23. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter twenty-three
Carter
Mornings are a different beast when you’re sober. A hell of a lot more bearable. I was still up all night fucking Vi, but at least I don’t have the pain of my head splitting in two and queasy guts dogging me for the rest of the day.
I drag myself out of bed, throw on sweats and a T-shirt, and step out into the shared living space of the Paris penthouse.
Bright light spills through the tall windows, and for once, I’m not squinting or blinded by it.
Coffee and croissants hit my nose, and my stomach answers with a full-body growl.
Theo’s slumped on the velvet couch, still in last night’s jeans and wrinkled shirt.
“Morning,” I mutter, dropping down beside him. His stale stench of whiskey and cigarettes cuts right through my coffee-and-croissant high. “You fucking reek,” I grumble.
He flips me off.
Kai and Xander shuffle out from their rooms.
“Morning, boys.” Chris appears from the kitchen, irritatingly fresh in a navy suit, tray in hand. “Fuel for the gods.”
Kai squints at the low glass table in front of us as he perches on the arm of the lounger. “What’s all this shit?”
There’s a mountain of boxes, bottles, and sleek black bags stacked in messy piles—skincare, razors, cologne, supplements. Random crap.
“Product endorsements,” Chris says, setting the tray down.
Before I can open my mouth, a voice drifts in from behind me.
“Product what?”
Violet steps out of my room in my white hotel robe, cinched tight at the waist, hair twisted up and still damp from the shower.
The robe’s too big on her, hanging off one shoulder.
She looks half asleep and completely fucking edible.
A primitive part of me wants to gouge out every pair of eyes in here for getting this view.
“Free stuff from brands, hoping the guys will use it. Maybe get papped wearing it. Post it on socials. You know how it works,” Chris says, picking up his cup.
Kai snorts. “Didn’t have ‘influencer’ on my bingo card when I decided to become a musician.”
Xander drops onto the couch on my other side and snags a croissant. “You go onstage shirtless. Don’t pretend that’s not for the fans and the thirst traps. The internet eats that shit up.”
I lean forward, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
There’s the usual crap—designer sunglasses, beard oil, some kind of men’s moisturizer that apparently smells like pine trees.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I hold up a box. “A cock pump?”
The room goes dead silent. Then everyone loses it.
Theo almost chokes on his croissant. Kai folds over, laughing. Even Chris has to hide a grin behind his cup.
I turn the box slowly, like I’m on a home shopping channel. “Serious question,” I say. “How exactly am I meant to get photographed using this?”
Theo wheezes. “You could reenact your first go with one and film it.”
I groan. “Here we go.”
“Oh, come on,” Kai cuts in. “Has Vi heard this one?”
Violet settles on the armchair, tucking her feet underneath her. She cradles her coffee and looks between us, amused yet wary. “Should I be worried?”
Yes,” I answer flatly.
“No,” Kai says at the same time, grinning. “It’s classic Carter. When he was twenty—”
“Jesus, Kai—”
“—he didn’t hook up with just one girl.”
Theo leans back, smirk wicked. “He hooked up with two girls,” he tells Vi. “And that was before Pulse. Our boy here decides that’s not enough of a flex, so he pulls out a cock pump.”
Violet stares at me, horrified. “Why would you—”
“Exactly,” Theo says, cackling.
Kai is laughing so hard he’s practically in tears. “It got too big; it didn’t fit anywhere! The girls gave up and started going at each other while he sat there and watched.”
I rub my forehead. “Left with the worst case of blue balls in human history and a swollen dick I couldn’t shove into pants for two days.”
They’re howling. Kai literally slides off the chair, and Theo’s whole body is shaking.
Violet laughs, half horrified, half entertained. “How have I not heard this story?” She grabs a pastry from the tray.
“Because I don’t go around telling it,” I mutter.
Kai hauls himself back up from the floor. “Should we tell her how Carter popped his cherry?”
“Absolutely not,” I cut in. “One humiliating trip down memory lane is enough for today.”
My eyes drift back to the box in my hand.
The Titan Inflator.
I read the fine print at the bottom promising to increase penis size permanently. No fucking shit?
Violet’s still smiling when she asks, “So, who were the girls?”
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. I scratch at it. “Uh . . .”
“Don’t wuss out now,” Kai prods. “You can’t leave us hanging.”
I sigh. “Cindy from high school. And one of her friends. I don’t remember the other one’s name.”
Violet’s hand stops halfway to her mouth, croissant suspended midair. “Cindy Winters?”
The laughter dies instantly.
She lowers the pastry slowly. Her gray eyes narrow, sharpened to knives. And I get the distinct feeling she’s about to get stabby again.
I clear my throat, wishing I could crawl under the pile of free shit. “It was years ago,” I start. “I was—”
“And that’s my cue to go check the day’s schedule,” Chris says under his breath, already backing out toward the kitchen.
Theo suddenly needs more food. Kai and Xander discover something fascinating on their phones.
Violet stands, tying the robe tighter around herself. She leaves her coffee on the table, steam curling upward, and stalks to my bedroom.
I follow, because of course I do. Kicked dog, meet boot.
As soon as I shut the door behind me, she spins around, arms crossed, fury held tight behind a calm stare.
“Are you serious? You actually fucked Cindy Winters?” Her voice is quiet and controlled.
“It was a long time ago, Vi. We were just kids—”
“That makes it even worse.” Her eyes flash. “You knowingly fucked my bully!”
“That’s not what happened,” I snap, then force myself to take a breath. “If you remember what those idiots just said—there was no fucking. No one got fucked. Including me.”
“That’s not the point, Carter.” Her control frays on my name. “What is wrong with you?!”
I drag a hand through my hair. “Everything, probably,” I say, honest and tired. “I was young, dumb, and thought with the wrong head. She was there and willing. That was the whole criteria.”
She lets out a bitter laugh. “Cindy made my life hell. She made me feel like shit just for existing. You and Liam were the only people who were supposed to get that. You were supposed to be on my side.”
“I know,” I admit firmly. “I’m not going to stand here and pretend it wasn’t shitty. If I could set fire to that whole night, I would. With a fucking flamethrower.”
She looks at me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m just saying the right lines or if I actually mean them.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” I add, quieter. “That’s the part that matters to me now. Not what happened with her. That was nothing. You’re . . . everything.”
Her arms tighten across her chest. “You didn’t mean to,” she says eventually. “I know that. But, God, Carter—you sure are racking up the number of crappy decisions you made as a kid.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
Some of the white-hot anger drains out of her posture; her head drops a fraction.
“You’re such an idiot,” she grumbles.
A ghost of a smile tugs at my mouth. “You’ve mentioned.”
“Good,” she says. “Sometimes you need reminding.”
She brushes past me toward the bathroom, the scent of my soap on her skin following. The door clicks shut between us.
I scrub both hands over my face.
“Yeah,” I say to no one. “I’m a goddamn idiot.”
***
The film premiere sits on the schedule like a rock in my shoe, wedged right in the middle of our last stretch of Paris downtime.
Technically, it’s a “day off.” But the label wants us on the red carpet because we wrote and recorded the soundtrack, and PrimeTime+ wants the footage. The only thing I want is for Violet to stop looking at me as if she’s reconsidering every decision that led her into my bed.
She barely said two words to me all day. Moved around the suite in silence that said more than yelling ever could. I handled this morning like a caveman—more mouth than brain.
She needed to upload and back up photos, so I gave her space. What I wanted was to drag her onto the bed and apologize with my mouth in between her thighs, work forgiveness out of her one lick at a time.
I step out of the elevator into the lobby, and the circus is already assembled.
Chris is scanning the night’s schedule on his tablet.
Megan is tapping away on her phone while trying not gape at me dressed in a suit.
Dave and Mika are messing with camera bodies and batteries.
Security is in a row by the doors, ready to push us into the flash storm outside.
The guys are clustered near the entrance, dressed in suits as well.
But I only ever have eyes for her.
Violet’s standing a little off to the side in a black dress that moves as if it were designed for the way she walks. Her skin glows against it. Her hair’s straight and glossy, a sheet of midnight down her back. Eyes rimmed dark. Mouth painted a violent red.
She doesn’t smile.
She watches me with an unreadable look that tells me she’s thinking too many things at once, and none of them are flattering.
I want to walk over, put my mouth on that red and drag her back upstairs, lock the world out, and start the day again.
Instead, I shove my hands in my pockets, stride past her, and bite out, “Let’s get this over with.”
Chris claps, trying to summon enthusiasm from thin air. “That’s the spirit.”
The doors open, letting in the noise of fans pressed against barricades outside.
Security flows us out in two groups: band and management into one SUV, PrimeTime+ into the next.
Before the doors yank closed behind me, I catch one more glimpse of her—dark dress pooling like ink, camera strap looped around her wrist.
Then the hotel swallows her, and I’m in the back of the car with Kai, X, Theo, and Chris.