Jules
I'm hunched over Scottie's desk, papers scattered in front of me, trying to make sense of the mess that is this tour. Venues to confirm, flight schedules to double-check, and the inevitable last-minute changes that come with planning a tour this massive. It's nothing I'm not used to, but today my focus is slipping.
Scottie's off in his own world, earbuds in, deep in conversation with someone on the phone about some minor detailâprobably contracts or riders or something equally tedious. He's sharp as hell, still the same relentless machine he's always been, even with Sophie by his side softening him in subtle ways. Not that he's any less sharp. He's just less... angsty. Less scary, even though the ruthlessness is still there. It's all part of his charm.
"Jules?" Scottie's voice cuts through my thoughts.
I blink, realizing he's looking at me, waiting for a response. "Hmm? Sorry, what?"
Scottie raises an eyebrow. "I said, we've got the green light for the Europe leg, but I want you to confirm with the tour manager about the new routing. We're hitting a couple of new cities, so make sure we're not overlooking anything." He flips through a few papers, eyes darting over them before glancing back at me.
I nod, quickly writing it down. "Got it. I'll send out the emails tonight to get everything lined up."
I try to stay focused, but I can't help it. My mind keeps wandering, drifting back to Whip. To that moment in the pizza place. The way he'd gotten quieter, more serious, and the things he'd said about the band, about the future. I'm not sure if I'm just overthinking it, or if he meant what I think he meant. But right now, I can't let it distract me. Scottie doesn't miss a beat, even when he's not talking. He's got his own way of keeping track of everything.
I glance up at Scottie as he flips through another pile of papers, tapping his pen against his lip in that absent-minded way he does when he's thinking. The silence between us stretches a little longer than usual, and then, almost without thinking, I ask, "Hey, Scottie, what would you do if Kill John ended? I mean, if it ever... ended?"
His hand pauses mid-flip, and I can see the subtle shift in his posture. He doesn't look up immediately, but I can tell he's mulling over the question. It's rare for anyone to ask him something that personal, especially when it comes to Kill John. The band is everything to himâit's his legacy. And yet, here I am, throwing a curveball.
Scottie finally looks at me, his expression unreadable for a moment before he shifts in his chair. "Why the hell are you asking me that?" His tone is still sharp, but there's a hint of curiosity there too, maybe even something softer beneath the surface.
I shrug, trying to sound casual, even though I can feel my heartbeat quickening. "I don't know. Just... thinking about how everything's going to change once the tour's over. We've all been at this for a while, and it feels like things are starting to change. Killian's got a baby now, Rye is always... Rye, Jax's got his own thing going, and well, you've got Sophie." I trail off, suddenly realizing I've said too much.
Scottie's lips curl slightly at the mention of Sophie, but he doesn't bite. Instead, he leans back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head like he's got all the time in the world to think about it. "If Kill John ended?" he repeats, almost as if savoring the thought. "I'd figure it out. I always do."
His words are as cryptic as ever, but I can tell there's a deeper truth in them. Scottie's not the kind of guy who likes to admit weakness or uncertainty. The band has been his focus for as long as I've known him, and the idea of it ending seems almost impossible. But that doesn't mean it's not something he's considered.
"And what would that look like?" I ask, genuinely curious now. It's not something I've ever thought to ask him before, but for some reason, tonight it feels like the right question. "What do you think you'd do if it all went away?"
He pauses, and for a second, he seems like he's a million miles away. "I don't know. I still have other clients. But, I might go into something else. Maybe a record label or some other part of the industry. But I won't be sitting on my hands, Jules. That's not me. The world doesn't stop for anyone, even if you've built it all up from scratch." His eyes flick over to me, steady and sharp.
I nod, processing everything he's said. It's strange, though. I've always known that Scottie's a man with a plan, but hearing him talk about a future where Kill John isn't at the forefront is unsettling. It's hard to imagine him in any other context.
Before I can ask more, Scottie looks back down at his papers. "But we're not there yet, are we?" His tone is back to its usual no-nonsense edge, and I can feel the tension lift as he turns his attention back to the task at hand.
"No," I agree, "We're not."
I turn my attention back to the stack of paperwork in front of me, trying to focus. But my mind keeps wandering. There's something that's been bugging me for a while now. The tour's coming up, and as we go through the details of which countries we'll be hitting, I notice something. Kill John's reach in Asia is... minimal, at best.
I glance up at Scottie, who's already knee-deep in figuring out logistics, his eyes scanning the itinerary. "Hey," I start, tapping my pen on the table to catch his attention. "I was looking at the numbers for Asia, and it doesn't seem like we've got much of a presence there. I mean, we've got a few shows booked, but it's nothing compared to Europe or even South America. Why's that?"
Scottie doesn't skip a beat. He looks up from his papers, his brow furrowing slightly. He leans back in his chair, folding his arms as if considering how best to explain. "It's not just us, Jules. Asian markets are tricky. You've got a whole different set of dynamics over there. Japan, Koreaâthey're great, but we're not exactly dominating. And the rest of Southeast Asia? They've got their own music scene. International acts, especially rock bands, don't always get the same kind of love they do in the Americas or Europe."
I nod slowly, absorbing what he's saying. I never really thought about it like that. I just assumed the band's popularity would translate across the globe, especially with the way they've exploded in other places.
Scottie continues, his tone steady but matter-of-fact. "It's about market penetration. You've got to build that audience over time, and Kill John's focus has always been more on the Western marketâUS, UK, Europe. You'll notice bands who make it big in Asia usually have to work their way up over years, playing smaller clubs, getting fan support, building relationships with the local music scene. We haven't invested as much into that yet."
"So, no plans to go bigger in Asia, then?" I ask, just to clarify.
"Not unless we want to put in the time and effort," Scottie says, and I can hear the professionalism in his voice. "But it's not just about having a hit songâit's about connecting with the right people over there, and that takes time. You can't just drop in and expect a sold-out arena. It's a long-term strategy. If we really wanted to go all-in, we'd need to build the foundation first. And that's not something we've prioritized, especially with everything else going on."
I pause, thinking about what he's said. It makes sense. The logistics, the relationships, the effort to build something lasting. It's a lot more complex than I realized. Still, it's a little frustrating to think that Kill John's potential in places like China or Thailand is still untapped.
I sigh, feeling the weight of all the pieces Scottie's juggling. He's always a few steps ahead, even when it seems like things are going smoothly. "Got it," I say, leaning back in my chair. "Maybe something to consider for the future, though."
Scottie nods, his expression unreadable, but there's a slight glimmer of approval in his eyes. "Always thinking ahead, Jules. That's why I keep you around." I smile at the rare compliment.
The rest of the day blurs together in a whirlwind of logistics, calls, and last-minute details. I've learned to live for this chaos, for the exhaustion that comes with making sure everything runs smoothly, and yet, sometimes, I wish I could just step back and breathe. The constant hum of activity is familiar, but it doesn't make it any less overwhelming. I'd be lying if I said it didn't get to me sometimes.
Scottie and Brenna are wrapped up in their own worlds, making calls, their focus unwavering. I get lost in my work, too, pulling up spreadsheets, sending emails, checking every list, double-checking the flights, and confirming the merch orders. The pace is relentless, but I've learned to keep up, even when my mind is running on autopilot. Every task feels like a small victory, but there's always more to do. It's the nature of the business, and I've accepted that.
I lose myself in the rhythm of the job, letting the exhaustion settle into my bones. I love this. I love the people I work with, the way everyone knows their role, the way the pieces fit together, even when things seem impossible. But there's always that question of what's next. What will I do once Kill John's ride eventually slows down, once the music fades and the guys start moving on to the next phase of their lives? Will I still be here, sorting through the chaos, or will I have to make my own way?
By the time the last task is crossed off the list, I'm beyond exhausted. My mind is fried, but in a strange way, I'm still energized. I love thisâbeing in the thick of it all. Kill John has this momentum that keeps pushing us forward, even when the exhaustion sets in. It's a constant flow of adrenaline.
As the day winds down and the final few hours blur by in a haze of logistics and phone calls, something in the back of my mind keeps nagging at me. We wrap up, but there's no relief yet. Kill John's tour looms over all of us, every detail needing to be perfect. The guys start to trickle out, one by one, their minds already set on the road, their own agendas waiting for them once they're free from this whirlwind.
I notice Whip lingers at the edge of the room, not quite heading out the door with the others. It's something I've seen often nowadaysâthe way he hangs back after rehearsals, the way he keeps himself separate. Everyone else has their plans, their distractions, but not Whip. He seems to have developed a way to leave unnoticed, but not in the way of a guy who's just tired and ready to unwind. There's something about it that doesn't sit right.
As Whip laughs, his usual demeanor slipping back into place, there's a quiet edge to his voice. The way his eyes flicker to the door before he cracks his joke, and that faraway look that he can't seem to shake. It's like he's checking out of the room without even realizing it, retreating into himself in ways no one notices but me. It's subtle, just a small shiftâbut it sticks with me.
I'm still standing there, watching him as the others filter out. My mind is buzzing, trying to piece together the quiet moments I've caught him slipping into. The ones where he becomes distant, almost like he's somewhere else, out of reach. I can't help it; my gaze follows him, wondering what he's not saying, where he's really going when he steps out at the end of the night.
I don't know how long I've been standing there, lost in my thoughts, when Rye suddenly appears beside me, so quietly that I don't notice him approach. He leans in a little, arms folded, eyes narrowing as he catches me looking at Whip.
His presence barely a whisper until he speaks, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're thinking about him, aren't you?" His tone is light, but there's a knowing edge to it, like he's teasing me, but also letting me in on something unspoken.
I blink, caught off guard by his observation. "What do you mean?"
He glances over at Whip with a half-smirk, almost like he's weighing his words. "You know, Whip's good at hiding things," he says, shrugging like it's no big deal. "Dude's got layersâmore than most people realize. Keeps 'em close to the vest." His eyes twinkle, as if he's almost enjoying the mystery surrounding Whip, even if it's a bit too serious for my liking.
My heart skips a beat as I take in his words. "What are you saying? Like... what's going on with him?"
Rye leans back, giving me a once-over as if to make sure I'm keeping up with him. "Ah, I don't know, Jules. I just know when something's off. Dude's not as easy to read as he lets on. But hey,"âhe smirks, trying to keep it lightâ"Maybe it's nothing, or maybe he's just... got a few more secrets than we all think."
I feel a knot of confusion tighten in my stomach, the kind of feeling that comes when you know something's wrong but can't quite put your finger on it. "So, you're saying...?"
He raises his hands in mock surrender, his grin still there. "I'm just saying, you're not the only one who's noticed. But don't go digging too deep, alright? Sometimes it's better to leave things alone." His wink is playful, but his words linger with a bit more seriousness than I expected.
I watch as Rye then strolls over to Whip, his steps light, his usual easy smile in place. Whip, in turn, looks up from his phone, giving Rye a lazy look like nothing's out of the ordinary. Their interaction seems as effortless as always, the kind of back-and-forth banter that makes it hard to believe there's anything more to it.
"You sure you don't wanna head out, man?" Rye asks, a playful glint in his eyes. "I got a spot in mindâkinda hoping you'll back me up with some of your 'cool' drummer factor."
Whip snorts, clearly amused, but I notice the brief flicker of tension in his shoulders, the one he always tries to hide. "Yeah, sure, like I can even compete with your 'cool factor.'" He smirks, nudging Rye with his elbow. "But seriously, if you're dragging me to some dive bar again, I'm out."
Rye laughs, rolling his eyes. "Not this time, man. Something with better drinks, I promise. But if you're really not down, I'll just go get Brenna to drag me out instead."
Whip raises an eyebrow, and for a second, there's a playful look in his eyes. "Now you're just threatening me."
"I know, right?" Rye grins, throwing his arm around Whip's shoulders like they're just a couple of guys messing around. "You know you can't resist a drink with me. You'll come eventually."
Whip laughs, shaking his head. "You're an idiot. But fine, I'll go. Someone's gotta keep the bar staff entertained." He slips his phone into his pocket and grins. "But if I end up in someone's Instagram story for the wrong reasons, you owe me."
The two share a laugh, and I can't help but feel a sense of relief. For a moment, it's easy to forget the tension I've been sensing, the things I've started to question. They're just two guys, joking around, like they always do. But even as I turn back to my thoughts, I know there's more beneath the surface. I can't quite shake the feeling that whatever is happening with Whip, he's hiding it behind that easy smile.