Chapter thirty-four
Carter
“Fuck.”
I crack the SUV window an inch. Icy air blasts in, and I suck it deep into my lungs.
“You good, Carter?” Security in the passenger seat checks on me in the visor mirror.
“Yeah, man. All good.”
I can’t sit still; my anxiety is suffocating me. Anyone watching would swear I was high. I’m not. I’m stone-cold sober and crawling out of my skin.
I’m done waiting.
Didn’t sleep a second last night. After the wrap party—speeches, hugs, top-shelf booze everywhere—I paced my hotel room, wearing a track in the carpet with not a drop of liquor in my system.
I had music up, TV on, lights off, then back on again. Nothing loosened the chokehold on me.
I finally got my phone back from Chris, and at 3 a.m., I cracked and called Vi.
All I got was the automated, lifeless voice stating the phone was switched off or disconnected. Either her phone’s off or dead. Probably both—it’s Vi.
I did what I had to do at the party last night—grabbed the mic, thanked everyone, did the whole “couldn’t have done it without you” spiel. I half-assed it, completely fake. The crew looked happy, though. Liam, Chris, and the guys were the only ones who could see my heart wasn’t in it.
The crew deserved a thank you. That’s the only reason I went. These people carried the weight of this whole tour on their backs, and I owe them more than a disappearing act.
The SUV jerks to a stop outside the PrimeTime+ headquarters. Security is out before the engine dies, my door swinging open to a slap of wind.
“Cheers,” I mutter, stepping out into the icy breeze. I slide on my coat and blow into my hands. No matter how long I’ve lived here, it’s still bitter as fuck in winter. Aussie boys were not built for this.
The SUVs behind us pull up, too. Kai, Theo, Xander spill out, followed by Chris and Liam.
“Let’s fucking do this,” I say, mostly to myself.
We walk through the revolving doors and into a glass-and-marble foyer. Heads turn as we pass, and phones come out. Liam ignores it all and spears straight for the elevators, hitting the button with his fist.
“You got it?” I ask under my breath.
He lifts the folder in his hand. “I got it.”
In the elevator, I crack my neck and check my phone.
No calls or texts from Vi.
We’re met on the floor by a receptionist and directed down a corridor into a conference room, with a long board table and a huge projector screen on one side of the wall.
Megan, Dave, and Mika are already there.
“Great wrap party, guys.” Dave stands to shake my hand.
“Best ten months of my life,” Mika adds, giving me a quick hug. “Tiring as fuck, but worth it.”
“As much as I hated having you guys on my ass for the entire tour,” I say, hugging Megan next, “I can’t wait to see what you’ve put together. You three busted your asses.”
“Thanks for coming in early. Before everyone else gets here . . .” Megan glances at the open door, then back to me. “Mika and Dave wanted to show you something, real quick. Off the record.”
My brows pinch. “What is it?” We all take our seats, and I shrug out of my coat.
I look to Liam. He shakes his head.
“Dave and I have been working on something during the tour, and we stayed up late last night to finish it. Just watch,” Mika says, dropping into his chair. He plugs his laptop into the HDMI, and the projector blinks to life on the wall.
The first few shots are what I expect—backstage crew working, crowd surf of faces, light flares over guitar necks. But after a couple of scenes, it shifts.
It’s not the official tour cut. It’s . . . us.
Me and Violet.
Grainy hallway footage of me catching her wrist and tugging her into my dressing room, door clicking shut behind us.
A quick stolen kiss in a shadowed backstage corner.
Violet rolling her eyes at something I said, and my whole face lighting up when I look at her.
Whispered conversations caught from across the room, our voices too low to make out, but you feel the connection anyway.
I can’t take my eyes off the screen.
I’m watching our whole love story cut together—one I didn’t realize anyone else could see.
A slow timeline of us: looks and touches, from stiff and wary at the start of the tour to completely gone by the middle.
Every frame is want and longing staring back at me.
She’s beautiful in all of it, caught off guard, unfiltered.
We had no idea we were being filmed like this, which makes it that much more special.
It’s rough and completely genuine. You can’t fake this.
I forget there’s anyone else in the room. My eyes well up, and I open my mouth to say something, but the lump in my throat stops me.
“Damn,” Liam says quietly beside me. “You really do love her.”
I drag my eyes off the screen and over to him, nodding once, blinking hard.
On the wall, the footage freezes—Mika hits pause on the last frame: just me and Vi looking at each other, not touching, everything else blurred out, so much love between us it almost leaps off the screen.
“None of this goes in the final cut, obviously,” Dave says. “But we wanted you to see what we’ve been seeing through our lens.”
“What was obvious to us from day one,” Mika adds. “Even when you two were pretending it wasn’t happening.”
“Carter,” Megan starts softly. “I know how it looks, but I’m sure Violet didn’t sell those images. She would never do something like that.”
The lump finally slides down my throat enough for me to speak.
“I know.” The energy around the table shifts.
“Yes!” Theo slaps both palms down, making the water glasses jump. “I fucking love Vi.”
I glance at my brothers—every single one of them grinning.
“What are you waiting for? Go get your girl,” Kai practically shouts.
“Not yet.” I shake my head and turn to the PrimeTime+ crew.
“Thank you,” I say, meeting their eyes, one by one. “For cutting that. For showing me. It . . . yeah.” I swallow. “It means a lot.”
Mika shrugs one shoulder. “Anything for you. We’ve got your back.”
The doorway fills with four more suits.
Mika yanks the cable out so fast he nearly takes the port with it. The frozen image of me and Vi blinks off the wall, and stupidly, my chest dips like I’ve lost her all over again.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, we didn’t realize you got here early,” the guy in front says, crossing to shake Liam’s hand. “Good to see you.”
“You too, Joel,” Liam replies.
I’d have been here, banging on the door at 6 a.m., if they’d let me. Anything to get this over and done with.
Joel turns to me. “Carter.” He shakes my hand with a firm grip. “I’ve got legal with me to talk through the recent . . . situation.”
They sit across from us with papers and files in front of them. Someone flips open a laptop.
Joel laces his fingers together. “Let me start by saying we’re incredibly sorry this occurred. We’re conducting a full investigation. Violet Henderson has been suspended—”
“I’m going to stop you there,” Liam jumps in. “Violet is not responsible for the breach. And I have the evidence to prove it.”
He stands and slides a folder across the table. Joel opens it. His brows knit as he starts reading.
“Cindy Winters?” He flicks to the next page. “Who is this?”
“I tapped a contact at the magazine,” Liam says. “We threatened to sue for defamation and breach. They folded. Confirmed the seller’s name and handed over proof of payment.”
He raps the table with a bent knuckle. “She’s your leak.”
Joel looks up. “And how did this Ms. Winters obtain the images in the first place?”
“She stole them from Violet’s laptop,” I explain. “It’s my fault Cindy was even there in the first place. I invited her to the Toronto show. It was . . . personal. My fuck-up,” I tack on.
“And I invited her to stay.” Xander rubs the back of his neck with a wince. “That’s on me. I’m sorry, man.”
I wave him off. “It’s not your fault. She’s responsible for her own bullshit.”
Joel’s pen taps the paper. “Why would she do this, though? And more importantly, does she have more?”
“Even if she does, we’ll bury her legally,” Liam promises. “She won’t be able to sneeze without legal repercussions.”
“It was personal,” I repeat, my teeth grinding.
Joel’s gaze lands on me, assessing. “You’re going to have to give me more than that. Where is Ms. Winters now?”
Liam cuts in before I tell the guy to go fuck himself. “Violet, Carter, and I grew up with Cindy. It’s old history. Cindy saw an opening and took it. Like Carter said, this is personal.”
Chris leans forward, elbows on the table. “She’s already back in Toronto. Vanished right after the LA press conference.”
Joel closes the folder. “We’ll lift Violet’s suspension immediately.”
Tension leaks out of my shoulders.
“Good,” Liam replies. “Because we’re not letting you hang this on her.”
Joel nods. “Our PR department will coordinate with yours on a unified statement.”
“As much as I’d love to sit here and keep rehashing this,” I interrupt, pushing my chair back, “I’ve got a plane to catch.”
Theo lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. “Fucking finally.”
Kai whoops, X barks out a laugh, and Chris just rolls his eyes like he’s babysitting a pack of twelve-year-olds.
I pull Liam into a hard hug. “Thanks.”
He thumps my back. “Anytime. You hurt my sister again, and I’ll break your legs.”
“Relax,” I mutter, pulling back. “I’d break my own legs before I put her through that again.”
We lock eyes. He believes me. Good. Because I fucking mean it.
I flick my fingers in a quick salute to Megan, Dave, Mika—then I’m moving.
My walk turns into a jog, then into a full sprint down the stairwell because waiting for the elevator will kill me. My boots hammer on the concrete, breath sawing in and out, adrenaline finally doing something useful.
I burst out into the foyer, shoulder through the revolving door, and into the street.
Fuck, it’s cold.
I left my coat upstairs. Doesn’t matter. I’d sprint through a blizzard naked if it got me to her faster.
Our SUVs are still out front. Security spots me and scrambles out to open the back door.
“Airport,” I say, diving in. “Now.”
He doesn’t flinch. He swings around the hood, jumps in, and the driver punches it. Horns blast as we lurch into traffic.
That’s more like it.
My bag’s already packed on the seat next to me, passport on top. My heart pounds, and for the first time since LA, I’m actually doing the one thing I’ve been crawling out of my skin to do. Nerves slither up my arms. I haven’t felt this wound up since I was a kid about to walk onstage.
I pull out my phone and hit Call on Vi’s name.
All I get is the automated voice again.
I hang up and fire off a text.
Me
Storm, I’m coming.
I keep it simple. I’ll have enough time to explain when I get there. She doesn’t need paragraphs. She needs me at her door.
A shop window blurs past on my right. “Pull over!” I bark.
The driver swerves us toward the curb, more horns blaring. I’m out before the car fully stops, security on my heels.
The place is small, crowded with shelves. I scan once, spot what I want, and grab it.
“Fifteen dollars,” the guy at the register says, dropping it into a paper bag. He finally looks up, and his jaw swings loose. “Wait. Are you—”
“Yeah,” I say, already sliding over my card. I jerk a thumb at my security. “This guy gives it away every time.”
He laughs, dazed. I snatch the bag, toss him a quick thanks, and bolt back to the SUV.
“Step on it,” I tell the driver.
I’m slammed back into the seat as we shoot into traffic again.
At the private hangar, I throw the door wide open and head straight for the stairs of the jet, already lowered and waiting.
As soon as I’m on board, I cut through to the cockpit and lean in.
“I want to be in Sydney in sixteen hours,” I tell the pilot, even though we both know it takes closer to twenty.
He cuts a look at his co-pilot, then glances back at me. Whatever he sees on my face has him straightening in his seat.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” I squeeze his shoulder, then head to the lounge, sinking into one of the leather seats.
I try Vi again and get the same flat, automated voice.
It doesn’t make a difference. In sixteen hours, she’ll be in my arms.
For the first time in my life, flying into Sydney feels like going home instead of walking into Hades.