by Eden Finley
Soren and I disappear after Radioactive’s set like we’ve been doing everywhere else. He has the ability to make this crazy schedule feel normal. He has a way of making the four walls of whatever hotel room we’re in feel like home. And he makes this lonely existence of mine not seem so isolating.
“What city are we in?” Soren asks warily.
I laugh. “Kansas City.”
He doesn’t bother getting undressed before flopping down on the bed. “You know how we were arguing in Fiji about who’s the better athlete?”
I strip off my shirt. “Yeah?”
“Rock stars win,” he murmurs into the pillow.
“Bow down to your superior,” I mock. “It’s been two weeks on the road.”
“Mmm.”
“Be thankful we’re not on the tour bus. Our first tour with Eleven, we bussed it everywhere. Overnighters, cramped bunk beds, little sleep. Be thankful for the jet, my friend.”
If it weren’t for my relationship with Harley, we’d be on our own headlining tour this year. There were discussions about it when Eleven’s last tour ended, but Harley and I wanted to figure out a way to stay together. This was back when we were good at hiding our relationship. It didn’t take much to convince the label Radioactive wasn’t ready for our own tour yet and that being on stage with Eleven was the best exposure for us.
We did get a plane out of it though. We’ve had added press coverage this tour, so it was more conducive to have the band fly ahead to the next city to do local radio interviews and promote the shows.
Soren grunts.
Poor guy. He can play eighty-two hockey games in six months, but two weeks on a stadium tour is kicking his ass. Though, in his defense, we’ve been put through the media wringer since coming out as a couple.
The label’s happy because it detracts from the Harley rumors and promotes the tour at the same time. Soren isn’t part of the interviews, but his appearance on the sidelines is enough.
Arrive in a city, talk to a radio station. Interview for an online magazine, then go to soundcheck. We get a few hours of downtime after that if there aren’t more reporters sniffing around us. Then rinse and repeat. Sometimes in reverse order. Some cities we play two nights, some just one.
“I’m gonna jump in the shower, and then we’ll go to sleep,” I say.
But when I get out of the bathroom, Soren hasn’t moved. Hasn’t even tried to get under the covers before passing out.
I find some sweats to pull on. Unlike him, I’m too wired to sleep. Some shows are so full of energy it takes a while to come down from them.
I climb on top of the covers next to him and turn on the TV.
I shouldn’t have.
There on the news is a shaky video of Harley onstage tonight, getting down on one knee and proposing to a woman I’ve never seen before in my life.
Woman might be stretching it. She’s a girl. Young. Cute but still hot. Or … society’s definition of hot. She’s the perfect beard because she looks sweet enough to be everyone’s best friend but pretty enough to be believable.
I hate her.
Okay, not her, I kinda feel sorry for her, but I hate the idea of her and the label’s insistence on her importance.
It’s complete bullshit.
Lyrics tickle the back of my mind.
I jump out of bed and find the notebook I keep for moments like this.
Words fly out of me in lines that probably don’t make much sense. I curl up on the couch in the suite and keep writing.
The news plays that stupid clip on a loop. Over and over again, I watch Harley get down on one knee in front of a stadium of screaming fans.
“Thank fuck we left early,” I mumble to myself.
“What, baby?” Soren asks in a groggy voice. His hand reaches out for me, but when he finds no one beside him, he sits up.
“Nothing,” I whisper. “Go back to sleep.”
He doesn’t. He gets out of bed and makes his way over to me on the couch. His head lands in my lap. “Whatcha watchin’?” Soren’s eyes close and he yawns.
“The news.”
“Fun times.”
“So fun.” Maybe my dry tone is what catches his attention.
His eyes crack open.
“Look what we missed tonight.” I nod toward the TV where it’s on again.
“Wow. He went through with it, eh?”
“Yep. It makes sense they do it here.”
“Why here?”
“Oh, so you read about Harley’s real name but didn’t know that he’s from Kansas City? His family is here, so it’s gimmicky for him to do it here.”
I feel Soren’s scrutinizing stare on me without taking my eyes off the TV.
“You need anything?” he asks softly. “To talk about it?” A hand travels up my thigh. “A distraction?”
“I don’t need a distraction, but I’ll never turn down a blowjob.”
Soren laughs, but it fades when our eyes lock. I try to cover whatever the fuck I’m feeling by fake smiling. He doesn’t buy it.
He sits up. “Jet, it’s all right for you to think this sucks. If Bryce was getting married, I’d be hurt.”
“He can do whatever he wants.”
Loud knocking on the door echoes through the hotel suite.
“Expecting someone?” Soren asks.
“It’ll be Luce wanting to yell at me for not hanging around for the meet and greet again.” But something in the pit of my gut tells me it’s not Luce.
“Jay!” The slurred voice comes with more knocking, and my suspicions are confirmed. “Jay bae.”
Ugh. I hate that nickname. Harley loves it.
Soren stiffens beside me. “Want me to—”
“I’ve got it.” Yet, I don’t move.
Harley knocks again. “Jay bae.”
“He’s drunk,” I say.
Soren tries to contain a smile. “Whatever you say, Jay bae.”
“Don’t even start.” Weighted with nerves, I make my way to the door and prepare to tell Harley to fuck off.
But as soon as it opens, there he is, and like the past few months, I can’t shut him out. Only, this time, it’s not because I’m weak. I understand now that our connection is only a kinship of two lonely people on tour. That’s why I can’t turn him away.
Even if I want to.
He hasn’t shaved in a while, his ginger scruff more prominent. His brown hair is messy, and he has bags under his bloodshot eyes.
Déjà vu from the billion other times this exact scenario has played out runs through my head.
Only, this feels different. Things are unbalanced now.
“It’s happening.” He sways on his feet.
“I saw.” I can’t help feeling sorry for the guy.
“Because of ‘Tennessee Whiskey.’”
“The song or the barrel of it you’ve had to drink tonight?”
“Because of us. Singing it. They weren’t going to make me announce the stupid engagement until after the tour wraps. Now …”
I step aside and let him in.
A look of triumph lights his face, and I know immediately he’s gotten the wrong idea, but before I can call him on it, he stumbles his way past me and freezes.
Harley frowns. “Why’s he here when …”
“When what?” I ask. He doesn’t answer me.
Soren glances between Harley and me and then stands. “I, uh, can go if you want me to.”
It’s obvious he doesn’t want to leave me with Harley but is trying to be respectful. Well, fuck that.
“No.” I approach and wrap my arms around Soren’s waist. “You don’t need to leave.”
There’s a three-way stare off until Harley’s shoulders slump.
“I don’t want to be here,” Harley wobbles. “I don’t want …”
“You’re free to leave,” I say bitterly. “You didn’t need to come in.”
Soren leans in. “I don’t think he’s talking about our hotel room.”
&nb
sp; “See, the hockey player gets it.” Harley throws himself into the single armchair in the room. “My life shouldn’t be like this.”
“Yeah, massive stadium tours, millions of fans, and more fame than anyone could ask for. Your life is the worst.” I cringe at my own dig because of everyone in the world, I know more than most the sacrifices he’s made to have this life.
“And that comes at what cost?” Harley shakes his head. “It’s too much. What they’re asking of me.”
“Then tell the label that.” I pull Soren down onto the couch next to me.
“You know it’s not that easy, bae.”
I grit my teeth. “Don’t call me that.”
He flinches. “Sorry. Force of habit. But my point still stands. It’s not easy.”
“Neither is coming out,” Soren says.
Harley’s gaze flies to his.
“Deciding to be the first out NHL player was hard. I didn’t know how the public was going to react or how it was going to affect my career. I understand the need to let the world know who you are and to live your true life, but maybe the label is keeping you quiet for a reason? You could lose everything you’ve worked for, and you need to be okay with saying goodbye to music if you do it. When I made my choice, I’d all but convinced myself I’d retire. It worked out for me, but your fans might abandon you. It’s too unpredictable.”
“I don’t want to live this lie.”
“Should’ve thought of that before you proposed publicly in front of billions of people,” I say. “The whole world has seen it by now.”
“I don’t think that’s helping, Jet,” Soren says in my ear.
“What, you want to help him?” I ask incredulously.
“Does he look like someone who’s doing this to spite you? Or to piss you off? He’s clearly hurting.”
Harley whines. “Damn it. Why’d your boyfriend have to be nice?”
“He’s Canadian. He can’t help it.”
“Sorry.” Soren shrugs.
“God, he’s apologizing even though I’m in your room all drunk-like and complaining. He really is Canadian.” His head kinda wobbles.
“Maybe you should go sleep it off,” I say. “You’ll be able to think more clearly when you’re sober.”
“If Ryder would hurry up and get the guts to leave already, we’d have a way to get out of our stupid contract,” he rambles. I guess he’s not going to go sleep it off.
“Ryder wants out?” I ask.
“He wants more time with Kaylee, and she’s getting to an age where she needs routine and to be able to run around, and she can’t get that on a music tour. If he leaves, the band breaks up, and we can all do our own thing.”
“Every teenage girl’s heart in the world just twinged, and no one knows why,” Soren jokes.
“Oh, it’s gonna be worse than when 1D broke up.” I turn to Harley. “But why does Ryder have to be the first to leave?”
“He has the better excuse with his kid. If the rest of us do it, we’re the diva and no one will want to work with us.”
I try not to smile. “You are a bit of a diva.”
“I’m sorry,” Harley mumbles.
I blink at him. Harley Valentine doesn’t say sorry.
“For forcing you to come back on tour. I … I didn’t want to do it alone. But I know it’s unfair to you, and I shouldn’t even be here.” He hangs his head in his hands. “I want everything to be like it was a year ago. Before everyone knew about us. Before it was drama. Before—”
“Before we got into the habit of repeatedly hurting each other by prolonging the inevitable.”
Our eyes lock. “Exactly that. I’m just … sorry. And I’m sorry you had to resort to this charade for my sake.”
“Charade?” I ask.
“Yeah. Isn’t he just like my fiancée?” He shudders. “Everyone’s been saying Luce set this up.” He waves a finger between Soren and me.
“Harley, this isn’t some random hockey player. He’s the hockey player. It wasn’t set up. This isn’t fake.”
Realization hits him. “He’s ‘Someone Else’s Perfect’?”
“I’m going to start charging people every time someone calls me that,” Soren says.
Harley slumps. “Well, shit.” He runs his hands through his messy hair. “I should go.” As he stands, he suddenly appears less drunk. His face is pensive as if a million thoughts are running through his head.
I walk him to the door, but Soren stays on the couch.
Harley spins at the last second. “Can I point out that this fucking sucks? Do you know how much it hurts to get up onstage every night and sing a song your ex wrote about someone else? And then to find out that he’s now with that person?”
“I know.”
“Sorry. Random blurtiness is blurty.” His head shoots up. “Oh, one more thing. I’m supposed to tell you that you don’t have to avoid the after-parties because of me. I’m supposed to promise to play nice.”
“Ego much? I’m not avoiding them because of you.”
Harley gives me a derisive look.
“I don’t need to attend them. I’m not contractually obligated.” I glance over my shoulder at Soren who’s trying to be subtle about watching us, but if the diaper commercial on the TV makes him look that worried, we have bigger problems than having to be on tour with an ex-boyfriend.
“People have been asking for you,” Harley says. “If you don’t stick around for some, you’ll hear from the label. Contractually obligated or not, they’d prefer to keep all fans happy, and the fans want to meet you.”
I huff. “Even though you hate the label, you’re still doing their bidding.”
“Yeah, well, I’m their puppet. But I mean, you don’t have to avoid the meet and greets because of me. If nothing else, I know how to be professional. I promise to stay on my side of the room.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Harley glances at Soren. “Yeah, if I had someone waiting for me, I wouldn’t stick around either.” He stumbles away.
I close the door and lean against it, wondering if that actually happened. “That was weird.”
“Was it?”
“Yeah. He was … rational. That’s not like him at all.”
“He seems lost. I was kinda hoping your ex would be a dick. So much easier to hate them when they’re assholes.”
“You heard from yours at all?”
“Oh, yeah. He says my midlife crisis looks desperate and sad. He also had a lot to say about my gallivanting all over the country with the rock star I was unhealthily obsessed with during our relationship to the point he suspected something was going on even though I promised that I just liked your music.”
“Oops?”
Soren laughs. “Come here.” He holds out his hand and pulls me into his lap. “Can I ask you something about the song?”
“‘Someone Else’s Perfect’?”
“Yeah. Why did you give it to Eleven?”
“The label said it was too much like ‘Hat Trick Heartbreak’ and refused to record it with us. So, they tweaked the melody, put a bopping beat behind it, and, bam, it became a pop song.”
“Are you sure you’re okay after that?”
I nod. “You don’t have to keep asking if I’m okay. If I’m not, you’ll know.”
“Does this mean we have to stick around for the whole show now? Because I’m going to need a power nap in the afternoons or something.”
“Aww, old man. I know being on the road can be rough—”
“Oh no. Being on the road playing hockey can be rough. Being on a music tour is fucking brutal. And the thing is, we’re not even doing much. Well, I’m not. I follow you everywhere you go, and then you’re onstage every other night shaking your ass. At least you’re getting in some cardio. Preseason training is going to kick my ass because I’m getting fat and lazy and—”
My hands run over his rock-hard abs. “So fat.”
“You know what I mean. There’s hardly any time
on the schedule to work out. I’ve been given maybe half an hour in two different cities. Hell, there’s no time on the schedule for us to go sightseeing or even have some alone time. You’re constantly surrounded by people, and they’re always coming and going. It makes my head spin. You have one of the hardest jobs in the world. Dealing with an ex at the same time …”
As much as I appreciate the acknowledgment about how hard it is, freak-out soldiers march in my stomach.
I guess I didn’t realize until this second that while I’ve been keeping naïve, heart-eyed Jet in check, he’s still getting stupid ideas. Like Soren might want to stay on tour with me instead of going home. Which is really stupid because that can’t happen. He’s under contract. And if it was an option, he wouldn’t if he’s not enjoying himself.
“You’re not having fun?” I ask.
“I didn’t say that.” His lips touch mine. “I do love the time I get with you. I love watching you on that stage. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Except maybe a gym?”
“Mm, maybe. But I’d rather be with you.”
I make a mental note to fit in some time where Soren can go for a workout and where we can get away for a few hours.
Soren kisses me, long and deep, and I grind on top of him.
“Ready for that distraction now?” he rasps.
Instead of answering him, I climb off him and pull him toward the bed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Soren
Jet keeps playing up the serious relationship angle to the media and to his ex, and I want that to be real, but I’m not sure he believes it no matter how much I want him to.
It’s obvious he’s still hung up on Harley. If the way he was rattled by their impromptu duet on stage wasn’t enough proof of that, how he handled drunk Harley would’ve tipped me off. He was trying to stay strong around him, but I saw the softness between them.
Their connection is obvious, and it’s no wonder they couldn’t keep their relationship a secret from people on the crew.
Part of me even feels guilty for coming between them, but at the same time, whenever Harley’s been around, I’ve wanted to grab Jet and growl “mine” until Harley backs off. My want for Jet outweighs the guilt by a thousand.
