Chapter 20.
Austin
There’s a metaphor here about climbing too high.
Like a cat flying up the curtains.
Up to the top—Ian’s mantra.
Then you peer over your shoulder and everyone down there is an ant, and you’re like, what in the hell was I thinking?
How do I get down from here?
The only answer is to fall.
Not an ideal time to discover a fear of heights, huh?
I don’t want to look like a spooked cat up the curtain around TJ. I have to be strong. And pissing my pants at the top of this rock wall doesn’t exactly exude strength, now does it?
“I got you!” calls out Cole from below, sensing my hesitation.
And yeah, I get what TJ was saying earlier. Cole is inhumanly good-looking, noted.
But there’s so much more on my mind than just literal rock wall climbing that’s feeding my anxiety.
I’m also hearing Ian in my ear. I’m seeing the notifications popping up on my phone.
Like a slow-motion nightmare unfolding before my eyes, I’m seeing the texts from Drew and Irene at the label—and texts from the both of them sure ain’t a good sign, let alone just one.
I’ve been fighting back a spontaneous urge to vomit since we left that burger place with the sweet, slightly-unhinged lady, thinking about how while I’m out here in this peaceful paradise with TJ, somehow the whole world outside of Spruce is closing in on us.
Spruce, the eye of the hurricane.
And the hurricane’s starting to move again.
And do I really need another fucking storm metaphor?
“You alright?” asks Cole when I’m back on my feet.
I literally don’t remember lowering myself to the floor.
“You look freaked out a little. Hey, no shame. First time I talked my boyfriend into scaling this wall, he was trying to play it cool when he came back down, but I could feel him shaking all over the place—poor guy. I felt so bad.” He chuckles to himself.
“Well, a little bad. Teeny bit. I was trying not to laugh. It’s just ‘cause he was trying so hard to look brave even when I got him back down …”
“Austin.”
I turn at the sound of TJ’s voice. He’s back from the restroom.
And he looks tense. “TJ? You okay?”
“We need to go.”
I can’t read anything on his face. A thousand things could’ve happened in that bathroom, from reuniting with some high school dickhead to getting a call from his mom that Banano was eaten by a coyote. “Burger not sittin’ well? Fries? They were kinda greasy.”
He answers neither question, only poking his head around me to say, “Thanks for helping out, Cole, but um, something came up, so we have to head out.”
“No worries.” Cole starts helping me out of the harness, eyes darting between us, likely trying to figure out what’s going on.
You and me both.
The second we leave the gym, TJ says, “They know.”
I frown. “Who knows?”
“Everyone.”
I can barely keep up with him as we reach his car. “Wait, what do you mean?” I ask over the hood, needing to be sure he’s saying what I think he’s saying. Then we’re inside the car, engine on, and TJ is already peeling out of the parking lot. “TJ, talk to me, please.”
“AJ said it looked fun and innocent at first,” he tells me as he whips way too fast around a corner, barely heeding a stop sign. “A set of pics are out there. Us at that restaurant we went to after the Houston show.”
Fuck me, I knew it. “TJ …”
“In one online group, the reaction is cute. People wondering who’s the lucky guy Chase Holt is seeing.”
“You’re gonna hit somethin’, slow down.”
He doesn’t. “Other groups … weren’t so sweet about it. I need to look up what a ‘groupie cum goblin’ is, though I can take a guess.”
“Your mom just warned us about deer, TJ, you’ve gotta slow down before—”
He more than slows down. He pulls to the side of the country road, slams the brakes, and stares ahead without blinking, fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel.
Then he asks, “Why do I get the feeling you knew about this?”
I shut my eyes. “I’m so sorry, TJ. I should’ve told you. I swear, I thought it was handled already, and … and I understand if you’re mad at me, but I swear—”
“Mad at you?” He turns to me. “I’m not mad at you, Austin.”
I look at him. “You’re not?”
It’s like the thought didn’t even cross his mind. “Why would I be mad at you? This isn’t your fault. It’s theirs. Why can’t they just be happy for you? They’re your fans! They love you!”
“Think you just answered your own question. They love me … just a tad too much at times.” I drop my head.
“It’s how it always goes. They talk, speculate everything to death, make up their own story …
Listen to me.” I meet his eyes and come closer, forcing my voice to stay steady.
“This is how it always goes. I’ve been through this a couple times.
It blows up fast, then burns out just as quickly. My team’s already on it.”
“Your team.”
“TJ, the people at my label, I’m not even kiddin’, they have so many plants in so many of these fan groups for this exact thing.
If I go up on lyrics and make a fool of myself.
If I lose my cool and go off on a heckler at a show and the fans react poorly to it.
Whatever you can think of, they use these plants to steer the conversation.
Not to mention their legal team. Their own social media warriors.
There’s no headlines. It’s still contained.
They’re on it. They’ve … been on it all day,” I finally confess with a sigh.
“I’m sorry for not tellin’ you earlier. But trust me, they’ve got plans in motion. ”
“I trust you,” he says quietly, then meets my eyes. “But do you trust them?”
I stare back, as if I don’t understand the question.
What he’s really asking.
Do I trust my label? Do I trust them to tell the story? And most importantly, do I trust them to protect TJ the way I’d protect TJ?
Can I even trust these calls from Ian blowing up my phone?
“Yes,” I finally say—or choke, throat stubborn and tightening up. “Yeah. I do.”
TJ continues staring into my eyes, as if to be sure. “Alright,” he finally says with a nod. Then he faces the road, hands back on the steering wheel. “I’ll trust them, too.”
He starts the car once more.
Off we go.
I can’t help feeling like when he says he’ll trust them, what he’s really trusting is me.
We make it safely back to TJ’s house without any spontaneous deer encounters, I’m relieved to report. “Since nothing’s going on just yet,” says TJ before we go in, “let’s not mention anything to my parents. I don’t want them to worry over nothing.”
Then we enter the house through the side door.
Cissy ambushes us in the kitchen. “You’re back just in time!” she cries out gleefully. “Your father and I were about to sit down to watch a movie in the cinema room. Why don’t you two join us?? It’s rom-com night!”
TJ is about to turn her down when I put my arm around his back and pull him close, startling him. “I think that sounds great,” I tell her—and him. He meets my eyes questioningly.
It’s exactly what I think we need tonight.
A safe, bland movie. Popcorn. Mom and Dad.
Normalcy.
It takes TJ a while to relax. I can tell.
We’re spread out in his “cinema room”, which is basically a small movie theater with long, pillow-filled couches and loveseats filling four raked rows, clearly for them plus a dozen or more friends.
The room’s complete with a sound system beefy enough to drown out the rest of the world, and isn’t that kind of literally what we need?
His parents sit near the front. TJ and I are a couple rows back.
He’s cuddled against me, his popcorn already eaten with the tub set aside, and I’ve got him safe and warm in my arms as we pay attention to the movie.
Well, half attention. I’m not sure either of us are really following the plot.
Isn’t that the thing with rom-coms nowadays?
You can fall asleep through half of it, wake up, and feel like you’re still a step ahead of the adorably predictable plot.
I just wish our own story was as adorably predictable.
I have no fucking idea what Ian or my team are doing. If they have a handle on anything at all. How stupid was I, to believe that leaked photos of us from that night in Houston could somehow be magically contained, never to see the light of day again?
That was way back in Atlanta that I first learned about the photos. It’s now a whole ass-load of weeks later. That’s a fuck lot of time for those pics of us to circulate and stir shit up.
I’m honestly surprised a headline wasn’t written right away.
Don’t click-bait websites jump on that shit instantly, even if it’s speculative and unconfirmed?
“You okay?”
I stir from my thoughts at TJ’s sweet voice. He’s looking up at me from my lap. I guess he can still see the movie. I give his arm a squeeze, then nod. He smiles, then turns back to the movie. So do I, putting my thoughts aside, determined to be present with TJ.
His parents go to bed after the movie. I’m surprised when Tim gives me a hug right after Cissy, like I’m already part of the family. I linger there after they head across the foyer to their bedroom. I think I underestimated how much I miss this feeling of family.
“Be right back,” says TJ, a little cheerier after the movie, then heads off to take a shower.
That means I’ve got about fifteen minutes.
I head downstairs, across the foyer to the guest wing, and into its dark kitchenette. After a deep breath, I finally return Ian’s call.
“Clever of you to call back at this exact minute,” he answers.
“Why? Did I interrupt dinner? Or sex?”