I haven’t said much to Max since the show.
Sinceher.
That fan with the sharp eyeliner and even sharper tongue.
I keep thinking about her words. The way she looked at me like I was temporary. Laughable. A bookmark in Max’s very full, very wild chapter.
“You’re not even his type.”
And the thing is—she’s probably not wrong.
Hedoeshave a type. Or he did. Before me.
I sip my water slowly, gathering the nerve to ask the question that’s been burning holes in my throat all night.
“Max?”
He turns his head toward me, eyes soft despite how wrecked he looks. “Yeah?”
“Have you ever…” I trail off, then force myself to continue. “Have you slept with your fans before?”
He’s quiet for a beat. Not cagey—just thoughtful.
Then he nods once. “Yeah. I have.”
The answer stings more than I expect it to. I look away.
“Nora,” he says gently, “I’m not gonna lie to you. In the beginning? Yeah, it happened. A lot more than I’m proud of.”
I turn my gaze back to him, eyebrows raised.
He runs a hand through his hair, sighing. “Everything was new. Fast. We were nobodies one week and playing packed clubs the next. It felt like the rules didn’t apply. Girls would wait outside the venue, slip me their numbers, show up at the hotel. I didn’t think much of it back then—I was just a guy with a guitar and too much energy to sleep.”
“So it was… often,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
He meets my eyes. “Yeah. It was.”
I nod slowly. My stomach twists, but I keep listening.
“But that didn’t last,” he says. “After a few experiences that got… weird, I stopped hooking up with fans altogether. One girl followed me to another city. Another kept showing up at my mom’s place.”
My eyes widen. “Seriously?”
He nods grimly. “Yeah. And then there was one who lied about using a diaphragm—tried to get pregnant on purpose because she thought it’d keep me tied to her.”
My stomach turns. “What?”
“Yeah.” His eyes are serious now. “It scared the hell out of me. Ever since then, I’ve been careful. Really careful. No matter how drunk or lonely or whatever—I never went there again without full control of the situation. If I was gonna mess around, it was with someone far outside that world. No more backstage hookups. I had to keep my distance.”
I nod slowly, trying to process all of it. “That must’ve felt like… betrayal.”
“It was,” he says simply. “I wasn’t even mad she wanted something from me. I was mad she tried to steal it. It messed with my head for a long time.”
***
Max is asleep now.
Stretched out on the narrow couch in the back lounge, one arm slung above his head, the other loosely draped over his stomach. His shirt’s rumpled, hair still damp, lips parted slightly with the kind of soft, unguarded breath that only comes when someone’s truly out.
