33. Nikolai
33
NIKOLAI
I convince Jane to take a later flight out the next day before I have to continue to New York for my late night show performance with Kerra. I wanted her to come with me to the show, but it’s better if she’s not there. She and Kerra don’t need to cross paths, especially when I tell her tonight that I’m pulling out of the PR stunt.
I should’ve done it a long time ago, but now that Jane has fully let me in, I can’t fake it. I don’t care what it does to my career or the legal hell I could potentially create for myself. I owe it to Jane to be all in with her both in private and in public.
We spend the day lounging around the hotel room, ordering room service, and fucking on any surface available. She’s like a drug that I forgot the sweet, sweet taste of.
Time goes by far too fast until we reluctantly have to say goodbye. A driver takes Jane to the airport and I spend another few hours in the hotel until it’s time for my own flight.
The next morning, I wake up early and go to a local studio to get some work in before the performance. Time gets lost when I’m in the studio and I’m in the middle of another take when Arun bangs on the booth door. “You can’t be late, this is live television tonight.”
We sit in traffic, Arun cursing the entire way, before finally pulling up to the set as the sun is giving way to the moon. He rushes me inside and I barely have time to change or get any touch-ups from the makeup artist.
Thankfully, my voice is already warmed up from being in the studio all day, and with cutting it so close on time, I don’t have to do much chatting with Kerra beforehand. We stand off in the wings, waiting to be introduced by the host of the show and brought out for our performance.
“I was starting to think you wouldn’t show,” Kerra says, refusing to look at me.
I tuck my hands in my pockets. “I would never skip out on a show. Just didn’t realize what time it was. I was in the studio today.” Then, because I’m genuinely curious, I ask, “Have you been working on new music?”
She scoffs, brushing me off. But now I can’t drop it. She certainly can’t just be relying on this single to revive her career. She’s going to need a follow-up single, an EP, or a full-length album. Something .
“Have you?”
“I don’t need to spend every moment micromanaging my music,” she snips.
“By micromanaging, do you mean actually writing your own material?”
She smoothes her hands down the front of her dress and squares her shoulders. I’m not judging her. Plenty of artists have songs written for them. But is she even doing that?
“You don’t need to pretend like you care. Especially not after you canceled on our last date.”
She sounds…hurt. As if it was a real date.
“Are you actually upset—You know what, never mind.” I sigh. “Let’s just get through this, okay?”
Kerra’s gaze sets me on edge.
The host sends it to commercial break and we’re beckoned out. The stage lights are blinding but my eyes are used to it after all these years. There’s a small set off to the side of the main set, which holds a desk, a couch, and a few miscellaneous decorations.
Our stage is much simpler with just two microphone stands and a dark backdrop. Kerra takes the spot on the left and I take the right. The studio audience grows restless, seeing the two of us, and I flash them a winning smile.
The metal of the microphone cools my hand as I grab it and the stand manager starts the countdown.
I glance at Kerra and she’s in performance mode. She smiles with her eyes as she looks at me and grabs my hand. A few audience members cheer at the move. I don’t shake her off, but I also don’t engage further.
“Three! Two! One!”
All lights in the studio dim except for the ones on us.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the host says, “Nikolai Brooks and Kerra.”
The audience claps as the cameras pan to us. The opening notes of the song ring out and the metronome from my in-ears count me in.
My verse goes smoothly and I move around the small space, trying to make the most of it and also keeping a bit of distance from Kerra. But wherever I go, she follows.
As the song progresses, she advances on me, trying to pull me closer. I let her, but keep my hands to myself and try to dodge hers when I can. I angle my head so none of the cameras can catch the look I give her.
Back off.
She’s more handsy, more bold, than she’s ever been. We play into each other while we’re onstage, but as one of her hands trails down the front of my chest, sneaking beneath the fabric of the open buttons, I grab her hand. I squeeze it in warning while maintaining my composure as we sing the bridge.
Her dark eyes narrow on me, like she’s trying to scold me, but she doesn’t attempt to move our hands lower. I turn, trying to play toward the camera as the song winds down. Thank God. I want off this stage right now.
We sing out the final verse and I close my eyes, letting myself feel every wave of the notes when suddenly, Kerra’s lips are against mine.
I rear back, not thinking to disguise my reaction. “What the fuck?” I sputter, away from the microphone so at least it isn’t broadcasted but anyone will be able to read my lips. I don’t even care.
Kerra has the audacity to look surprised by my reaction and the host sends us to commercial break as applause breaks out. I don’t smile for the cameras or wave to the audience as I storm backstage. She’s hot on my heels the entire way to the green room.
She flings the door shut behind us, and I whirl around on her. “Why did you do that?”
“Do you expect people to believe in our relationship if you never kiss me?”
“I don’t fucking care if they do or not!” I throw my arms out. “We talked about that. I told you no kissing.”
“If you want out of this, just fucking say it.” She seethes. “I’m tired of doing all the heavy lifting.”
Thank God. “I want out.”
Her eyes widen. She can’t act surprised when she literally just put the offer out on the table.
“Did you expect me to fight for this?” I ask. “I don’t want to. I haven’t wanted to since the beginning and I’m sorry I ever agreed to it in the first place. It was a mistake.”
Kerra takes a moment to process my words before regaining her composure. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
She crosses her arms nonchalantly but I don’t like the look on her face. There’s a glint in her eye that seems to mask something deeper. Anger. Resentment. “You want out, then you’re out. This is done.”
There’s no way it’s that easy. Not after she fought so hard to maintain this. Not when she’s been so insistent on this helping boost her image, which it has.
“What aren’t you saying right now?”
Kerra brushes past me, knocking my shoulder.
“There’s nothing left to say,” she throws over her shoulder. “Just remember, you were the one who wanted this.”
Her words send a fresh wave of nausea through my stomach. She leaves and slams the door shut behind her. I expected her to yell. To fight. To remind me that I signed a contract and that there are expectations I need to uphold.
I didn’t expect her to accept it so easily.
Or to fucking kiss me.
God, Jane.
The thought of her tuning in tonight, excited to watch me perform, and then seeing that .
I can’t lose her. Not when I finally just got her back. Earned her trust. Broke down those final walls.
I barely make it to the garbage can before my stomach revolts and I retch over and over again until there’s nothing left inside.