Page 15 of Hollow Heart

Lou scoffs, waving a tuna can lid at me. “Your little stunt last night could have been a lot worse had Duncan and I not gotten there in time.”

I shoot him a glare, realizing his words a second too late.

Wait, Duncan was there?

The drummer from the audition?

I rack my brain, trying to remember everything. I vaguely remember him and Lou tossing my ass in the car.

Remember strong, sturdy hands slinging me over their shoulder like I was a fucking toddler.

I sneer at him as he walks over to my fridge, his back turned to me.

“Yeah, well, maybe Sully deserved it,” I hiss.

Lou sighs, pushing the open can of tuna to Samson, who stares at him judgmentally.

“You are making yourself look like the bad guy, Felix. Do you want to be the bad guy?”

Lou turns to me, raising an eyebrow as he opens a fresh bottle of water from the fridge.

He doesn’t even offer me anything.

Rude.

This is my fucking house he’s prancing around in.

“No,” I gruffly respond, running a hand over my face.

“Then get a fucking shower, get dressed, and let’s go control the fucking narrative, as usual.”

The spotlightsofThe Morning Riseare ruthless. I swear the damn show channels rays directly from the sun, just to make their guests uncomfortable.

I shift on the couch, trying to get comfortable in the black tailored pants the stylists put my ass in, but they are too hot, too loose for my liking.

This is why I prefer to dress myself, but no. Lou said I needed to look polite. Like someone who doesn’t show his cock to a roomful of strangers, obviously.

Combined with my hot pink button down, I feel like an absolute clown, but at least he didn’t fight me when I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows, so I could look more like me instead of some fucking asshole in a suit.

Give me a pair of ripped jeans and a tee shirt any day over this shit.

The host, Karen Ingram, stares at me with soulless eyes. Behind her, I can see the crew, including Lou, who stands there with his arms crossed, his gaze intent like he’s studying the fucking bible or something.

I hate press, truly. No one ever tells you when you sign the contract about all the press that comes with the music.

Some days, I just wish I could play and not worry about the production, the promotion, and the press.

Just me, myself, and my fucking guitar.

But I know that’s a pipe dream. I’m Felix Hart. Solitary, quiet, and chill is not my brand.

Karen smiles at me with that fake-ass Hollywood grin that all daytime talk show hosts seem to have, and I have to fight not to roll my eyes.

It’s been small talk since I came on, and I know the inevitable bombshell is coming before she even speaks.

“So, we have reports saying last night you and Sullivan Reign got into an... altercation over Jinger Holloway at a bar. What do you have to say about that?”

Now I do roll my eyes, my gaze catching Lou’s.

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