SKYE

I've managed to avoid Jax for nearly 48 hours, which at this point I'm considering an impressive feat. I've spent most of my time going editing photos and laying low in the hotel. In a few days, we'll be back home for a week and I can talk to Ollie and figure things out with Greg and hopefully bury these inconvenient feelings very very far down.

I hear a knock at the door and I curse under my breath.

If there's a handsome pop star on the other side of that door, I'm just going to have to barricade myself in the bathroom and never come out.

That'll work, right?

I walk over and look into the peephole. It's Roman.

Ironically, not the handsome pop star I expected.

I open the door and he greets me with a smile.

"Hey Skye," he says.

"Hey, what's up?"

"So I checked out of my room a bit too early. Turns out my bus is being refueled. You mind if I hang out for a bit while I wait?"

"Sure." I step aside and let him in, closing the door behind him.

Roman sits down on the sofa and I hear a grumbling sound. I turn to see Salty laying flat on the bed. His wrinkles have pooled around him so that he looks more like a melted pile of beige towels than a dog.

"Kay's running errands so I'm watching Salty," I say.

"I'm pretty sure he hates me," Roman says.

Salty gives him a judgmental scowl that pretty much confirms his assumption.

"To be fair, he seems to hate everyone," I say, sitting beside Salty on the bed and petting his head. "Don't you, crabby pants?"

He rolls sideways, leaning his head into my hand.

"Except you, I guess," Roman says with a laugh.

"Yeah, well, there's no accounting for taste."

"Oh come on," he says with a chuckle. "Who wouldn't like you?"

"Your and Jacks's fans don't seem to be too fond of me."

"How so?" His brows raise and he tilts his head slightly.

"Oh I'm just kidding, really. A couple of them have just gotten bitchy with me because I'm in the photo pit and get to be in front of them. They like to talk shit, but I pretty much ignore them."

"You're kidding," he says with a small chuckle and shake of his head. "You're what, maybe one foot in front of them? It's not like you're blocking their view."

"Yeah, I'm not really sure. They probably don't like that I'm getting between them and their idols."

"I bet it's mostly Jackson's fans. My fans are a bit older, more mature."

"Oh burn!" I tease.

"No, no, I didn't mean... we share a lot of fans and they're almost all great. I just attract an older crowd and I learned the hard way that those 12-year-old girls can be brutal."

I laugh and nod.

He's not wrong. I rather face a pack of rabid hyenas than a group of tween fangirls. Either one is gonna rip you to shreds, but only one is going to tell you your bangs make you look like a chipmunk with a bowl cut.

"How did you learn the hard way?

"Really? I spent my teens as a member of a boy band. The press was tough, but the young girls would really get to you. They would come up for our autographs or photos, and sometimes they would say 'No, not you!' and push you aside for another guy. Talk about a blow to the ego."

"Is that why you and Jacks hate each other?"

The second I say it I put my hand over my mouth, as if I can somehow force the words back in.

Stupid freaking brain. Why did I just ask that?

He looks at me with his eyebrows raised and smirks just slightly.

"You don't really beat around the bush, do you Skye?

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean... like... I just have a big mouth and say things sometimes without thinking."

"For the record, we don't hate each other. At least, I don't hate Jackson. I don't know what he's told you."

"No! Nothing like that, I just... you guys act weird around each other and you don't hang out together. I just got the impression..."

"It's fine. I like people who are straightforward. You'd be surprised how few people will actually be honest with me."

"Oh, well... you're in luck, I guess. I tend to stumble through the polite parts anyway." I giggle and I can feel my cheeks heat up.

"Well, we grew up in the weirdest way possible—being teen idols, touring the world, working 24/7, getting school lessons in the back of a tour bus. We were like siblings in a way. There was a bond between us all, being together on this journey in a way that no one else could understand. But at the same time, there was a rivalry between us. There was always this idea hanging in the air that, in the future, one of us was going to be the breakout star."

He sighs, sweeping his hand back through his hair before continuing.

"In rehearsals, you wanted to hit the steps better than everyone else. In the studio, you wanted to be the guy who got it perfect on the first take. We all wanted to have the most fans, the highest merch sales, the loudest cheers. And for whatever reason, the media turned it into me versus Jackson. And Jackson, he was the pretty white boy, so it's not a big shock that when it came down to it, the media picked him and I became the villain."

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. The thing is, we were just really different people. I tried harder, put in more time writing songs and rehearsing. I gave up the late-night parties and started focusing on sleep and work. But Jackson, he didn't have to compete. He was good, but he didn't take it seriously. He just never had to fight for it like I did. He would roll out of bed, do his thing, and people would eat it up. They'd hand him opportunities that I would've killed for."

He shakes his head and runs a hand over his face.

"Wow," he says with a heavy exhale. "I sound like a jealous idiot."

"You're human," I say, leaning forward to look him in the eye. "It sucks to feel like someone else is getting all the attention when you're doing all the work. That was kind of like how it was with my brother—I mean, obviously we weren't famous, but he was always the golden boy."

"You have a brother?"

"Yep, we're twins. He always had things pretty easy. He was the star athlete in high school and our prom king. I think most of my friends just hung out with me because they liked him."

My brother got the popular genes and I got PTSD and anxiety attacks.

"There's no way that's true, Skye. I told you, everyone likes you."

"My own fiancé doesn't even like me."

His expression falls and his brows furrow.

Even Salty seems to have recognized the shift in the atmosphere, because he sits up and turns his head toward me.

I can't believe I just said that. I knew I should have barricaded myself in the bathroom.

"What?" he asks softly.

"I don't know. It's nothing, I'm in a weird mood."

"Why do you think he doesn't like you?"

"I.. He..." I consider brushing it off, but the look on Roman's face tells me he's not going to let it go. "He never calls me. He never answers my calls. Ever since we started this tour, I've barely been able to talk to him. I'm starting to think things between us just... aren't what I thought they were."

"Well maybe... I mean how often has he called you?"

"Three times."

"A week?"

"Since the tour started."

"Fuck," he says, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat. "Your fiancé, he's the one who made you so upset outside the bus that one time, right?

I don't have a good reply, so I just nod.

"Jesus Skye. Why are you even with this guy?"

I swear I used to know the answer to that question but, somewhere along the line, I forgot it.

Roman rubs his chin with his hand, but his hands freeze as his eyes rise to meet mine. He leans forward and leans his elbows on his knees.

"Skye?" he asks. His forehead creases and he shuts his eyes for a moment before continuing. "Can I ask you a question and you answer me honestly?"

That sentence pretty much guarantees that whatever he's about to ask me is going to be bad.

"O...kay?"

His eyes fall to the floor and he kneads his hands together.

"Is he... does your fiancé ever make you feel unsafe?"

My mouth falls open and my eyes widen.

"Wha-... No!" I say, shaking my head.

"The way you reacted at the pool back in Washington, it seemed like... maybe there's something happening with you."

"No, no... That... That had nothing to do with Greg. He would never. He's the opposite of unsafe, I promise. That's why I chose him in the first place."

He looks up at me and raises a brow.

"You're with him because he's safe?" he asks.

Something about the way he says it makes it feel like I'm making an obvious mistake.

I am.

I'm with Greg because I was so certain he wouldn't hurt me—wouldn't leave me. But now, I'm wondering if it's worth it. I'm protecting my feelings at the expense of feeling anything at all.

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