Page 15 of Spotlight Hearts

Luca stays at the bar, nursing his drink alone.

The hotel room in Phoenix is quiet for once. Michael’s out grabbing food with Min-ho, Tasha’s in a meeting with Harry, and Luca… who knows. Probably nursing his whiskey somewhere far from me after the plane ride. I don’t care. I just want five minutes without anyone breathing down my neck.

I drop onto the bed, back against the headboard, and pull out my phone. Laney’s name is already at the top of my recents—she texted earlier asking for an update. I hit FaceTime before I can overthink it.

She answers on the second ring, face filling the screen. Her curly hair is piled in a messy bun, freckles bright under whatever ring light she’s using for her latest art stream. She’s grinning before the call even connects fully.

“There he is,” she says, voice warm and teasing. “The superstar. Still alive after another day of fake-boyfriend torture?”

I let out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Barely. You watching the edits again?”

“Guilty.” She props her phone against something so I can see the chaos of her desk—sketchbooks, colored pencils, half-finished portraits. “I’ve got a whole folder labeled ‘Kuca Evidence’ now. The cheek kiss from the other night, pure perfection. Chef’s kiss. You looked like you were about to either punch him or climb him.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. With Laney, the walls come down easier. She’s seen me at my lowest—foster home meltdowns, first audition nerves, the night I aged out and slept on her couch because I didn’t have anywhere else. She’s never judged.

“Shut up,” I say, but I’m smiling. “It’s choreography. Harry’s pushing for more. A lot more.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “More? Like what? Full-on lap dances? You two gonna start dry-humping during the encore?”

I snort—an actual laugh, surprising even me. “Close. Throat holds, pinning against speakers, sucker thing where one of us takes it from the other’s mouth. Slow. Seductive. All the buzzwords.”

Laney cackles, throwing her head back. “Oh my God. You’re gonna give the fans heart attacks. And you’re doing it with Mr. Cocky Pants? The one who shows up late and still looks like a magazine cover?”

“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling the tension there. “He was late again today. Missed call time. Showed up on the plane looking as though he’d been dragged through a hedge backward. No bag, hair a disaster, ripped jeans like he couldn’t be bothered.”

She tilts her head, studying me through the screen. “And you’re pissed.”

“Obviously.”

“But you’re laughing about it with me.”

I pause. She’s right. The irritation’s still there—simmering, familiar—but talking to her softens the edges. Makes it feel less like a personal attack and more like… just Luca being Luca.

“I don’t know,” I admit, quieter. “He took it when I laid into him on the plane. He had no excuses. He didn’t even smirk at me. Just…said, ‘You’re right.’ It threw me.”

Laney’s expression softens, too. “Maybe he’s not as oblivious as you think. Or maybe he’s finally feeling the pressure.”

“Maybe.” I lean my head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “Or maybe I’m just tired of hating him every second. It’s exhausting.”

She’s quiet for a beat, then smiles—gentle, knowing. “You don’t have to hate him forever, you know. The fans might ship you guys, but you can be friends.”

I huff a small laugh. “Tell that to Harry. And the choreographer. And the twenty thousand people who scream ‘Kuca’ every night.”

“True. But you’re still allowed to be actual friends. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t.” I meet her eyes through the screen. “Thanks, Laney. For this. For not making it weird.”

“Never weird with you.” She winks. “Now I have to get some sleep before tomorrow, I’ve got a big art expo. And maybe don’t murder Luca on stage at your next show. The fans would riot.”

“No promises,” I say, but I’m smiling again—real this time. “Good luck tomorrow.”

We say goodbye, her screen going dark. I set my phone on the nightstand and exhale. For the first time in weeks, the knot in my chest loosens just a fraction.

Maybe tomorrow won’t be so bad. Or maybe Luca will be late again, and I’ll have to hate him all over. Either way, at least I’ve got Laney in my corner.

That’s enough for tonight.

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