Chapter 44
Forty-Four
Take a Picture
Spencer
After we finally stop laughing, wiping tears from our faces and trying to catch our breath, Cricket nudges my shoulder. “Are you going to tell him?”
I look down at Ryan's hoodie pooled around my frame. This stupid hoodie. Worst piece of fashion I’ve ever seen. Can’t even call it fashion, really. It’s comfortable, I’ll give it that. And it smells like him.
I’m never taking it off.
I shrug. “I have to.” The words come easier than I expect. “I can't keep that from him.”
The room grows quieter. I've spent so much of my life trying not to think about that shelter, trying not to think about that scared little kid, trying not to think about the shame.
And yet here we are. “I've avoided eyes like his… my whole life.” My heart kicks up again.
“I think that's why I resisted him so hard.”
My fingers find the strings hanging from the hood, twisting, untwisting. “I'm sure it won't mean much to him. We only met briefly.” I stare down at my hands. “But for me, it's a core memory.”
Cricket's expression softens. She rubs my arm. “Are you kidding me?” A grin spreads across her face. “He's going to be insufferable.”
Harper immediately starts giggling. “Totally.”
Cricket points at me. “He will never stop saying the phrase ‘meant to be’ every chance he gets.”
I groan. Loudly. Dropping my head back against the couch. “Ugh.” The image appears without invitation—Ryan grinning, Ryan dimpling, Ryan weaponizing the phrase for the rest of my natural life.
“You're right.” I try to sound exasperated.
I really do. Unfortunately, my insides choose that exact moment to melt into a puddle.
Because maybe we always were meant to end up here.
Maybe life is just strange enough to bring two little boys from completely different worlds back together all these years later.
“Okay.” I slap my hands on my knees. “I think I've earned more wine.”
Both sisters perk up. “You guys in?” I ask.
“Does the Pope shit in the woods?” Harper asks.
I laugh and shake my head, pushing myself to my feet. But before I can stand, Cricket mutters, “That son of a bitch.”
I pause. “What?”
She's staring down at her phone, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. Cricket looks over at Harper. “Dad was asked by a reporter earlier today for a reaction to Ryan's post.”
Harper groans immediately. “Let me guess.” She rubs her forehead. “Total douchery ensued?”
Cricket doesn't answer. Instead, she hits play.
The three of us huddle closer. A reporter appears on screen.
The footage looks like it was taken outside the senate chambers.
The reporter's voice crackles through the speakers: Senator Buterbaugh, your son put up a strongly worded post refuting your claims about his sexuality. Care to respond?
Senator Dickbag stops, turns, and faces the microphones. Then he opens his mouth:
I strongly denounce my son, his actions, and his lifestyle. My stomach twists. Until he decides to follow a righteous path, I do not have a son.
Harper makes a strangled noise.
Cricket's face goes white.
The senator continues:
Furthermore, while conversion therapy is still legal in North Carolina, Executive Order 97 removed state funding for therapy performed on minors. I stop breathing. I am working with state lawmakers to restore that funding. I have no further comments at this time.
The room remains completely silent.
The video ends. Cricket turns off the phone. Harper stares at the dark screen, then says, very calmly, “Mother. Fucker.”
Cricket looks seconds away from launching the phone through my television.
Me? I'm seeing red. Pure. Blinding. Rage.
“Excuse me.” I stand. Neither sister stops me. I walk directly into the kitchen, grab my phone, and make a call.
The line rings twice. Then a familiar voice answers. “Mr. Stark.”
I don't bother with pleasantries. “Carl. I know it’s only been three weeks… but tell me you have something.”
A pause. “Well, it was enough time, considering his pattern.”
I straighten. “What do you mean?”
“Turns out Monday night is a standing appointment.”
I begin pacing small circles. “Standing appointment?”
“Yep.” The PI sounds pleased with his crew. “Last night was the third Monday in a row stopping by the same home… and it’s not his. We did a little digging after the second visit. The home is owned by a well-known uh… service provider.”
I stop pacing. Every muscle in my body goes rigid as he continues, “My team had a nice little chat with her last night after he left.”
I blow out a heavy breath, fists clenched.
What a fucking hypocrite.
“And, Stark?”
“Yeah?” My voice comes out rough.
“She has video and pictures.”
Holy shit.
I run a hand through my hair. Start pacing again. Fast. “Would it effectively end his career if it got out?”
Carl doesn't hesitate. “Without question.”
My head pops up when I sense somewhere nearby. I glance up, and Harper is standing on the other side of the kitchen island. Watching me. One eyebrow raised.
Fuck.
I immediately school my expression. “Just send everything over to me, Carl.”
“You got it.”
“Thanks.” I end the call.
Harper crosses her arms. Waiting.
“Sorry.” I slip my phone into my pocket. “Something I'm working on for the agency.” Her expression doesn't change. “Athlete got himself into a little hot water.”
The look she gives me says she believes approximately none of that. Not even a little.
I sigh, then grab the wine bottle. “Shall we?”
Harper smiles. The kind of smile that says she's choosing not to call me on my bullshit. For now.
Together we shuffle back into the living room. I refill glasses. Or at least attempt to. “I'm only doing half a glass.” The sisters immediately look suspicious. “I have to function tomorrow.” I set the bottle down. “Anthony has me going to some fundraiser tomorrow night.”
The girls exchange a glance that immediately makes me nervous.
“What's it for?” Harper asks.
I shrug. “No idea.” I take a sip. “He just told me I had to be at the Hyatt at seven sharp.”
Cricket nods slowly. “And?”
“And he told me to dress fashionably.”
Both women stare.
I scoff. “Me.”
More staring.
“He told me to dress fashionably.”
Then I look down. At Ryan's I LOVE MY KITTY hoodie.
Silence.
The sisters follow my gaze. And suddenly we're all laughing again.
The next hour passes in a blur. More stories.
More wine. More pictures. Somewhere along the way the conversation turns serious.
The girls tell me things. Things Ryan never would.
About the pressure. The expectations. The impossible standards.
The endless criticism. The way their father weaponized religion.
The way he made Ryan responsible for carrying the family image.
The way nothing Ryan did was ever enough.
By the time they're finished, all three of us are furious.
Harper is openly seething. Cricket isn't much better.
They've already decided they're staying through the holidays.
Neither wants anything to do with their parents.
Apparently, Harper texted their mother earlier—and absolutely unloaded on her.
By eleven o'clock, though, I'm running on fumes. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. Everything hurts.
I call them a car. The sisters both insist on hugging me before they leave. Not normal hugs. Bone-crushing hugs.
“Goodnight, brother,” Harper says.
I roll my eyes. But I hug her tighter.
Cricket kisses my cheek. “Tell him.”
I nod. “I will.”
Then they're gone.
The condo falls quiet. I lock the door. Lean against it. And exhale. What a weird fucking night. I pull out my phone, wondering where the hell Ryan is. A text waits for me.
Hey, Perfect. Sorry, this went really late. I'll be home in an hour.
Then another line.
PS: I'm walking funny today;)
I laugh, then immediately adjust myself inside my sweats. Because apparently my body has no control anymore. Fuck. This man really does it for me.
Shaking my head, I head toward the bedroom. I strip down. Slide beneath the covers. And I'm asleep almost before my head hits the pillow.
At some point during the night, the mattress dips. I barely surface from a deep sleep. Just enough to register warmth. Movement. Familiarity.
An arm slides around my waist. Heavy. Strong.
A thick thigh settles over mine. I don't open my eyes.
Don't need to. My hand finds his automatically.
Our fingers intertwine. Then I scoot backward, pressing myself into the solid heat of him, pulling his arm tighter around me.
His sleepy exhale brushes the back of my neck.
Safe.
The word drifts through my exhausted mind.
My lips whisper the only words I can muster.
“Kind eyes.”