dan declared. “We’ll find a karaoke bar or a drag show, do shots, and keep going until Emma starts table dancing.”

I palmed my face. Liam looked at me and laughed.

Sal, Ray and Simone immediately started dancing, cheering like we were already at the club. Dan joined in from his chair, while Max just shook his head, chuckling.

“No,” I said, my voice firm.

“Oh, we’re doing it, Hartgrave,” Liam said, his smirk downright wicked. “Gotta get that anthem out of you somehow.”

“This is a bad idea,” I insisted.

“This is a brilliant idea,” Dan countered, already pulling me to my feet.

“I know just the place,” Sal called out, grabbing her coat.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Simone asked, glancing at her.

Sal nodded.

“It’s perfect,” Ray said, grinning like he already knew this night was going to end in disaster—and glory.

********

Emma

A while later, we stumbled into a packed drag bar—sequins everywhere, thumping bass, glitter in the air like confetti. Watching our tall, tattooed British boys surrounded by stilettos and rhinestones? Hilarious. And oddly perfect. 

Two rounds in—Fireball, B-52s, beer chasers because Dan’s an agent of chaos—and we were off.

Honestly, we were having a blast. Cheering for the performers, singing along, dancing in our seats. The energy was contagious, and after a few more rounds, I could feel it—the bubbly, flirty, slightly manic rush that made me want to dance all night and make a few reckless decisions.

One of the queens spotted Liam and made a beeline for us, mic in hand. One look at him, and she purred, “Well, hello, tall, dark, and deadly. Who let a heartbreaker like you in here?”  

Liam, to his credit, was a good sport about it, smirking through the attention.

And that was when it happened.

Sal, the absolute menace that she was, convinced them to get me on stage.

“Can you sing? Dance?” The performer eyed me skeptically. “Girl, I am not letting you up here unless you bring it. We demand to be entertained.”

Challenge accepted.

“Oh, she can absolutely do all of those things,” Susie signed, her grin downright devious. “Let her up there.”

Such an instigator.

The performer considered, then extended a perfectly manicured hand. “Alright, then. Get up here, girl. But you better unleash fury. Full out. No half-assin’ it in my house.”

The crowd cheered.

I stood, feeling the buzz of adrenaline mix with alcohol and reckless confidence.

“Wait—you’re really doing this?” Liam smirked, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed. His eyes locked on me, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Pride. Hunger. Maybe both.

And me, fully tipsy and riding a wave of chaotic smugness, met his gaze and said, “I am, sir.” I smirked. “Strap in.”

Because here’s the thing—when I’m in a mood like this? When the adrenaline and liquor mix just right? I love performing. You’re loose. You’re fluid. You get away with so much more.

So yeah, I was absolutely doing this.

The stage was a long, narrow rectangle—barely raised, lit by rainbow strobes.

Lola grinned and pulled two other queens up with us.

“Winging it?”

“Triangle formation. I go low, you go high.”

“Oooh, we got a Tatum girl,” one of them crowed.

“Guilty,” I grinned.

The music started.

The crowd roared.

I dropped low. And let it rip.

********

Liam

I’d never seen Emma really perform.

Sure, I’d heard her sing in the studio. Watched her from across a room.

But this?

This was something else.

And—bloody hell.

My brain flatlined.

Ripped T-shirt hanging off one shoulder. Jean shorts hugging curves I was trying not to think about. Knees to the floor, hips rolling like sin.

“What the fuck is happening?” Max muttered.

One of the drag queens from the earlier show was now seated with us, sipping a cocktail and shamelessly flirting with me, Max, and Dan. She leaned in, eyes wide as she watched Emma move.

“Oh my god, your girl is fire. Is she famous? Like, some up-and-coming pop star?”

Dan and Susie both burst out laughing.

Sal patted the queen’s shoulder, grinning. “Not yet, baby. But she’s gonna be.”

And fuck, was that true.

Emma owned that stage like she’d been doing this her whole life. She danced like she felt the music in her bones, sang like it was her damn birthright. And she was having fun, too—rolling her hips, dropping low only to pop back up with a wicked grin, laughing between the verses and the chorus.

She worked the crowd effortlessly, pulling people in, getting them to scream louder, to move with her, to feel every beat. She had them eating out of the palm of her hand, singing along to every word—because everyone knew Tatum Reeves. She was the biggest pop star in the industry right now. And Emma?

Emma was owning her song.

The energy in the bar was electric—pure, reckless, rock-star chaos. The kind that didn’t just light up a room, but obliterated it. Like a hurricane tearing through, leaving everyone breathless in its wake.

She was born for this.

“This is the best thing we could’ve done tonight,” Dan cackled, practically bouncing in place. “Tell me someone is getting a vid.”

“On it,” Simone called from behind him, her phone already recording.

“Send that to me,” Sal said. “We are posting the shit out of this.”

“I still don’t see how this gets us an anthem, Susie,” Max said, though he was grinning.

“Who cares? This is unforgettable,” Susie signed, shaking her head at him.

I barely heard them. My attention was locked on Emma as she moved across that stage, now joined by five drag queens, commanding the crowd with the kind of presence you couldn’t fake. She was giving the performance of a lifetime, and she was loving every second of it.

When the song wrapped, the crowd roared, chanting for another.

Emma grinned into the mic, breathless. 

“If you want more,” she pointed right at our table. “We’re The Hartgrave Tellers. Catch us at The Echo...if you can.”

And then she winked.

And just like that, the anthem started writing itself in my head.

*********

Liam

“Emma, we cannot break into the studio,” I said, exasperated.

She barely acknowledged me, pacing in front of the locked doors, all fiery, flirty, wild energy. The alcohol-fuelled adrenaline still buzzed through her, and judging by the way Sal was hyping her up, I was losing this battle before it had even started.

The night had already been absolute chaos. After we left the drag show, we hit another club—more drinks, more dancing. The girls were determined to paint the town red. Dan and Max were right there with them, and I… I was just trying to keep up.

Or so I thought, until Emma dragged me onto the dance floor.

“I don’t dance, Emma.”

“You do now,” she declared, yanking me forward by the arms. And fuck, I let her.

“Come on,” she teased, circling me, her body so close. “We have to dance together on stage at some point. Might as well find our vibe now.”

“I’ll have a guitar on stage, Hartgrave,” I shot back, trying to keep a shred of distance.

She grinned, grabbing me by the waist. “We’ll improvise. Come on, Teller, move those hips.”

A jolt shot through me at her touch, the heat of her; it was impossible to ignore. So, I gave in.

I let her press against me in the middle of that crowded club. Let her move, let her pull me into the beat, let myself lose just enough control to match her rhythm. The music pulsed through us, our bodies impossibly close, her hair brushing against my face when she threw her head back and laughed.

After what felt like a ridiculous number of songs, because neither of us was willing to break away, we finally, both of us, charged off the dance floor, sweating, breathless, and high on adrenaline, and headed for the rooftop patio. The music was quieter up there, just a steady pulse beneath the hum of conversation. People were gathered in groups, deep in conversation, drinks in hand. It felt like another world compared to the chaos downstairs.

Emma leaned against the railing, catching her breath, her skin flushed and glowing under the neon haze of the city. I stood beside her, facing her, close enough that my fingers brushed against her arm. The touch sent a shiver through me.

“And he says he doesn’t dance,” she smirked, tilting her head. “You’ve got serious moves, Teller.”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Of course, I do.”

“Sneaky,” she murmured, eyes glinting.

“I’m not being sneaky. I’m trying to keep us from—”

“From what?” she challenged, still breathless, her chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on her brow, making her look raw, untamed, like a fire that refused to be contained.

I regretted the words the second they left my mouth, but I couldn’t stop them.

“From burning too hot, too fast.”

She exhaled slowly, glancing down at our feet before looking back up, something flickering in her expression.

“Ah… so you’re slowing the burn,” she murmured.

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah.”

Her smirk deepened. “Well, now that I know you can dance like that, you just made things so much harder for me.”

I let out a breathy laugh. “Me? You dropped to your goddamn knees on stage, Hartgrave. That dance? You were like a woman on fire.” My smirk faded slightly, my voice dipping lower. “It was bloody brilliant… but also bloody impossible for me to keep my head on.”

The honesty in my voice must have done something because, for a brief second, her expression softened. Then, just as quickly, it shifted, bolder now. She stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off her skin.

“You’re gonna have to get used to that, Teller,” she teased. “Because I have so much more yet to be unleashed.”

Her grin was wicked, playful, but it didn’t make the effect any less potent.

“Oh God! I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the effect you have on me, Hartgrave. Ever.”

She smirked.

And I wanted to kiss her. The pull was undeniable. It was there, hanging between us, the space closing, our breaths mingling, I almost did it.

Almost.

“Emma.”

“Yes?”

“When I kiss you for the first time, it won’t be on the rooftop of some sleazy club while we’re both drunk.”

She stilled, her gaze locking onto mine. Searching.

Then, she exhaled sharply and shook her head, a small, breathy laugh escaping. “I cannot figure you out, Teller. It drives me crazy.”

She studied me, eyes flickering with something unreadable, like I was some mythical creature she’d never encountered before. Then, with a dramatic huff, she smacked me on the chest with both hands, playful but exasperated.

“You’re just…too good. Too decent. What are you even?”

I smirked. “I’m your lead guitarist. Co-front man.”

She rolled her eyes, then suddenly broke into song. “And then… You go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like…”

She didn’t finish it. She just burst into laughter, full and bright, then shoved me back.

Grinning, I caught her wrist before she could step away. “We should get back downstairs. So you can show me more of your moves.”

She nodded, still smirking. “Yeah. We need you primed and ready, so when I bring it full force at The Echo, you don’t lock up.”

“You’re a hurricane, Hartgrave,” I murmured, voice full of certainty. “I’m still trying to figure out how to hold back the storm.”

“Good luck with that.” Her smirk deepened. “I don’t plan on holding back. We have to deliver. This gig makes or breaks us, Teller.”

I tipped my head, watching her. The fire in her eyes. The way she meant every word.

“From what I saw tonight…you’ll knock ’em dead.”

“We will,” she said, a rare softness creeping in. “We. I need you with me.”

“You’ve got me,” I murmured. “With you.”

The dancing continued, the drinks kept flowing, and the more we drank, the less I cared about the burn—slow, hot, fast.

I was burning for her.

I was definitely losing control of my resolve.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hold it anymore.

Eventually, we piled into a Lift, one of those big vans, so we could all fit. It had a sunroof, and naturally, Emma and Sal climbed up through it, screaming into the early-morning L.A. air like they owned the whole damn city.

Maybe we did.

“We’re coming for you, L.A.!” Emma howled.

Some random guy on the street yelled back, “Calm the fuck down, girl!”

He was met with a chorus of expletives from Emma, Sal, and Dan, who was half-hanging out the window.

The rest of us? We were laughing at their antics.

“Get down from there, Hartgrave,” I called, reaching up and pulling her down by the waist.

She fell right into my lap, giggling breathlessly. The van was packed, so she just stayed there, her weight solid against me, her head tipping back against my shoulder. The driver—Amar—was completely unfazed, playing along like he’d somehow just become part of the crew.

It was late. Too late.

The kind of night that sticks with you. The kind that built bonds, carved itself into your memory. The kind you’d remember in flashes years from now and wonder if it had been real or just some fever dream of youth and recklessness.

Emma started singing ‘Crazy’ by Aerosmith, and I jumped in without hesitation.

Then “Welcome to the Jungle” blasted through the speakers, the whole car erupted into song.

“Amar, crank it up,” Max called from the back.

Somewhere between the chaos, the drinks, the car karaoke, the drive-through food, I told Emma about the anthem. About the thoughts that had been percolating all night as I watched her, watched the band, felt the raw, undeniable energy still thrumming in my veins after her impromptu drag performance.

That feeling that anything was possible.

That we weren’t just playing music.

We were taking L.A.

The world.

Emma, who had just stuffed a handful of fries into her mouth, went wide-eyed. She held up a finger while she chewed, before finally swallowing.

“What?!”

I smirked, stealing some fries from her container.

“Turns out Susie was right,” I said. “We needed to let loose. Build some memories. Latch onto something real. Something big. Something ours.”

Emma whipped around to face Amar, leaning over the front seat. “Amar, we have to get to the studio. Now.”

“What?!” Sal said from the back.

“Step on it, Amar! I’ll send you the address!”

“Emma!” I groaned. “We can tackle it tomorrow.”

“It is tomorrow, Teller.”

Touché. It was almost 4 a.m.

“We’ll fall asleep, wake up hungover, and forget half of this energy by the time we get there,” she insisted. “We have to do it now.”

“Emma!” Max groaned from the backseat.

Dan, who surprisingly was still with us and not off on one of his sexcapades, offered another option. “I agree with Max. We should go back to our place. Order pizzas, drink more, and bring in the sunrise with a jam session.”

Susie immediately agreed, already texting on her phone. “I need a couch to crash on.”

But Emma was resolute. She turned to Sal. “Text Wade and Andy. Tell them to meet us at the studio. Now.”

And that was how we ended up here. At the studio at 4:45 a.m. 

Standing outside the locked doors, Emma was pacing like a caged animal. Eyes wild, hair a mess, radiating pure chaos.

“Oh, Teller,” Emma sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart like I had just wounded her. “You’re no fun.”

“Yes, I’m such a vibe killer for not wanting us to get arrested, Hartgrave,” I smirked.

Sal had already messaged Wade and Andy. They were working on getting us in—we just had to be patient.

Not exactly Emma’s strong suit.

“Wade and Andy are on their way, Em,” Sal let us know, leaning against the side of the building. “We’ll get in.”

Emma groaned. It was hard not to watch as she paced in shorts, those long legs flexing.

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t just go back to our place to work on the song,” Dan muttered, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “Eat some pizza, be warm, jam it out on acoustics.”

“Because, Dan,” Emma said, grabbing the front of his jacket and shaking him slightly, “we need to feel it. The music. The electricity. The bass. The drums. This is a fucking anthem. It needs to come alive.”

Dan blinked.

Max tilted his head back, “Hartgrave, you are bloody relentless.” 

Sal grinned. “Drunk Emma is becoming my favourite Emma.”

I shook my head. She was relentless and reckless. Impatient. Absolutely feral about getting this song out of her system.

And as much as I hated to admit it, she had a point.

By the time Wade and Andy pulled up, both looking extremely grumbly but somehow shockingly compliant, Emma was practically bouncing on her heels.

“You owe me for this,” Wade grumbled as he unlocked the doors, shaking his head.

“Oh, no! You will love me for this,” Emma shot back, grinning like a devil as she skipped inside.

Andy sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “This better be worth it.”

Emma barely even looked at him. “It will be,” she said, absolute certainty in her voice. “I feel it.”

And just like that, we were in.

There was zero hesitation.

No warm-up, no easing in, just chaos and momentum.

Straight to our instruments.

We started with the beat—something to move to, something that got Emma’s hips swaying as she listened, eyes closed, feeling it out. Max built out the drums, heavy and driving, while Dan filled in the bass, deep and relentless.

Then, I worked on the guitar riff, gritty, electric, something that made your pulse quicken.

Sal slashed through the track with her violin, bright, precise, electric—cutting the beat open like lightning. Susie wove an atmosphere behind it all, adding the storm.

All we needed now were the words.

Something for Emma to drive it all home.

I started throwing out words, raw and unpolished, just to get something moving.

“Wild. Free. Unstoppable.”

Emma’s eyes lit up, and I knew. We had it.

She grabbed a pen, scribbling across the nearest notebook, her voice already shaping the melody as she went.

“We’re running wild like the wind tonight,

Hearts beating fast, sparks in the twilight.

There’s fire in our veins, lightning in our bones,

A restless rhythm, a force unknown.

We’re the dreamers, the rebels, the untamed few,

Breaking the rules, chasing something new.

We don’t stop, we don’t slow,

There’s a storm inside, and it’s ready to blow.

Turn it up, let it break,

Feel the earth move, feel the ground shake.”

I nodded, feeling the pulse of it settle deep. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Max let out a whoop! 

“We’re a hurricane, tearing through the night,

Unstoppable, wild, burning bright.

Youth and drive, a force to claim,

We’re chaos, we’re fire, we’re the hurricane.

Feel the wind, feel the rain,

We’re alive, we’re the hurricane.”

We kept going, carving out a track that felt like running wild, like chasing something bigger, like tearing up the rulebook and writing our own damn legacy.

It was raw. Explosive. Alive.

Emma belted that track like it came straight from her soul—raw, electric, undeniable. Every note was a declaration, every lyric a battle cry.

Wade and Andy jumped in with arrangement tweaks, pushing the dynamics—pulling the track back for a pause, then building it back up like a brewing storm, letting the tension coil tight before it exploded.

Emma tore into a screaming high note, and I chased it down with a guitar solo that sent the whole thing into overdrive. Behind us, Susie pummelled the keys, building pressure until the entire track felt like it was going to implode.

It was chaos. It was cinematic.

It was a fucking hurricane.

And our first anthem.

“A love story that refuses to die quietly.”

Think slow-burn, wounded rockstars, found family, fame, forbidden love, and two people who can’t stop choosing each other.

Through the Glory and the Mess: Book One in the Hartgrave Tellers Legacy Series 

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