Hat Trick (Fake Boyfriend 5)

Luce has a car waiting for us outside the arena. As soon as I’m through the door, I sprawl out on the back seat.

Soren slides in beside me. “Are you guys going to get in trouble from the label for the duet?”

“Harley might. It was out of my hands.”

“It was kinda ballsy.”

“It was a hissy fit. I’m surprised it took three cities for him to do it.”

“You all right?” Soren’s eyes are soft.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You looked like you wanted to kill him.” It makes me feel guilty for letting Harley get to me the way he did during that song.

“Let’s just say, he’s lucky my mind isn’t powerful enough to kill anyone, or he would’ve dropped dead onstage tonight.”

I can’t tell if he’s serious or not. Then he smiles.

“Seriously, though. Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m not happy about it, no, but there was nothing else you could do. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It’s annoying,” I say. “It’s stuff I expected, you know? You’ve been helpful in keeping him away.”

“He’s made the first move. Do you think he’ll keep trying?”

Ugh. “Probably.”

“What about the interview back there? Will you get in trouble for that?”

“I’m always getting in trouble with what I say to the media. The label’s used to it by now. I hate when they take everything out of context and twist it and then I look like the asshole. It’s happened more times than I can count.”

“It’s happened to me too. The team actually has media training for all of us.”

Just like when I’d complain to Harley about journalists, I prepare myself for Soren to turn this around to be about him.

“There’s only so many times you can say ‘we worked well as a team tonight. Pratt was on fire and carried us to the win’ only for the media to print ‘Sorensen says Morgan isn’t a team player.’ All because I mentioned Pratt. But you know what the biggest lesson I’ve learned is?”

“What?”

Soren puts his arm around me. “Fuck reporters.”

I smile. I definitely wasn’t expecting that. I was expecting him to maybe say it’s part of my job or that I have to suck it up and deal with it like he does.

“Hey, Lennon’s not that bad,” I point out.

“You’re right. He’s not. And I’m sure there are other Lennons out there who don’t spin things to sell articles, but I’m talking about the bloodsuckers. All they’re trying to do is make money off your fame. You’re amazing. Your music is amazing. You’re bigger than them and bigger than life. Anytime one of these leeches come after you, just remember your worth. It’ll save you so much resentment.”

This is the reason I’m so drawn to Soren.

He’s what a partner should be.

There’s a difference between being there with someone and being there for someone.

Soren came on this tour for me and no other reason.

All those nights with Harley where he filled the loneliness were just that—a temporary fix for a bigger problem.

It was never about me or him or even us.

It was filling a void with superficial feelings that were easily confused as more.

Harley and I might have lit up that stage tonight and put on an epic show, but it’s the here and now that matters.

When I need support, Soren gives it. He doesn’t make everything about himself.

He’s here for me in ways I wish he could be long-term, even if I know it’s an impossibility.

“Why are you looking at me weird?” he asks.

I’m looking at him weird? Must be all the awe. “You’re good at giving me perspective. That’s all.”

And I’m not talking about the reporters.

Soren keeps me focused by taking up most of my thoughts, keeps me professional by being stage-side for me every show, and keeps my insane thoughts at bay by fucking me until I can’t think.

He’s even great at scaring Harley off. There hasn’t been an onstage or offstage attack since Salt Lake City.

Denver, Dallas, and Houston go smoothly.

In the very few instances when we’ve been in the same room, Harley has pretended I don’t exist, and I’ve kept my eyes trained on Soren.

Not like it’s been hard to do that. Soren lights me up just by fucking looking in my direction.

It takes seven days and three more venues to get here. Kansas City.

Soren and I disappear after Radioactive’s set like we’ve been doing everywhere else. He has the ability to make this crazy schedule feel normal. He has a way of making the four walls of whatever hotel room we’re in feel like home. And he makes this lonely existence of mine not seem so isolating.

“What city are we in?” Soren asks warily.

I laugh. “Kansas City.”

He doesn’t bother getting undressed before flopping down on the bed. “You know how we were arguing in Fiji about who’s the better athlete?”

I strip off my shirt. “Yeah?”