Rose frowns. “What?”
Lily’s eyes smile before her lips do. “The first time I ever saw you together at my apartment with Lo. It looked like you two were fighting, but I always believed it was flirting.”
I can feel my grin. Flirting—I told Rose so during St. Patrick’s Day.
“And I also sensed a lot of…sexual tension.” She reddens. “I can’t be the only one who thought so. Right?” She turns to Lo. He was there that day, a long time ago.
“I thought they were weird,” he admits. “But in hindsight, I guess, yeah, it was flirting.” No one is convinced by him, least of all Rose.
She lets out a jailed breath. “We’re going to do what Naomi says.”
The room tenses, and Ryke finally speaks. “I fucking hate this.”
“Not as much as people hate my tweets,” Rose grumbles.
Ryke gives her a look. “They’re fucking funny, Rose.”
“Apparently they’re insensitive.”
“I’ve tweeted more insensitive shit and no one gets onto me,” he rebuts.
Lo’s brows rise. “He did once tweet that anyone who’s praying for rain again needs to shut the fuck up.”
Daisy smiles, the whole room brightening an extra degree. “And anyone who’s performing a rain dance needs to sit the fuck down.”
Lo laughs, but it fades among the proliferating stress.
Rose fills the silence. “It’s a small sacrifice.”
“I don’t like when we have to sacrifice who we are…” Ryke trails off, his hard gaze drifting to the two babies closest to him. Jane even smiles up at Ryke and babbles a string of noises that desire to be words.
Rose says, “I’ve never shied away from who I am, even when people asked me to be softer, quieter or warmer. I’ve proudly remained me. But I’m willing to appear as the person they want for Jane.” She turns to me, and I read the look in her eye that says just as you’d be willing to make that sacrifice.
If I lie to the world and pick a label, she doesn’t want me to lift this burden alone.
Her loyalty is admirable, but her speech hits me in a new way, with a new realization.
I’d rather Rose teach Jane to never step down and cower, to never appear as something else as I’ve always done.
To be real.
To be herself, to love every part of her own soul, no matter if it’s what someone else desires or not.
That’s the woman I love.
I don’t want her to be anything less.
I open my mouth to combat her, but she says, “Just let me try. If Jane is heckled by her peers, I want to at least know that I did something to change the outcome.”
“You teach Jane to never be afraid to speak her mind by never being afraid to speak yours,” I whisper to Rose. “You give her the tools to defeat their words through confidence and self-respect.”
“And you?” she asks me. “It’s not fair that you have to carry this…” She rolls her eyes as they fill with tears. I wipe beneath them.
“I haven’t made a choice yet.” I can’t tell her that I’m leaning towards the option that’ll help Jane. The fake me. I’ll sound like a hypocrite, and maybe I am in this instance. I would much rather protect Rose’s spirit, even if it means barring her from protecting mine.
“I’ll support you no matter what,” Lily suddenly says to us.
Rose sniffs and then Daisy passes her a piece of toilet paper, and Rose dabs beneath her eyes.
“Me too,” Daisy says. “Whatever you say, I’ll stand behind.” She gives me a smile, referring subtly to my choice and the press conference in May.
“I have to ignore you,” Lo says. “Don’t I?”
“It’s up to you,” I tell him.
“For how long?” he wonders.
“I don’t know.” It’s the truth.
He shakes his head automatically. “No. I’m not doing it. I’m not going to give my dad what he wanted. Then he’ll just keep doing this shit over and over again, and goddammit, if anyone needs to learn a lesson, it’s him.”
My lips curve upward.
Ryke nods in agreement, his jaw hardening. “I gave him part of my liver, and this is what he does?” His distraught eyes rise to me, for understanding, for anything that’ll make it better.
I do have more knowledge than them, but it won’t ease his pain. What no one but Rose may know and what Jonathan may not fully understand himself: he reacted today based off fear of abandonment. He can give reasons like I’m trying to stop Connor from seducing my son all he wants, but it’s more than that.
It’s about Jonathan feeling like I’ve taken his position in Lo’s life. For guidance, for connections, for money—Lo comes to me. When I’m around, Jonathan is unneeded. There’s nothing worse than being useless when you thrive off being useful.
He felt inferior and powerless, probably for the first time ever.
Greg, his best friend, is kind-hearted and malleable. I’m calculated and stoic.
When I meet men like Jonathan, I usually step back and try to appear non-threatening. I fake it because they can’t put up with how I normally am, but I’ve never had reason to do this with Lo’s father. He served no value to me. I didn’t need anything from him. I didn’t want him as a connection. If we were at odds, I thought it made no difference.
I didn’t regard Jonathan Hale as a variable in my life. He was nothing. And the nothing I disregarded turned out to be the something that I should’ve paid more attention to.
That’s why this happened. There is no other reason than this.
As I look at Ryke, I realize I have the opportunity to shed light on the situation, or I can leave it how it is. They can believe that their father is a bigger bigot and asshole—or I can show them that he’s just utterly imperfect.
I don’t like Jonathan. I hate him, in fact, but I pity him more—and maybe it’s this pity that has won me over. Or maybe it’s because I really see no point in revenge.
Either way, I begin to share my thoughts that won’t rid the hurt he’s caused, but it’ll at least put to rest the villain in their eyes.
[ 39 ]
CONNOR COBALT
I casually suck on a cigarette, inhaling deeply. Scott watches the color of the smoke that leaves my lips: filmy, translucent gray rather than a plume of white.
He’s constantly making sure I’m not playing him. I remember his extremely opinionated comment a month ago: real men don’t hold smoke in their mouths. And I unfortunately have to abide by this.
“You realize there are two cameramen on the eastern balcony of that apartment complex.” I tap ash into a tray and then sip my whisky to drown the cigarette taste.
Scott takes a large swig of his bourbon, barely acknowledging the apartment complex tha
t overlooks Saturn Bridges, a Philadelphia bar that’s been flooded with people since we arrived at 1 a.m. He also chose to stand on the bar’s deck patio, potted plants partially concealing our view of the street.
Scott wanted to meet in public, the same day that the news broke about me, further reminding me that he loves money only one degree above notoriety.
I’m aware that this isn’t the best look for me: Connor Cobalt is seen without his wife at a local bar the same day it’s revealed that his marriage is a sham! Rose plans on picking me up, so the “without wife” comment will disappear.
It doesn’t help that the world believes Scott is Rose’s ex-boyfriend. I’m not sure what the public will think about me meeting him. It’d make more sense if they knew the truth: he was the producer of Princesses of Philly.
“I’m secure in my sexuality,” he reminds me for the second time. He puts his cigarette between his lips, and I rest my forearm on the iron railing, a fern brushing my hand. “So who was it that spread the lies?” he wonders.
This is why he asked me out today. Curiosity.
He also believes the accusations are entirely baseless. He’s weaved enough false webs for the public that he must not take anything in the tabloids at face value.
With another sip, the liquor burns my throat. “Do you plan on giving them a handshake?” I ask with a growing smile, my voice lighthearted, even if it’s not what I feel.
Scott shrugs with a smugger smile. Go ahead and smile, you fool. “I just never want to piss off whoever you did.” He raises his glass in cheers to that. I do the same, and we drink in unison. Then he licks his lips and nods. “So…do I know him?”
I let the embers eat my cigarette. “No, and trust me, you don’t want to be dragged into this mess.” Trust me is a declaration that he’ll cling to, waver over, until he asks—
“Why spend time with me?” He combs his fingers through his slick, dirty blond hair, doubt in his furrowed brows. “Why try to help me convince your friends to be a part of a season two?”
I suck on the cigarette again and blow smoke into the air, my posture more like Loren Hale—slumped and apathetic—than like me: domineering and overconfident. “I honestly thought you were into Rose,” I begin my speech in an easy-going tone. “Like—really into her. I was jealous of what you had that I didn’t, of what you could offer her that I couldn’t. And there was a moment where I thought that she liked you way more than me, man.” It’s all a lie, obviously.