The Rainbow Stampede

In Chaos in Bloom: Part Two, the Hartgrave Tellers are booked to play the Calgary Stampede, and immediately face backlash because half the band is LGBTQ+ and not yt. Liam and Dan are British, so they’re also attacked for “not being country enough.”

That wasn’t accidental.

That’s the world they’re navigating.

And it’s the one we are, too.

I don’t write neutral stories about a neutral world. I write about art colliding with hate, about chosen family standing in the fire together, and about who gets told they belong, and who doesn’t.

My politics live in my characters.

In who they protect.

In what they refuse to tolerate.

And the band still gets on stage anyway.

And Emma does something wild, something public, loud, and impossible to ignore, solidifying the Hartgrave Tellers as the voice of a movement.

Not just a band.

But a stand.

A band that refuses to shrink.

That refuses to stay quiet.

They don’t play it safe.

They play it true.

And they make it clear exactly what side they’re on.

Below are excerpts from Chaos in Bloom part 2: Chapters 37 and 38

********

“That said… we have a bigger problem.”

Ashley looked up from her phone. “Calgary.”

“The Stampede,” Maya clarified. “You’re headlining the concert at Scotiabank Stadium next week. But thanks to Ronnie’s little anti-woke tirade, the pushback is getting louder. Country fans are frothing at the mouth to tear you guys apart—and the woke rhetoric just gave them the ammo they needed.”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘pushback’?” I asked.

“It’s been building. We’ve kept it out of sight. But now it’s catching fire,” Maya said. “Some of the country crowd doesn’t like that you’re not ‘authentic.’ You’re Brit boys, not American country boys. And they’re throwing a fit about Sal and Susie being LGBTQ+ and front and center.”

“What?!” Sal shot up, furious. “Then f--- them.”

“Yeah, hard agree,” Max added.

“Then we don’t play,” Susie signed firmly. “If it’s not a safe space, we don’t go on.”

“Oh, we’re gonna play,” Emma said. Her voice was calm. Dangerous. “And we’re going to show them exactly who they’re dealing with.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Susie signed. “You’re a pretty blonde girl, Emma.”

“Exactly. And I plan to use that to our advantage.”

“Emma,” I said, warning clear in my tone.

“Yeah,” Sal added, narrowing her eyes. “I don’t like the look in your eyes.”

Wade spoke up from the corner, arms crossed. “Whatever’s brewing in that brain of yours, Hartgrave—it better not throw gasoline on this fire. Or put your bandmates at risk.”

“It won’t,” she promised. “I’ve got a plan. This show is huge. The kind that defines a band. I’m not letting a bunch of rednecks scare us off stage. We’ll show them what inclusion looks like. Loud and undeniable. But no one’s getting hurt. I promise.”

“Emma, you can’t actually expect us to just let you handle this,” Susie signed rapidly. “We’re a band. You need to let us help. We need to talk about this.”

“I disagree,” Emma said flatly. “If it doesn’t land, you all need plausible deniability.”

Max leaned back in his chair. “Okay. I’m actually terrified right now.”

“So am I,” Sal added. “Have you seen what’s out there, Emma? These kinds of issues can get ugly. Fast.”

“I know that.”

Greg cut in, arms folded, jaw tight. “Emma, this better stay within the lines of the contract. You’re already on thin fucking ice after those pictures and this fight with Ronnie.”

“Which are both going viral, by the way,” Emma shot back. “Because apparently, everyone suddenly wants to see a hot, young, Penny Lane-style rock star. So thanks for that narrative.”

“Excellent use of jargon, Emma,” Ashley beamed.

Emma straightened. “Thank you.”

I rubbed my forehead. This was going downhill fast.

“I think we need to cancel,” Max said suddenly, shaking his head. “I do not want to play in front of a stadium full of bigots and racists.”

“We hear you, Max,” Ashley said steadily.

“We’re not asking you to be unsafe,” Maya added.

“But you have to play the Stampede. It’s non-negotiable at this point. You’d be in breach,” Greg’s tone was serious, final.

“Then we don’t have a choice. So, please, trust me—to be out front to take the hit,” Emma said.

“It’s not your place, Emma,” Susie signed fiercely.

The room erupted. Voices rose—everyone talking over each other. Tension climbing fast.

Dan and I kept quiet. I glanced at him, surprised—and impressed. Growth. I was grateful for it.

“Alright!” Wade shouted over the chaos.

Andy followed with an ear-splitting whistle—the piercing one he hadn’t had to use since Dan and Max tried organizing a flash mob at the hotel pool in Atlanta. It’d involved far too many attractive strangers and not enough supervision.

“Well,” Dan muttered dryly, “God save the rock and roll queen—so she can save our arses.”

“Or screw them,” Max said—then immediately made a face, realizing how it sounded.

We all shot him a look.

“I would like it put on record that that was not me this time,” Dan said, pointing at Max.

“It just... came out wrong,” Max mumbled.

“Did it, mate? Because that line just made it worse.”

I nudged Dan to shut it. He threw up his hands like, What? You were all thinking it.

“Bloody hell,” Max exhaled, exasperated.

“Not helping, Daniel,” Sal barked as Dan chuckled.

“Oh, she full-named me. Shutting it,” Dan said.

Greg took control again. “Emma, you’re to work exclusively with Maya and Ashley on this. Maya—don’t let her colour outside the lines. Not even a hint of a shade.”

Maya nodded, her jaw tight.

Ashley and Emma exchanged a glance. Something unspoken passed between them—probably connected to whatever they’d been discussing about Emma’s mom. They’d gotten close lately. There was trust there now.

I hated the idea of Emma taking any kind of hit for us. And the knot in my stomach wouldn’t ease until I knew exactly what she had planned—so I could protect her from it.

Even though she probably wouldn’t let me.

Greg turned to the rest of us. “We will double down on safety. Security measures will be ramped up. No one’s stepping into that venue with anything more dangerous than a tube of Chapstick. Are we clear?”

We all nodded.

Emma stood without another word, already moving fast, firing off a stream of thoughts to Ashley and Maya as they hurried out of the rehearsal space.

“Unbelievable,” Sal muttered, standing up and storming out with heavy footsteps.

Susie followed, signing as she went. “Wait up, Sal.”

Max sat back in his chair, exhaling hard. “This is gonna be a proper disaster, innit?”

“She’s gotten us this far, mates,” Dan said dryly. “She’s a proper queen of rock and roll.”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, praying she didn’t implode the band by doing something we couldn’t come back from.

Max turned to me. “Liam, you need to find out what she’s planning. Because if this goes south—and we get cancelled—we’re done for.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “I’ll deal with it.”

But I already knew one thing for certain:

Whatever Emma was planning… it was going to be bold, loud, and land in every bloody headline across both bloody countries.

********

The Calgary Stampede sets were going off without a hitch. Tight. Clean. Electric.

Emma had told me she was saving her surprise for the finale, and while that made me anxious as hell, she’d asked me to trust her—and I was doing my damndest to do it.

The crowd was insane. Loud. Alive. Rainbow flags waving from every corner of the stadium. Gotta love our fans for that—they always showed up, loud and proud.

During the second-to-last number, I had a lead vocal, and Emma disappeared offstage. Just vanished.

I didn’t know where she went. And I couldn’t ask.

We just finished the track and launched into ‘Blazing Hearts’, the final song. The opening riff hit. Lights dimmed. Drums kicked in.

And then—she appeared.

From backstage, Emma emerged like a firestorm in boots.

White leather chaps. A lace two-piece set that barely qualified as clothing. Her ass? Damn near its own headline. Literally, the words “Love is Love” embroidered on it. Her hair was wild. Boots stomping. Eyes blazing. She looked like a fever dream of a country outlaw turned rock goddess.

The crowd went feral.

She strutted forward, mic in hand, and belted the opening lines like the stage owed her rent. The dancers behind her were new—more of them, somehow. Fierce. Tight. Explosive.

And then the bridge hit. The pulsating solos ramped up—I was shredding, Max pounding the drums, Sal was letting her violin soar, and Susie was beating on those keys. Dan was holding it all down with the deep bass riffs. It was like we were trying to summon thunder—and that’s when the stage lit up again.

Emma and the dancers pounded the ground in rhythm, stomping in sync.

Then, like some coordinated miracle, an army of dancers flooded the stage.

A massive flash mob, easily a hundred of them. All nationalities, all shapes and sizes. Some had rainbows painted on their cheeks. Some carried mini flags. All of them were dancing like their lives depended on it.

“Alright, Teller, let's show ‘em how it’s done,” she pointed at me.

The choreography exploded outward. Spiralling. Spinning. Stomping.

Confetti guns went off. Rainbow coloured. The crowd screamed.

Emma was dancing like she was on fire.

“I can’t hear you, Calgary. This is a stampede. Stomp it out!!!”

We extended the song—no way we were cutting this short. We gave them more time. Gave ourselves more time. We played like our lives depended on it.

“One more time for those mfers in the back.”

It was a God damn war cry.

Everyone was feeding off the chaos she’d unleashed—raw, beautiful, unfiltered energy.

She closed us out with a final scream into the mic, her arms raised, chest heaving, sweat-slicked and grinning like a wild thing.

F---ing legend.

The crowd gave us a standing ovation that wouldn’t end. Roaring. Stomping. Screaming our names.

Emma turned to me, flushed and glowing, her voice low and smug. “Told you I had it handled.”

She smirked. “Bet nobody mentions a damn thing, tomorrow, except my ass in chaps.”

“You are unbelievable,” I said, breathless.

She strode up to me, and I yanked her into a hug, laughing as confetti swirled around us. In that moment, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“Just out here, literally putting my ass on the line for you guys,” she grinned.

We turned and waved to the crowd—sweaty, exhausted, high off adrenaline.

And I couldn’t stop thinking one thing: Bloody Hell. This woman was a force of nature.

*****

Backstage, the band was buzzing.

Salima was bouncing. “Holy f---! That was electric. I want more. So much more of that.”

“Yes! They can’t ignore us now,” Susie signed as she grabbed Emma in a hug.

“Nobody comes for my band sisters. I got your back,” Emma said, swaying with her, arms wrapped tight.

“God save the mf-ing queen of rock!” Dan and Max shouted, dropping to their knees and bowing like Wayne and Garth.

I shook my head, grinning.

Emma just chuckled. “Up, you crazy Brit boys.”

“You’re the crazy one,” Sal said. “And I want a pair of these hot pants.”

She spun Emma around, inspecting her from head to toe.

Emma gave her a playful glance over her shoulder. “What do you think? Tour merch?”

“Yes,” Susie signed, flinging her arms up. “We should all wear them during ‘Blazing Hearts’, in Houston. Even you guys.” She pointed at me, Max, and Dan.

“I’ll do it,” Dan said, completely unfazed.

“No one wants to see your hairy arse in hot pants,” I muttered.

“No one wants to see your hairy arse in them,” Dan shot back. “Mine? The lads and ladies would die to get their hands on.” He gave a scandalous hip swivel.

“Dan, you are such trouble,” Emma smirked.

“We’ll get T-shirts made,” I muttered, still catching my breath. My heart was beating out of my chest.

Everyone cracked up.

The energy kept building as headlines started to roll in:

The Hartgrave Tellers prove rock and roll is still all-inclusive.

The Hartgrave Tellers: The symbols of the new woke rock wave.

Haters shut down after blistering inclusivity anthem by HGT.

Look out—woke rock is taking a stand.

********

We were driving to the airport, bleary-eyed but buzzing, when the van’s speakers lit up with the familiar jingle of a morning radio show.

“Oi!” Max called from the back. “Turn it up, Gary!”

The driver chuckled and nudged the volume.

We all leaned in, listening.

“Apparently, HGT lit up the Calgary Stampede last night…” A gravelly male voice cut through. Older. Confident. “With rainbows.”

“Lot of controversy around them playing the Stampede this year,” the co-host chimed in. “If you don’t know, The Hartgrave Tellers are led by Emma Hartgrave—a knockout from New York City. Then you’ve got two brothers from Manchester, Dan and Liam Teller. Max Williams, who’s Nigerian. Salima Chari, originally from Delhi, grew up in Jersey and proudly queer. And Susie Hartgrave, Emma’s adopted sister from South Korea. She’s bi and non-verbal, but she plays the keys like she’s summoning gods.”

They barked a laugh, but it wasn’t mocking. It was awe.

“They’re an eclectic mix,” one said.

“They are. And with Blazing Hearts, they’ve been dipping into the country scene. Some traditionalists weren’t thrilled—claimed they weren’t ‘authentic’ enough to play country.”

“So what does Emma Hartgrave do?” the first host said, already laughing. “She struts out in the sexiest damn country get-up since Shania Twain debuted the crop top. Push-up corset, chaps, cowboy boots. Danced her ass off. Sang her ass off. Not a damn peep from the critics this morning.”

“Probably because their wives would murder them if they admitted how closely they were watching the message on that outfit.”

Another round of laughter.

“Look, nobody gives a crap where a band’s from anymore—or who they love. Not really. Except maybe Liam and Emma,” one added with a knowing chuckle.

“They brought the house down. HGT proved they can play anything—and put on one hell of a show doing it.”

“Yeah, I think that’s one for the history books.”

A beat of silence.

“Here you go—‘Blazing Hearts’ by The Hartgrave Tellers, off their debut album, Chaos in Bloom.”

And just like that, the speakers filled with the opening chords of our song.

I looked around the van—everyone was quiet now. Max grinned wide. Dan fist-bumped Susie.

Salima closed her eyes and leaned into the sound. I sat with fingers tapping lightly on my thigh.

Emma?

She smiled. “History books, huh?”

“Damn right,” I said.

*******

Chaos in Bloom: Part Two — Book Two of the Hartgrave Tellers Prequel Series is a gorgeously messy, second chapter of HGT’s rise to fame.

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