Page 29

Twenty-Eight

Jensen

I saac and I leave the hotel room separately to avoid suspicion. I go first to check for fans or paparazzi in the lobby, but we’re safe. It’s mostly just the normal comings and goings of a downtown hotel.

Lingering outside, I wait for him. When he eventually emerges fifteen minutes later, he has on a ball cap and dark sunglasses, so he’s almost unrecognizable. It throws me that this is his life. This is what he has to do to have a private life, and it’s not fair.

The public’s attention is fickle. They will obsess over him for the moment before they move on to the next hot topic of interest. I just hope he can get through this phase before anyone leaks anything damning against him.

I know he wants to come out, but at the same time, he’s scared. I don’t want some momentary nuclear situation to force him into something that should take time and thought.

As Isaac and I ride over to the local office where he’s meeting with his tour manager, the voices in my head are louder than ever. Except it’s not just voices. It’s a familiar sentiment deep in my gut that’s spreading like a parasite. It’s a lot of things, but mostly shame.

I have to remind myself to keep breathing. He and I don’t speak on the drive. He keeps his head down and stares at his phone. I don’t have the guts to text anyone in the organization back home. I can’t text the publicity manager and ask what to do if my name has been leaked as a lover of a famous country singer. I can’t have this conversation with my colleagues. It’s unfathomable.

So my leg bounces as I stare out the window on the drive.

The office is down an old street in an old part of the city that’s been renovated. Various labels and companies have remodeled old brick houses into recording studios and galleries. Tall oak and magnolia trees line the street as our SUV pulls up to one of the brick buildings.

“Why don’t I get a ride to the airport?” I say quietly, with regret.

Isaac looks up at me with surprise. “You’re not supposed to go home until tomorrow.”

“I know, but…”

The look in his eyes guts me. He’s looking to me for support, and once I leave, he’ll be alone, dealing with all of this.

Fuck it.

I reach across the back seat and grip his hand in mine. “Forget I said anything,” I say. “I’ll be here. Okay? I’ll stay.”

“Okay,” he replies with relief. “Let me just go in and talk to them. I don’t think it will take long. Then we can go find Lola and the others. We can still stay in a hotel tonight if you want.”

I nod, although my stomach is turning with anxiety.

“Okay.”

The driver opens Isaac’s door and escorts him into the building while I wait alone in the car. My mind feels like it’s falling into a familiar spiral. I close my eyes and breathe.

Then, it feels like retracing my steps. How did we get here? I went to a concert with a woman. I started a harmless conversation with a man. Then…

A montage of moments over the past month with Isaac cascades through my mind on a reel. It all seemed so natural. So…unavoidable. There was never a moment where I considered stopping. But so many opportunities.

How can one person have so many regrets and none at the same time? I don’t regret a single moment with Isaac, and yet…

My actions are not the problem. I am.

Loving him is not evil. So why do I feel so sinful?

My head and my heart are at war.

The logic reminds me that it’s what they did. The harm they caused. So why can’t I just forget it? Why can’t I function without it? Why can’t I say to hell with everything and do what my heart so desperately wants? To tell the world that I love a man who loves me back and fuck anyone who has a problem with that.

My phone rings and I nearly jump. The driver is still standing outside, leaving me alone in the SUV. I pick up my phone to see my mom’s picture on the screen.

My gut is telling me not to answer it. Deep down, I know she won’t tell me what I need to hear right now. But that iota of hope that she will wins and I swipe the call.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, forcing my voice to stay flat and calm.

“Hey, baby,” she replies in her sweet voice. “I just got a call from Gabby’s mom,” she says, and I’m wincing before she even finishes that sentence.

“She said she saw you on Facebook with some big country singer. I told her you were going on a lot of trips out of town, but I had no idea you knew him personally.”

She’s doing a good job of masking her voice, but I know her too well. I can pick up on every single tell. She’s not curious. She’s worried.

I clear my throat. “Yeah, I do know him personally,” I say.

“Really?” she says, and it’s dripping with presumptuousness. “How do you know him?”

My eyes are stinging as I stare straight ahead, my gaze unfocused and my mind whirling. I’m tired of dancing around this unspoken thing. I’m tired of my mother and I pretending we can have a real relationship that is unharmed by the actions of the past.

“I think you know, Mom,” I mutter lowly.

I can hear her breathing on the other line, but she doesn’t respond. Not at first.

When the line grows too awkward, she rushes to fill it with something light.

“Oh, Jensen,” she says, like I’ve just admitted that I failed to use a coupon at the grocery store. Not that I just admitted to a relationship she considers forbidden and sinful.

“Mom,” I mutter.

“I don’t know what you’re telling me this for. That is your business.”

“Mom, please.”

“What, Jensen? You know that is a sin. You know it’s wrong.”

“It’s not wrong. How could you say that to me?”

“Why are you mad at me ?” she asks, sounding frantic. She’s scrambling.

“I’m not…mad at you.”

“Yes, you are.” I can hear the quiver in her voice. I don’t know if they are real tears or performative to make me feel bad, but I have an idea. “I’m not the one who will make your life hell when they find out, Jensen. I just worry about you and the way people will treat you.”

I hang my head in defeat. A sardonic laugh escapes my lips.

“Is that why you sent me to that program? Because you didn’t want the world to be mean to me?”

She’s quiet again.

“What program?” she asks after a tense moment.

“You know what program, Mom. Eternal Harmony. Remember them?”

“Jensen, why are you bringing all this up now? What is going on over there? It feels like you’re taking a lot out on me because of the way other people are reacting. I’m just trying to protect you.”

When I blink, a tear falls onto my lap. I hear the sincerity in her voice. Maybe she’s being honest, and this is all it was. A form of protection. Rather than embrace me and support me, she tried to change me for my own good. Maybe…she did have the best intentions.

And that’s the most tragic thing of all. Because the thing she did to protect me is the same thing that’s killing me.

In the corner of my eye, I see a door open, and Isaac emerges.

“Mom, I gotta go,” I mutter with a sniffle.

I don’t wait for her reply. Her upset voice echoes through the phone before I end the call. Quickly, I wipe my eyes and compose myself before the driver opens the door and Isaac climbs in.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

He shrugs and then looks into my eyes. He catches the emotion on my face, the side effects of my tears that I can’t so easily hide.

“Everything okay with you?” he asks, frozen in fear.

Lying, I nod. “It’s fine.” Reaching across the seat, I hold his hand in mine.

The one thing I can count on with Isaac is that when it comes to heavy conversations, he’ll avoid them. This means when I tell him everything is fine, he’ll believe it—or at least pretend to believe it.

My knee bounces erratically on the drive from the label to wherever the tour bus is parked. Isaac wants to see the rest of his band because this involves them, but this entire thing has me feeling uncomfortable.

He wants to tell his band, and I’ll support that, but it just feels like the more people that know, the more likely this won’t stay under wraps for long.

His hand is the only thing I’m clinging to at the moment. I have to be here for him. He’s going through this too, and while my job is at stake, his public image is much, much bigger than mine. He has far more to lose if this all goes south.

“Change of plans,” the driver says, and I look at Isaac with concern. “The band is at the Hilton downtown.”

“Where’s the bus?” Isaac asks.

“The bus was public. Better security at the hotel.”

“Better security?”

Just then, we turn down the street and my jaw drops. There is a horde of people outside the tall hotel building. They are holding cameras and microphones, and there is nothing to stop them from walking right up to our SUV when the driver pulls up to the curb.

A few big men in black shirts are stationed there to open the door for us, but it’s immediately pandemonium.

“What the fuck?” Isaac mutters to himself. He releases my hand before the first bulb flashes.

Then, we’re being escorted inside and it feels like there isn’t a moment to breathe or think. I get out first, swept away by one of the guards.

There are cameras in my face and people yelling. Mostly asking Isaac invasive questions that I pray he’s not answering. As I reach the door alone, I turn back to find him, but he’s lost in the crowd.

Anger boils inside me when I spot him swallowed up by the paparazzi snapping photos. I barrel back into the mix, giving the security guard a rage-filled sneer as I shove camera-wielding men away from Isaac.

Wrapping an arm around Isaac’s back, I shout, “Back up!” It does nothing. They ignore me and continue to block our path and get in our faces.

Isaac burrows himself against me as I plow through the mob.

“I’ve got you,” I mumble to him just before we reach the door. Finally, the security guards make themselves useful and stop the paparazzi from following us as we disappear inside.

Every ounce of cool I once had is gone.

The woman I recognize as Isaac’s tour manager is there to greet us.

“Do those security guards work for the goddamn paparazzi?” I shout.

“Jensen,” Isaac says with alarm as he stares at me. It takes me a moment to realize I’m still holding him close, so I let him go, and he steps away.

“You must be Mr. Miles,” she says, putting out her hand.

I’m still fuming.

I don’t shake her hand, but she picks up on that immediately. Putting her hands on her waist, she says, “Nobody panic. We have some damage control to do, and then we’re leaving for the next stop on the tour.”

Isaac and I follow her as she leads us to a room in the hotel to talk in private. As we walk, I just keep hearing damage control in my head. It feels like it’s a little too late for that. Everything has gotten too out of hand, and the last thing I feel like we have at this moment is control.