Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 104498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
“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—”