Chapter 8
Hadley
The bedroom door was cracked just enough for the hallway light to cut a thin gold line across the carpet. Eli was propped against the headboard, tablet balanced on his knees, noise-canceling headphones clamped over his ears.
The screen glowed blue with one of his favorite high-speed rail videos, Shinkansen slicing through Japanese countryside, the same one he’d watched a thousand times.
His breathing had finally evened out after the car ride.
No more rocking. No more hands flapping.
Just focused staring, thumb tapping the volume button even though the sound was off.
I sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, back against the footboard, knees drawn up, watching him more than the screen.
My own phone was face-down on the comforter.
I hadn’t looked at it since Zariah texted that she was grabbing coffee downstairs with Holland.
The silence felt fragile, like if I breathed too loud it would shatter.
The suite door opened in the living room. Soft click of the latch. Footsteps, slow, hesitant. Not Zariah’s quick stride. Not Holland’s easy swagger. These were heavier. Tired.
I knew who it was before he appeared in the doorway.
Cal stopped just inside the frame, one hand still on the knob like he might bolt back out.
No leather jacket today. Just a plain black tee, jeans, hair still damp from a shower.
He looked smaller without the stage lights and the attitude.
Hungover eyes, shadows underneath, mouth set in a line that wasn’t quite a frown.
He saw me first. Then Eli. Froze.
For a second neither of us moved. The train video kept playing. silent whoosh of steel on tracks.
Cal’s gaze flicked to Eli’s headphones, then back to me. He jerked his chin toward the living room. Quiet. Question.
I glanced at Eli. He hadn’t noticed. Still lost in bullet trains.
I slid off the bed, bare feet silent on the carpet, and followed Cal out. He closed the bedroom door most of the way, left it open an inch so I could hear if Eli needed me.
The living room was dim, curtains half-drawn against the afternoon glare. Empty takeout containers from room service sat on the coffee table. Bottled water. A half-eaten apple. Normal mess. Nothing felt normal.
Cal stood by the windows, arms crossed, staring at the Strip below like it might give him answers. When I stopped a few feet away, he turned, rubbed the back of his neck.
“Hey,” he said. Voice low. Rough from whatever he’d been drinking at lunch.
I didn’t answer. Just waited.
He exhaled hard through his nose. “Look. About this morning...”
“Don’t.”
He blinked. “I need to say it.”
“You don’t need to do anything. You already did plenty.”
His jaw ticked. “I was an asshole. I know that. I panicked. Ron was screaming, my phone wouldn’t stop ringing, Sydney was crying like the world ended, and I just… I wanted it all to stop. So I said shit I shouldn’t have. Called you things I didn’t mean.”
“You meant them enough to say them in front of everyone.”
“I didn’t...”
“You stood there and let her call me a gold-digger. A manipulator. Trash. You pulled her into your arms like she was the victim. Your friends watched. Not one of them said a word. Not even Kei, who at least pretended to be decent later.”
He looked away. “They’re… protective of her. Always have been.”
“And I’m what? Disposable?”
“That’s not....”
“It is.” My voice stayed steady. Cold. I wasn’t yelling.
I didn’t have the energy. “You threw me under the bus so you wouldn’t have to deal with the mess.
And now I’m here. In your hotel. Because my thirteen-year-old brother had a panic attack from strangers banging on our windows.
Because my face is all over the internet.
Because I trusted one night of stupid fun and woke up married to a stranger who thinks I’m after his money. ”
He rubbed his face with both hands. “I don’t think that anymore.”
“Great. Progress.”
“I’m trying to apologize.”
“Apologies don’t fix terrified kids. They don’t fix missed work shifts. They don’t fix the fact that my landlord’s probably going to see the news and kick us out for ‘bad publicity.’”
He started pacing. Three steps. Turn. Three steps back. “The PR team wants us to… play along. For two weeks.”
I laughed. Short. Bitter. “Play along.”
“Yeah. A statement. Some photos. Look happy. Normal. Let the story burn out on its own. Then we file for annulment. Quiet. Clean.”
“You want me to pretend to be your wife.”
“Just in public. For the cameras.”
“While Sydney glares at me like I stole her favorite toy? While your band looks at me like I’m a problem to solve? While my brother hides in headphones because the world got too loud?”
He stopped pacing. “I don’t know what else to do, Hadley. Ron says if we annul right now it looks like a cover-up. Fans will riot. Sponsors will pull. The label will lose their minds. Two weeks. That’s it.”
“Two weeks of lying.”
“Two weeks of surviving.”
I crossed my arms. “And what do I get? Besides a roof over our heads and food I didn’t pay for?”
“Security. Money. Whatever you need for your brother. Meds. School stuff. Rent. Name it.”
“I don’t want your money. I want my life back.”
He looked at me then...really looked. “I know I fucked this up. I know I hurt you. I know I hurt him.” He nodded toward the bedroom. “I saw the way he looked at me earlier. Like I was gonna hurt you. Like I was the bad guy. And he’s right. I was.”
Silence stretched. Thick.
“I don’t know how to fix it,” he said finally. Quiet. “I’m not good at this. At… people. At fixing shit. I usually just leave. But I can’t leave this time. Not without making it worse.”
I stared at the carpet. “You already made it worse.”
“I know.”
Another beat.
“Why’d you even say yes?” I asked. “In the chapel. Why didn’t you stop?”
He swallowed. “I don’t remember most of it. Just… you laughing. You looking at me like I wasn’t a headline. Like I was just a guy. It felt… good. For once.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
Before I could figure it out, the bedroom door creaked wider.
Eli stood there, one headphone dangling off his ear. Eyes wide. Scared.
“Why’s the man yelling?” he asked. Voice small.
I crossed the room in two steps, knelt in front of him. “He’s not yelling at you, bud. He’s just… talking loudly. Grown-up stuff.”
Eli looked past me at Cal. “He’s mad.”
“He’s not mad at you.”
Eli’s hands started twisting the hem of his shirt. “I don’t like loud.”
“I know.” I pulled him into a hug. He let me. Buried his face in my shoulder. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”
Cal stayed where he was. Watching. Face pale. Like he’d just been slapped.
I rubbed Eli’s back in slow circles. “Go back to your trains. I’ll be right there. Promise.”
He nodded against me. Put the headphone back on. Shuffled to the bed. Curled up small.
I stood. Turned to Cal.
He hadn’t moved.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” I said.
“But if it’s forgiveness, I’m not there yet.
Maybe not ever. Right now, all I care about is keeping him calm.
Keeping him safe. If that means staying here two weeks and smiling for cameras, fine.
But don’t expect me to like it. Don’t expect me to like you. ”
He nodded once. Slow.
“I won’t.”
I walked back to the bedroom. Sat on the edge of the mattress. Watched Eli’s screen. Watched the trains blur past in perfect lines.
Cal stayed in the doorway a minute longer. Then he left. Quiet footsteps down the hall.
I lifted my hand. Stared at the ring. Thin gold. Fake diamond winking in the low light.
“Two weeks,” I whispered. “Just two weeks. Then I can go home.”
But even as I said it, the words tasted like a lie.
I already knew it wouldn’t be that simple.