Jax
If anyone ever wondered just how grumpy Don can get, they should try calling him in the middle of the night. Even better, let the hotel owner do it.
Because right now? He’s fucking fuming.
If I squint hard enough, I swear I can actually see smoke curling from his ears as he paces across Gareth’s trashed hotel room.
“So let me get this straight,” he growls. “Not only did you wreck the room, but I had to haul my happy ass down here to find out one of you booked a goddamn interview—and not a single one of you thought to tell me?”
The four of us shrug. I mean, from our point of view, it’s half-true.
I didn’t even want to do the bloody interview in the first place. But Gareth decided to take the lead on this one and tell Carly yes.
So as far as Don knows, we “booked” an interview. As far as I know, Gareth volunteered us without saying a word.
And now we’re due for said interview in less than an hour—despite the fact that it’s nearly 4 PM and we’re still half-asleep.
“Nothing? Really? I had to hop on a flight to get here in time, and all I get are shrugs?” Don spins to face me, finger raised. “You know better, Jax.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “It’s not my bloody room. Why are you scowling at me?” I grab his hand and turn it until he’s pointing at Gareth, who’s sulking in the corner like a kicked puppy. “Try that one.”
Don shoots me a look that clearly says no fucking thanks and drops his hand.
“I’m just saying, you can’t do that. You can’t book your own interviews and just…
go. That’s my job. I let you come to New York on your own because it was supposed to be personal.
Not work-related. The second you bring business into it, I need to be there. It’s a liability.”
Gareth scoffs. And if I thought Don was mad before? That right there just pushed him over the edge.
“Don’t you fucking start, Gareth. It’s bad enough we’re footing the bill for your temper tantrum.
” He gestures to the wrecked room. “You know what this looks like? To the hotel? To the label? Like we’re managing a band full of toddlers who can’t make it through one weekend without smashing shit and booking random press like it’s a goddamn joke. ”
His eyes sweep along the room, landing on each one of us.
“I’m not your babysitter. I’m not your PR team.
I’m your goddamn manager. And I can’t manage anything if you guys do it behind my back.
If you want to be rockstars, fine. But you can’t just do whatever the fuck you want, whenever you want. That’s not how this works.”
I press my lips into a thin line. Honestly? This whole thing is bullshit.
One of the worst parts of being frontman is that everything lands on me—because I’m the face of the band.
“You’re right, mate. We’re sorry,” I say, mostly because no one else is going to.
Don exhales and crosses the room, sinking into a wooden chair against the wall. He drags a hand across his shiny bald head, blowing out a long, tired breath.
“Tell me about this interview.”
I shrug. “Receptionist downstairs set it up. I think she said it was with something called Feedback Junkies.”
His eyes snap up. I swear I can see a vein bulging at his temple again. “Feedback Junkies?”
I raise a brow. “Is that… bad?”
He scoffs, already pulling his phone from his pocket. A few taps later, he tosses it to me. Luckily for him, I catch it. I turn it around and my eyes land right at the top where big, bold numbers stare back at me.
Subscribers: 203,781.
And the view counts?
Each one racks up over a million.
Every single video is an interview with a band that blew up right after.
Seeing the numbers makes my stomach drop and my mouth go dry.
I glance over at Don, suddenly frozen in place.
He doesn’t look impressed. Not even a little.
This is fucking great.
“They’re the top music vlog in the Northeast. Everyone watches them,” Don says flatly.
Yeah, I gathered that.
Then he sniffs the air, face scrunching like something died.
“And you guys were gonna go… like this?”
James shrugs and pushes off the wall. “Yeah? What’s so wrong with that?”
Don laughs—but not in the ha ha kind of way. More like I’m about to commit a felony.
He points at each of us. “Jax, you’ve got bedhead. Gareth looks like he hasn’t showered in a week. James has a goddamn hickey. And Desmond…” He pauses, finger still aimed at him. “Desmond is actually the only one who looks remotely put together.”
Desmond beams, nodding as he says, “Hell yeah.”
My eyes dart to James’s neck just as he ‘scratches’ at it. But sure enough, I can see it. The little purple love bite sits right at the base of James’s neck.
The room falls silent, everyone standing still with the only sound coming from the girls on the other side of the wall, laughing at something.
Don breaks the silence with a sharp breath. “You’ve got thirty minutes,” he says, voice clipped. “Get ready. Now.”
When Carly said her roommate ran this vlog, I didn’t realize she meant inside their apartment.
The second we walk in, the first thing I notice are the tapestries strung across the walls, microphones set up along an oak coffee table, and neon orange sofas arranged in a horseshoe shape right in the middle of the room. The set honestly looks like it was pulled straight from the late ’80s.
I barely have time for my eyes to adjust to the vampire lighting before a body collides with mine, arms wrapping around my neck.
“It’s so good to see you guys again!” Carly practically screams in my ear.
I resist the urge to peel her off, mostly because she’s the reason we’re even here for this interview in the first place, but this already feels like too much. And with Allie waiting back at the hotel, all I can think about is getting this over with so I can go straight back to her.
She finally releases me and takes a step back, giving me a slow once-over while biting her lip slightly. My skin instantly crawls.
“So,” she says, twirling her long jet-black hair around her finger, “where’s your girlfriend?”
I smile at the mention of Allie, wishing to God I’d dragged her along. “Oh, Allie decided to stay back. We like to keep work separate,” I say, hoping the hint from me saying her actual name is clear enough.
She arches a brow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh? How fun.”
The way she says fun makes my skin crawl even more.
It’s just an interview. Then we can leave.
Carly opens her mouth to say something else but is cut off by another woman. She doesn’t even have to speak, I can tell she’s the one in charge.
How do I know? It’s in the way she carries herself.
Her posture’s near perfect, a toothy smile as she strides toward us, but she’s not as intimidating as I thought she’d be.
If anything she looks rad as hell. Short brown hair shaved at the sides, hot pink lipstick that practically glows against her brown skin, lightning bolt earrings swinging, and a bloody necklace that says Get Fucked.
“Jax,” she says, stopping in front of me and holding out her hand.
I take it.
“My name’s Val. Owner of this lovely establishment,” she says, sweeping her arm around... well, everything. “So, have you guys done this sort of thing before?”
I give her a tight-lipped smile and shove my hands into my pockets. “We’ve done a radio show, but for a vlog? First time.”
“Oh!” Her eyes light up. “So, we’re popping your cherry then?” she says, wiggling her eyebrows.
I chuckle awkwardly and glance at Gareth and James. “Uh, yeah. Guess you are.”
She laughs and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Alright, if you guys wanna settle in on the couch, we’ll get started!”
James doesn’t even wait a second, he just barrels his way over, claiming his seat right on the end of the couch.
I slink behind as usual, heat crawling up my neck when I notice the only open spot is, of course, right next to Carly.
Sinking down onto the cushions, I keep my eyes straight ahead, trying not to notice as Carly very obviously adjusts her cleavage beside me.
Val flops onto the other side of me, and I almost let out an audible thank God.
“Okay,” the cameraman says, adjusting his frame. “We’re on in three… two… one…”
He flashes a thumbs-up.
“Alright, Feedback Junkies! We’re back with another interview—but this time, we’re jumping across the pond.
That’s right, we’ve got the boys from Bottom Line here, all the way from Cardiff, Wales.
Crazy, right? They just scored a record deal in the heart of Boston after absolutely wrecking it on the Blackout Tour. ”
She pauses dramatically and turns toward me. “Here with us is Jax Owens—lead singer, rhythm guitarist, and judging by the comments section, apparently the certified heartthrob of the group.”
She grins and leans forward, holding out the mic. “Tell us, Jax—what really brought Bottom Line together?”
She tilts the mic toward me, and I swear every thought I had dies right there on my tongue.
I clear my throat. “Uh, well… it basically started as a way for James, Gareth, and me to blow off steam. We played in my garage almost every day of the week. Then it was pubs—until they got sick of us—and then…” I shrug. “Decided to try things Stateside.”
“Did you ever think you’d end up here?”
I smile. “To be honest? No.” I let out a quiet chuckle. “We took a massive chance coming over for the Blackout Tour. One of those fuck it moments. And now? Can’t imagine where we’d be if we hadn’t gone for it.”
She nods thoughtfully, then raises a brow. “Do you think you guys will ever headline it?”
That one catches me off guard. I glance toward Don, who’s standing just out of frame, arms crossed. He gives a subtle shake of his head, almost like he’s reading my mind.
I turn back to Val with a small, nervous grin. “That... we don’t know.”
“Fair enough, fair enough. Now, something I have to ask…” — she leans in slightly — “where the hell is Casey?” She gestures to where Desmond is seated. “Now, don’t get me wrong, we’re loving Desmond over here, but wasn’t Casey your original drummer? Don’t think I haven’t done my homework.”
I do my best to keep my face neutral, but the name alone is enough to make my jaw tighten. Truth is, I haven’t thought about Casey in so long I sort of forgot he existed.
Before I can figure out what the hell to say, Gareth leans forward, his arm brushing mine. “Yeah, uh… Casey’s a prick. Got himself kicked out. That’s it.”
Then Gareth leans back like all he did was tell the world what he had for lunch—not announce a major band member’s exit.
Val’s eyebrows shoot toward her hairline. “Woah,” she laughs. “Brutal. So is Desmond just filling in, or is he officially in the band now?”
My eyes find Don again. He shakes his head once.
I give her another tight-lipped smile. “We’re testing out the waters.”
“Alright, now it’s my turn,” Carly pipes up from beside me.
Suddenly my palms start to sweat. I turn to face her slowly, trying like hell to keep some distance, even though she’s now sitting on her knees, practically closing the gap between us on the tiny sofa.
“Jax,” she starts, her smirk already creeping in, “there’s a bit of a rumor floating around. I’ll give you a hint: Fancy New York hotel. Rose garden. A pretty redhead helping you straighten your outfit. Ring any bells?”
She licks her teeth as she watches my eyes widen. It feels like a hand wraps around my throat.
I look to Don for the third time. But this time, his eyes are pinned on me, reading loud and clear: What the hell did you do?
How the hell would anyone even know? We were careful—
Then it hits me.
The fucking couple that came out while we were situating ourselves.
Fuck. Me.
My cheeks heat, but I shrug like I’ve got no idea what she’s talking about. “Must have been someone else.”
“So, you’re denying it?” she asks, her face glowing brighter by the second.
I look to Don again, who’s now pinching the bridge of his nose.
Thanks, Donny.
I force a smile, and thankfully Val takes the hint when she jumps in with, “Alright, next question! Gareth.”
Whatever she says after that, I completely blank out on.
The only thought bouncing around my head is… what kind of rumor? Is it the kind that can ruin someone? Like, a video or a photo? Or is it just word-of-mouth and easy to shake off and forget by morning?
Then, suddenly, applause breaks out around me, snapping me out of my spiral.
“You guys were great!”
I force a smile and wait for everyone to stand, but thankfully Val stays planted—right where I need her.
I lean in quickly, my eyes flicking around to make sure no one’s listening. “I was just curious,” I murmur, “what, uh... kind of rumor is going around?”
Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“Like… form. As in… is it just talk? Or something someone should worry about?”
“Oh, baby,” she says, grinning. “Don’t worry about that. Nothing with evidence.” She winks, then leans in a little closer. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
And just like that, she stands, and I finally take in a full breath.
That is, until a hand lands on my shoulder and I’m immediately hit with the overpowering smell of sweet vanilla and stale cigarettes.
It nearly makes me gag.
“You know,” Carly says, her voice dropping low as her hand slides slowly up my thigh—way too high. “I’ve got a balcony in my room with a few plants. We could pretend it’s a little rose garden.”
I freeze.
For a second, I’m not even sure I heard her right. But then her fingers dig in slightly, not even giving a second thought to just how many people are in this bloody room. Or the fact I clearly stated earlier I’m with someone.
The anxiety in my gut twists, turning into full-blown nausea.
My eyes zero in on her hand, wishing I had laser vision to scorch the bloody thing. I pluck it off my lap, holding it like it’s a disease before dropping it back into her own.
“I’m all set,” I say, voice flat.
Her face falls, looking as if I just slapped her.
I slowly rise from the couch.
“And for the record?” I add over my shoulder. “Using that rumor to try and crawl into my pants isn’t just desperate—it’s pathetic.”
Then I walk away.
Straight out the door, and right back to Allie.