Chapter 4
Alex leaves the building without telling anyone. Done.
He moves fast, head down, like if he can get far enough, the words won’t follow.
Only like girls.
His throat aches from holding everything in.
Outside, the air is cold.
He breathes in and it hurts.
Embarrassment sits on his skin like sweat that won’t dry.
He can still hear the laughter in the interview room.
The casual way Jackson said it.
The ease.
Alex walks past the buses, past the security barriers, past the fans who scream
Jackson’s name like it’s a prayer.
One girl spots him and squeals anyway.
“Alex! Alex! You were amazing!”
He forces a smile. Lifts a hand in a small wave.
It feels fake.
Isolation digs deeper.
Because even when people are kind, Alex still feels like he’s behind glass.
He ends up behind the venue, where the dumpsters are and the lights don’t reach.
He sits on the curb and lets his head drop into his hands.
His phone buzzes in his pocket.
Once. Twice. Again.
He doesn’t check it.
He already knows.
He’s always known.
The bad boy will pick the crowd.
The golden boy will pick the story that sells.
Alex is just the voice.
He stays there long enough for his hands to stop shaking.
Then footsteps crunch on gravel.
“Alex.”
Jackson’s voice.
Alex doesn’t look up.
“Hey,” Jackson says again. Softer now. “Come on.”
Alex stays still.
Jackson crouches in front of him anyway, like he has a right to be in this space.
He’s still in his suit. Still styled. Trophy probably still in his hand, like a prop he forgot to put down.
Jackson’s expression is tight.
Not guilty.
Annoyed.
That makes Alex’s stomach twist.
“That was just PR shit,” Jackson says quickly. “You know that.”
Alex lets out a laugh that sounds like it belongs to someone else.
“You didn’t even pause,” Alex says.
Jackson frowns. “I didn’t have time to think.”
“That’s worse,” Alex says.
Jackson’s jaw tightens. “You’re being dramatic.”
Embarrassment spikes.
Not because of the words.
Because he can still make Alex feel like he’s wrong for having feelings.
Isolation rushes back in. Full force.
Alex stands. Dusts off his pants like he’s shaking off the whole conversation.
Jackson rises too. Too close.
“They ask me stuff like that all the time,” Jackson says. “I said what they wanted. It keeps things simple.”
Alex looks at him. Really looks.
“Simple for who?” he asks.
Jackson hesitates.
“That’s not fair,” Jackson says finally.
Alex nods. “Nothing about this is fair.”
A beat.
Jackson’s eyes flick away—toward the venue, toward the noise, toward the fans.
Public Jackson checking if anyone’s watching.
Alex’s throat tightens.
“You kissed me,” Alex says, voice low. “Then you told the world you only like girls.”
Jackson exhales hard. “I panicked.”
“So you fed me instead,” Alex says.
Jackson’s face hardens. “That’s not what I did.”
“It is,” Alex says. Calm now. Dangerous calm. “You used me for whatever you needed. Then you erased me when it got inconvenient.”
Jackson’s eyes flash. “I didn’t erase you.”
Alex lifts his chin. “What do you call it, then?”
Jackson opens his mouth.
Closes it.
For the first time, he doesn’t have a perfect answer ready.
Small connection flickers in the silence.
It’s not romance.
It’s reality.
Jackson looks… scared.
Just a little.
But then he shakes it off, like fear is something he can shrug away.
“I’m sorry,” Jackson says. The words come quick. Almost practiced. “I won’t do it again.”
Betrayal hits before the apology even finishes.
Because Alex hears what Jackson didn’t say.
He didn’t say: I’m sorry I hurt you.
He said: I’m sorry you reacted.
Alex nods slowly.
“You already did,” Alex says.
Jackson reaches out like he’s going to grab Alex’s arm.
Alex steps back.
Jackson’s hand hangs in the air. Empty.
“Don’t do this,” Jackson says, voice sharper now. “We’re in the middle of a tour. We can’t have… drama.”
Drama.
Like Alex’s hurt is gossip.
Embarrassment flares hot.
Isolation becomes ice.
Alex’s voice stays steady. “You mean you can’t.”
Jackson’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re the one who gets to be loud,” Alex says. “You’re the one everyone protects. You’re the one who can say anything and they laugh.”
Jackson flinches.
Alex keeps going anyway. “And I’m the one who’s supposed to smile and sing and not make you uncomfortable.”
A pause.
Jackson’s face shifts.
He looks threatened now.
Privately threatened.
And Alex realizes something that scares him—
Jackson needs the story to stay under his control.
And Alex is the one thing in it that doesn’t automatically obey.
“Say you won’t talk about this,” Jackson says.
Alex stares at him.
“You want me to promise to stay quiet?” Alex asks.
Jackson’s silence is the answer.
Betrayal lands like a final nail.
Alex turns and starts walking.
Jackson’s voice follows him. “Alex—”
Alex doesn’t stop.
The cold air cuts his lungs.
The lights behind him glow like a trap.
And for the first time since he joined the band, Alex thinks—
Maybe the best voice in the room is still powerless.
Unless he uses it.
