Chapter 22
JACK
The hotel gym is empty when I get there at six-thirty in the morning, which is exactly how I like it.
Just me, the weights, and the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking West Hollywood as the city wakes up.
Lark was still asleep when I left, curled up in the hotel sheets with her hair spread across the pillow, looking so peaceful I almost didn’t want to leave.
But my training schedule doesn’t take days off, even when we’re in LA celebrating good news.
And yesterday was good news. Really good. Tidal Records is interested, wants to move forward, sees real potential in her music. We’d spent hours talking about it over dinner last night—her excitement about the opportunity mixed with uncertainty about all the changes they want to make to her sound.
The lyric simplification, the pop production, the whole commercial package thing. I want this to work out for her so badly, but I also don’t want her to lose what makes her music special in the first place.
I’m halfway through my second set when my phone buzzes on the bench beside me. Thomas. I set down the dumbbells, my muscles burning pleasantly, and answer.
“Morning,” I say, slightly out of breath.
“We have a situation,” Thomas says without preamble, his voice tight in that way that means he’s already had three coffees and been dealing with this for hours. “Have you seen social media this morning?”
“No, I’ve been at the gym. What’s going on?” I grab my water bottle, taking a drink while I wait for him to explain.
“Multiple tabloids are running stories suggesting that you and Lark are a PR relationship. That it’s all staged for your image rehabilitation and her music career.
” He pauses, and I can hear him clicking through something on his computer.
“It’s everywhere, Jack. Instagram, X, entertainment news sites.
People are analyzing your photos, looking for ‘proof’ that it’s fake. ”
I close my eyes, leaning back against the weight bench. Of course. Of course this is happening right when things are actually going well, right when we’ve figured out that this thing between us is real and not just for show. The universe has impeccable fucking timing.
“How bad is it?” I ask, already knowing the answer won’t be good. “What started it?”
“A gossip account on X posted a thread last night breaking down the timeline. When you two started posting together, how it coincided perfectly with your Monaco incident and her label meetings. Someone did the math on her follower growth, pointed out the timing was ‘too convenient.’ It spiraled from there.” Thomas sighs.
“The fact that they’re even questioning it means we need to address it.
Put out a statement, shut this down before it affects either of your careers. ”
“Yeah, okay,” I say, my mind already racing ahead. “What are you thinking?”
“Simple, direct statement confirming the relationship is genuine. Maybe a quote from each of you about how you met, how it developed naturally, all the standard language we use for these things.” His keyboard clicks rapidly in the background.
“Keep it brief, honest, shut down the speculation without being defensive. I can have something drafted in an hour. You and Lark just need to approve it before we release anything.”
“Send it over when you have it,” I tell him, pushing myself up from the bench. My workout is done. I need to get back upstairs, tell Lark what’s happening before she sees it herself and spirals. “We fly back tonight, but I’ll make sure we both review it before you release anything.”
“Perfect. You’ll hear from me soon,” Thomas says, already moving on to the next thing on his list.
“Thanks, I’ll talk to you later,” I say, and hang up.
I pull up X and immediately see what Thomas meant. #JackAndLark is trending. The top tweets are a mix of people defending us and people “exposing” us with badly analyzed photos and elaborate conspiracy theories.
Look at their body language in this pic, it’s totally staged. She’s not even looking at him naturally.
She gained 100k followers since they started dating. Convenient timing much? She’s a clout chaser!
He needs good PR after Monaco. She needs exposure for her music. It’s a textbook manufactured relationship.
Y’all are so naive. This is OBVIOUSLY for his sponsors. Wake up.
Thread after thread of people dissecting our relationship like it’s a puzzle to solve, looking for signs it’s fake, comparing it to other celebrity PR stunts.
Screenshots of our Instagram posts with circles and arrows pointing out “evidence.” Some of the theories are actually kind of close to what we originally planned, which would be funny if it wasn’t so damn frustrating.
I grab my towel and water bottle and head back to the room, my earlier workout energy completely gone, replaced by a sick feeling in my stomach.
This is my fault. I’m the one with the tabloid history, the one whose life gets picked apart on social media.
Lark signed up to help me with my image and grow her social media, not to have her character attacked by strangers on the internet.
When I let myself into the room, she’s awake, sitting up in bed with her phone in her hands, her knees pulled up to her chest. She looks up when I enter and her face is already wide-eyed with shock.
“Have you seen social media?” she asks.
“Yeah. Thomas just called.” I drop my gym bag by the door and sit on the edge of the bed. “It’s everywhere, huh?”
“Everywhere,” she confirms, and then lets out this slightly hysterical laugh. “Jack, people think we’re fake. They think this whole thing is staged. The irony is insane.”
I can’t help but grin despite everything. “Right? If they only knew.”
She’s scrolling on her phone, shaking her head. “This is hilarious.” She looks up at me. “Some of the timeline stuff is kinda accurate. But they’re saying I’m a clout chaser. That I’m not actually talented.”
“That’s complete bullshit,” I say immediately, moving closer.
“Your talent has nothing to do with me. Tidal was already interested before we even started this whole thing. Your streaming numbers were growing on their own. The fake dating just helped boost your social media numbers, but they reached out because of your music.”
“Try telling them that,” she says, gesturing at her phone.
“Half the comments on my last post are people saying I’m a gold digger or a fame whore or that I’m just some random girl desperate for attention.
” Her voice wavers slightly. She’s trying to sound light, like it’s all a big joke, but I can tell it’s hitting her hard.
Fuck. I want to take her phone and throw it out the window, delete every social media app, protect her from all of this. But I can’t. This is the reality of my life, and now it’s hers too.
“It’s not great,” I admit, taking her hand. “But we can handle it. Thomas is drafting a statement. We’ll put it out, confirm we’re actually together, and it’ll blow over eventually. This stuff always does.”
“Everyone in Dark River is going to see this,” she says. “Your brothers are going to have questions. Everyone we know is going to be talking about it and asking if it’s true and wanting to know details and—”
I move closer, taking both her hands now.
“I’ll take care of my brothers. I should have come clean to them ages ago anyway, and believe me this is like number ten on the list of crazy things I’ve done over the years, so they won’t really care.
As for everyone else, they can think whatever they want.
We know the truth. The people who matter know the truth. Everyone else is just noise.”
She smiles a bit. “Okay, I guess that makes sense.”
“Exactly,” I say, squeezing her hands. “Plus this is a nice little trial run for when you’re a big star and something wild happens. This one we get to handle together.”
She laughs. “Okay, okay, you’re right. Ugh, I’m gonna have to tell my parents too though. I can’t keep lying to them about it anymore. That’s going to be fun.”
“Hey, I’ll just charm them when I finally get to meet them,” I say.
She rolls her eyes but she’s smiling.
An idea forms in my mind, sudden and clear. “What if we don’t go home?” I say.
She looks up, confused. “What?”
“What if we don’t go back? What if we go somewhere else instead? Just us, no cameras, no pressure, no one dissecting our every move or asking if we’re really together.”
“That’s crazy. Where would we even go?” she asks, but I can see interest sparking in her eyes.
“Somewhere away from everything. Somewhere we can just be together without worrying about who’s watching or what people think.” I’m already pulling up my phone, already searching. “I could book us a place in the mountains. Private cabin, middle of nowhere, just us.”
“You want to go on a spontaneous mountain getaway?” She’s smiling now. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” I admit, grinning at her. “But we were going to fly home tonight anyway. What’s a few more days?
I’m thinking Banff. Canadian Rockies. I know someone who handles luxury cabin rentals up there.
I can have us in a private place by tomorrow—fireplace, hot tub, mountain views, the whole thing. Completely away from everything.”
“Banff,” she repeats slowly, and I can see the appeal registering on her face. “Like actually Banff? The place with the turquoise lakes and the mountains that look like a postcard?”
“That’s the one. Private cabin, just us. No one knows we’re there. No tabloids, no social media shit, no one asking questions. Just a few days to be together and figure out what this is without all the noise.”
She looks at her phone, then back at me. I can see her wavering, that practical side that plans everything warring with the spontaneous side.
“We’d have to book flights,” she says, but it’s not a no. It’s the beginning of a yes.
“I can have that done in ten minutes.”
“And a place to stay.”
“Five minutes.”
She considers this. “And we’d have to let people know we’re not coming back as planned.”
“That’s what text messages are for. ‘Hey, extending the trip, back in a few days, love you bye.’” I’m grinning at her now, at how much I want this.
She’s biting her lip, trying not to smile, and I know I’ve almost got her. “This is crazy.”
“Yeah,” I agree, taking her hands. “But you were just in an incredible meeting yesterday. You’ve got a big decision to make.
And we’re actually dating now, not just pretending.
And everyone back home thinks we’re fake anyway, so we might as well go somewhere we can actually be ourselves without performing for anyone. Let’s go be crazy together.”
She studies my face for a long moment.
“Okay,” she says, and her smile breaks wide and genuine. “Let’s do it. Let’s go be crazy together.”
And just like that, we’re going on an adventure.