Liam

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Christmas was two months away, but you never would’ve guessed, because on Sound Stage 5, at Titan Studios in Hollywood, it looked like Christmas had thrown up all over the bloody place.

I was backstage, leaning against a giant archway made of red and green stacked gift boxes, something straight out of a Christmas movie set in Santa’s workshop. I was dressed in a ridiculous plaid blazer, thankfully paired with black trousers, a black shirt, and a tie. To top it off, I had to play, or pretend to play, a bright lipstick-red Fender. I was wearing more makeup than I cared to admit, and the lights on the soundstage were blindingly bright.

I watched the mayhem unfold around me as we geared up for the next skit, wondering how the hell we’d all ended up in this glitter-drenched fever dream of a production.

It was Max and Dan’s little project with the label. They’d started doing cheeky little skits together on the Chaos in Bloom tour, usually during transitions or before the shows, often dragging Emma into the madness, and the fans loved it.

Once Emma blew the roof off with ‘Blazing Hearts’ in Calgary, it was like she’d set a new standard for what counted as acceptable chaos on tour. And Max and Dan rose to the bloody challenge.

They’d run up and down the stadium aisles for thirty minutes straight, riling up the crowd until the screams were deafening. They popped off confetti cannons without warning, launched beach balls into the audience, crowd surfed, and wore the most unhinged costumes imaginable, bunny suits, inflatable dinosaurs, you name it. It was absolute mayhem. And the fans ate it up.

They’d built a huge online following from it, too. People had even given them a couple name, The Chaos Twins. Naturally, they leaned into it every chance they got.

So when the label said they wanted to do a Christmas special featuring HGT, Max and Dan practically leapt out of their seats.

They went wild. Sat in on every writers’ meeting. Hand-picked celebrity guests. Recruited other artists and bands. It turned into a full-on production. And over the next week, we were filming the whole bloody thing, for a December 21 release.

I’d been dreading it. I wasn’t an actor. I did the videos. I did the shows. But acting? That was a whole other skill set I was still learning. The label offered to hire me a coach for this special, but I opted to muddle my way through, and Emma was willing to help me. Like always, she was a bloody natural. 

On top of all that, the label had us participating in a litany of holiday performances. We were booked for every major Christmas event and concert from now until the end of November, from L.A. to New York. We were scheduled at every sparkly venue, recording and special guest spot you could bloody imagine. And then, finally, we’d get a break. Six weeks off. Six whole weeks. I was chuffed. 

The lads and I were going home. It had been ages. Three years, in fact. And I was more than ready. Christmas in LA was fucking grim. Christmas touring the lower states like we’d done two years before, so much worse. 

The family had all come out to see us during the Chaos in Bloom tour when we played London. Unreal crowd. Electric. It was incredible being back in the UK. Almost like coming home. And the welcome? Absolutely legendary. The fans were unhinged. Nearly swallowed us alive.

It was amazing to see Mum, Ron, and Ruby. My aunts and uncles, my cousins, especially Michael. He’d been my best mate growing up, along with a few other former schoolmates, who’d come out to hear us play. They all met Emma, and of course, they were all taken with her. Who wouldn’t be? She was Emma.

I glanced at her across the stage.

She was in this tight, red, sparkling bodysuit with a Santa hat perched on her head. Her hair was styled in soft, perfect waves. She was chatting with a group of extras, laughing at something, but then she caught me staring.

Her eyes dropped to the floor, then back to mine, and she gave me that smile. The one she used when she was trying to keep things light… but every glance between us felt like a weight pressed into my chest.

And as grateful as I was for all of this, all the success, all the lights and stage magic, nothing had felt quite right since Houston.

Especially not with Emma.

Emma and I bled on stage every night. For the crowd, for the cameras. We gave them everything we had, every lyric, every note soaked in what we couldn’t say out loud. What they all wanted to see realized, but never truly would.

Those first shows after it happened were the most painful of my bloody life. I could barely keep it together.

I knew what we promised. Knew exactly what we said before it all happened. But after? After, everything was different. I was different. So was she.

There was a softness to her now, at least around me. That mask of bravado she always wore slipped more easily, and God, it undid me every time. That I would always know that side of her… that I had known her that deeply, even for one night, loved her the way I always wanted to. That stayed with me.

I exhaled, my guitar slung low across my body as I waited for the next skit to kick off.

It was a lot of cheesy, overdone acting and painfully overplayed holiday tracks.

We were having fun with it, though. Trying to, anyway. We had so many musical numbers lined up, upbeat classics,“Deck the Halls”, “Jingle Bell Rock”, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”, and all the festive nonsense you could imagine.

Max came up behind me, all easy swagger and relaxed posture. Somehow, it put me at ease. He slapped me on the back.

“You ready, mate?” he said. “Ho, ho, ho, and all that nonsense. The next skit is absolutely hilarious.”

I shook my head, already bracing for it.

“I think so,” I replied. “Can’t believe you two roped us into this festive mess.”

“What? This is a bloody riot, Liam,” Max said. “How are you not having the time of your life, engaging in all this Christmas mayhem?’

I chuckled. “It is a wonder.”

“Relax. What it is… is a few more skits and songs. Then the finale. And you’re gonna own it. ‘O Holy Night’? Full guitar solo? It’s like you and Sal are having a bloody riff-off.”

“I still don’t know why Emma didn’t want to sing for it.”

“It’s pretty obvious why,” Max said. “She wanted to give you the moment.”

I shrugged, conceding.

“You deserve one, truthfully. We wouldn’t be here without you, Liam,” Max added, his voice sincere.

“Well, thanks for that, but…it’s unnecessary,” I said.

“It is necessary.”

A feeling threatened to overwhelm me. A pang in my chest at how far we’d all come. Max included.

He tipped his head in that hats-off kind of way.

“Now, where the hell is Dan? We’ve got plans to orchestrate before the skit.”

“Ack! What are you two planning now?” I asked, a jolt of anxiety cutting through me.

I’d never fully trusted either of them anymore. Not after the absolute chaos of the prank wars at the tail end of the tour. Hidden speakers in bus bunks, costumes filled with flour, and every prank filmed and posted online. That was on top of every bloody trending challenge. Bucket challenges, water challenges. You name it, they did it. And of course, they dragged the rest of us into it.

Sometimes it was fun. Other times, just pure insanity.

“Just you wait,” Max said, rubbing his hands together with a grin. “Epic-level Christmas madness. I promise. The 12 days of Max and Dan’s Christmas Chaos. The fans will love it.”

Dan sidled up beside us a moment later, glancing around at the Christmas decor like he’d personally selected every twinkling light.

“We need to do a Christmas album,” he declared.

“Absolutely not,” I said, grimacing.

“Why not? This is glorious. It’s so cheesy, it’s spectacular. Like a glitter bomb went off in here.”

“Yeah, one we didn’t set off for once,” Max chuckled.

“Exactly. If we did let off a few, no one would even notice. It’d just blend in. The perfect crime,” Dan said, eyes lighting up with that look. The one that meant he was definitely up to something.

“No,” I said flatly. “No more pranks. We’d notice. We always notice.”

“Oh, Liam, you’re no fun,” Dan said, waving me off. “And no, you don’t. You missed the time I put glue in Max’s sneakers.”

“Classic,” Max laughed. “I was stuck in those things all day. Had to wear them for the show. Where was that? Berlin?”

“Frankfurt,” Dan corrected with a grin.

I exhaled sharply. “We noticed.”

“You didn’t notice Amsterdam,” Dan said smugly. “I stuck a ten-inch black strap-on in Emma’s carry-on.”

I groaned. I’d noticed. Especially when she nearly pulled it out in front of our security team while searching for tampons.

“That was glorious,” Max said, grinning.

“It really wasn’t.”

“Well, apparently, she already had a kiwi-shaped toy in there. Still dying to know what she planned to do with that on a plane.”

Emma had burst into laughter and managed to demonstrate what it did. Right there. At security. With her fingers.

Meanwhile, Max and Dan got hauled off because their bags were full of firecrackers and glitter bombs. Wade and Andy had to sweet-talk airport security just to get them back on the flight.

Dan snickered at the memory.

“We noticed,” I said flatly. “You’re not exactly subtle, mate. The glitter bombs and firecrackers at the end of the Rome show were not appreciated. At all.”

“Emma and the entire front row were covered head to toe in glitter, and it took the stylists a week to get it out of everyone’s hair.”

Dan and Max burst out laughing, loud, unrepentant, full gremlin-mode.

Then Dan elbowed me, nodding toward the far side of the stage.

“Speaking of Emma… She looks like a supermodel elf Ms. Claus wouldn’t let anywhere near the jolly old man, for fear of losing half the North Pole.”

“Dan,” another warning, this time levelling him with a look.

“What?” He threw up his hands. “It’s a literal observation at this point. Her outfits keep getting smaller. I’m shocked they haven’t tossed her in a red string bikini yet.”

I nodded, jaw tight.

It was a little bit of torture I didn’t exactly relish.

Emma had assured me she’d push back when it became a problem for her.

Still, that didn’t mean I liked it.

Sal walked over to us, and Dan immediately burst out laughing. He tried to hold it in. Really tried. But it was hopeless.

I pressed my lips together, stifling my own smile.

She was wearing a short, glittering, bright green dress with white fur trim, red-striped stockings and little black booties, and it just didn’t work on Sal. Mostly, because she looked utterly miserable in the getup.

“Sal,” Dan managed between laughs, “at least try to look like you don’t want to burn the place down.”

“No,” she deadpanned. “I look like one of those elves who work at a shopping mall Santa display. And not even the good mall. The sad, dying kind with a single working escalator and a shitty candle store.”

Dan howled.

I finally let my smile slip.

“You’re pulling it off,” I offered. “Barely. But still.”

“Thanks, Teller,” she muttered. “Exactly the lukewarm encouragement I needed to survive this ridiculous special.”

Ashley came rushing over to Sal, eyes wide with horror.

“Oh my God. Sal, what are you wearing?” Ashley blurted out.

“I have no idea, and I hate it,” Sal said flatly.

“Where’s Susie?” Ashley asked, already bracing herself.

“She’s refusing to leave the dressing room,” Sal replied. “Says her outfit is somehow worse.”

“Worse?” Ashley echoed, horrified. “How can it be worse?”

“Red tulle,” Sal said grimly.

I winced.

Ashley actually recoiled. 

“Who the fuck greenlit this fashion disaster?” Ashley snapped, spinning on the poor PAs standing nearby. “I said they could put Emma in this kind of getup. Not the entire band. We have an aesthetic, people.”

She was already jabbing furiously at her phone. “Get me the stylists. Now.”

Sal looked up and mouthed thank God before Ashley grabbed her by the arm and dragged her off.

“Rock stars,” Ashley muttered as she stormed away. “They’re rock stars. I can’t post Sal in that. She’s the face of a movement, not a fucking sad mall Santa elf. She'll be on every worst dressed list in the country if this hits the internet.”

Sal beamed behind Ashley, raising a triumphant fist in the air like she’d just won a revolution.

Emma appeared just then, catching the tail end of the scene as Ashley dragged Sal off.

Her presence lit me up instantly, like a match to dry tinder. Her scent hit me first, familiar and dizzying, and then she was right there, close enough to touch.

I met her gaze for a second. Long enough to pass a silent this okay? between us. I gave a subtle nod. She leaned in slightly against my back, her hand settling on my shoulder, her head resting gently atop it.

Her touch was nothing more than soft and steady, but it was enough to send my pulse into overdrive. Not in a panicked way. In a white-hot, sky-splitting lightning bolt kind of way.

“We’re starting in a few,” she murmured, voice low.

“Did Ashley just drag Sal off?” she added, watching the commotion.

“Yeah. Outfit change,” I said.

“Good,” Emma replied, shifting slightly against me. “Pretty sure we agreed I’d do the Christmas glam and the rest of you would be in understated rock star mode. Definitely not glitterbomb elf costumes.”

“They tried to push the D on that,” I muttered.

“The D?” Emma laughed. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is, Teller.”

I felt her breath on my ear.

“Sports term,” I said, smirking. “Defense.”

She nodded slowly, her grin widening.

“Well, they definitely did, then.”

She straightened up and tugged at the little red gloves with the white fur trim, adjusting them with a theatrical flair.

“You ready to blow the roof off this place, Teller?”

“Just like the last four rehearsals. Think I can manage.”

“So self-deprecating,” she said, shaking her head with a grin. “Then you’ll unleash a guitar solo that reaches new levels of unhinged.” Her fingers wiggled in that devious, scheming way that always made me laugh.

I shook my head. “Just for that, Hartgrave, I won’t even touch the top end of the neck.”

Her expression turned wicked.

“Threatening the high frets?” she said, fanning herself like a fainting Victorian. “Don’t hold back, Teller.”

God, that line. Not here. Not now, Hartgrave.

I swallowed it down, shot her one back.

“You know I never do,” I smirked.

“You’re such a tease, Teller.”

“I’m not.”

“Gonna deliver, then?”

“I plan on it, and then some.”

I had no goddamn clue what we were even talking about anymore. The line blurred, like it always did. We were talking over each other. Teasing, flirting, slipping back into that rhythm of us without even trying. It always happened like this. Especially when we were pretending nothing had changed… when everything had.

Off to the side, Max and Dan stood with arms crossed, their expressions unimpressed, eyes practically rolling out of their heads.

“Oh my god, you two are so unbelievably nauseating,” Max said. “I’d say just bang already, but you’re not allowed to. Ever. Band code of ethics. Eight-album deal.” He pointed at each of us like we were misbehaving children.

Emma and I groaned in unison, rolling our eyes. We’d played this scene a hundred times before. The lead guitarist pretending he wasn’t in love with the lead singer, and doing a piss-poor job of hiding it.

And yeah, my heart still nearly hit the floor anytime someone mentioned the contract. The deal. The terms.

I never forgot the terms. Especially not at night, when all I could think about was her. How much I missed her. How much I wanted her, not just physically, but emotionally. Fully. The kind of wanting that didn’t fade.

I’d given in a few times. Texted her late, on the odd night. She texted back, flirty, funny, teasing. And honestly, that hurt too. It hurt when I reached out. It hurt when I didn’t. It hurt when I was next to her. It hurt every time in between. Like I was just stuck in it.

Emma nudged me gently, pulling me back to the present. Her gaze soft and knowing. 

Max and Dan were going at it, now, bantering about gifts and other nonsense. Dan suddenly stopped and tapped his watch.

“Oooh, we have to go,” he said.

“Oh, yeah. We do,” Max added, trailing behind him.

I let out a breath. So did Emma.

We stood shoulder to shoulder. Well, shoulder to the top of her head. She was still shorter than me, even in heels.

“Sorry,” I said quietly, honestly.

“For what?”  She gave me a soft glance. 

Then: 

“It’s fine, Teller. It’s… nice, you know. Being light with you. I want us to be…us.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of what she didn’t say settle between us.

“After rehearsal, we should do drinks and take out at the new bachelor pad,” she added, trying for casual. The joke didn’t quite land, but I knew what she meant.

Dan, Max, and I had taken over a penthouse in Studio City. Sleek, gritty, pure rock-and-roll charm. Huge. A welcome change from years of cramped quarters on tour.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’d love that.”

She smiled.

“Good.”

A beat passed, then her brow furrowed as she looked across the sound stage.

“What are Max and Dan doing?” she asked, pointing to where Dan disappeared behind a huge set piece, a giant snowman with a red top hat.

“Oh, bloomin' heck…” I muttered.

Right on cue, Max and Dan made their grand entrance. Riding in on the shoulders of two huge men dressed as Reindeer. They carried big red bags and tossed tiny wrapped presents to the crew and staff like deranged holiday royalty.

Dan, of course, leaned fully into the spectacle, puffing out his chest and making wildly exaggerated hand gestures like a king bestowing bread upon the peasants.

“You get a gift! And you get a gift!” Dan shouted, tossing presents like a daytime television host after a bender.

Emma burst out laughing, clutching my arm for balance.

“You knew about this?” she asked, eyes wide with amusement.

I shook my head, deadpan. “Of course not.”