Page 39 of Unleashed By Eden

Chapter thirteen

Carter

They set me up in one of the dressing rooms behind the main stage. The walls are painted a depressing gray, and the overhead lights wash everything in a cold, sterile feel.

Mika fusses with a small panel light beside the camera, tilting it, stepping back, tilting again. Dave is behind the main camera, checking angles and sound. He taps on the mic, adjusts the boom, and checks the levels again, even though he already did that twice.

I sit in the low armchair someone dragged in from the hallway. The leather sticks to the back of my T-shirt every time I shift, a small tacky sound that irritates me more than it should. I take a slow breath, clear my throat, and pretend my brain isn’t still throbbing from the Singapore hangover, the long-haul flight to Stockholm, and the lack of sleep last night.

Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Vi in those cute PJs. Short shorts. Tight singlet. Bare legs. Damp hair. Nipples pressing against thin cotton. Doesn’t matter how drunk I was, that image isn’t going anywhere.

Megan sits across from me in a higher chair, legs crossed at the ankle, tablet balanced on her knee. She’s ready to go with a face full of makeup and sleek hair. Completely press-ready. She’s in her element, one hundred percent relaxed. And I’d rather shove sewing needles under my nails.

I hook one ankle over my knee and let my hands rest loosely in my lap. My foot taps once, but I force it still.

“Alright,” Mika says quietly. “Rolling.”

The red light blinks on. Megan puts on an Oscar-worthy smile.

“Good morning, Carter.”

I give her the smile everyone expects when they pay to see me. “Morning.”

“So, we’re in Stockholm, Sweden—a long way from Australia. Tell me, what was it like growing up in Sydney?”

My heartbeat trips over itself and takes off. I lean back and scratch at the side of my jaw with two fingers. “That’s right. I grew up in a middle-class suburb in Sydney, pretty standard stuff.”

“Nothing remarkable?” she asks. “No wild teenage stories?”

“Regular kid. Regular family,” I say, nodding at her tablet. “You got any real questions on there, or is this the warm-up?”

Her eyes flicker. Mika snorts under his breath behind the camera and covers it with a cough.

Megan recovers fast. “Alright, let’s talk music then,” she continues, scrolling. “Pulse is known for the chemistry you all share onstage. That connection is rare. What makes this group work the way it does, and for as long as you’ve been playing?”

I thread my fingers together in my lap, thumbs moving against each other. “We trust each other. Fully. I know what those idiots are going to do before they do it, and they know the same about me. We don’t have to think about it. We move in sync. That helps.”

She nods. “Let’s talk about ‘Closer.’ The fans scream the second you strike the first chord. You close with it at almost every show. Why do you think fans respond to that song the way they do?”

I glance past her shoulder and focus on the glowing exit sign above the door. “It presses on something real,” I say. “Everyone has that one person they got too close to when it was the worst idea in the world. That song drags all that up. Whatever bruise that left behind—regret, want, anger—it pokes it. People feel it before they even think about the words.”

Her mouth tips into a smile. I ignore whatever story she’s building in her head.

“And the documentary,” she continues. “Why now?”

I roll one shoulder. “Time, I guess. People think this job is nothing but parties and private jets. We figured it might be worth showing the other side. The work. The grind. The parts that aren’t so glamorous.”

A moment of silence. Then she glances at her tablet again. When she looks up, her tone shifts, still light but probing.

“Some rumors have emerged online since the Singapore show,” she says. “About your health. Drinking. Drugs. Fans are asking if you’re okay.”

I keep my face calm. My hands move to the armrests, fingers digging into the leather until it gives a small protest.

“We’re done here,” I say.

She blinks. “Carter, the fans are talking. This is a good opportunity to set the record straight. If you could just clarify—”

“I said we’re done.”