Chapter 16 Pike
Pike
My phone vibrates as I lug in all the food I bought from Simply Crêpes for dinner. After canceling multiple times, Skylar’s finally able to do the second date.
Hey kiddo, Dad writes. Your mother said you’ve got yourself a nice girl. Let’s talk soon. Did you get the info I sent you?
I grimace as I thumb back, Super busy, sorry.
Luis comes around the corner, a headset around his neck. He’s been so busy with meetings all weekend that he hasn’t even had Cyrus over, but he’s joining us for dinner. I hand him a plastic Rite Aid bag filled with the prescriptions he asked me to pick up.
“Thanks,” he says, then surveys the food. “Wow. I didn’t know you were capable of this much effort.”
“Ha ha,” I say flatly, pulling out the containers and avoiding his too-perceptive gaze. “It’s dinner, not a national emergency.”
“The guy who once said, ‘I don’t do second dates,’ is now showing up with crêpes for fifteen people. All so his girlfriend can get to know his mom better.”
“I wanted to surprise her and didn’t know which crêpes she’d like,” I force out, the oversharing eroding my core. “So I got some of everything.”
His grin only widens.
“Go away,” I say, “or you’ll get no crêpes.”
While I wait for Skylar, I pace around the front porch despite my pain. My legs hurt if I stand, but my back hurts if I sit. I’m antsy. Weirdly agitated.
This is it. The last half of our act. We get through this, and we’re done fake dating.
Technically, we don’t ever have to see each other again after tonight. The thought is disconcerting. Would Skylar consider hanging out with me outside of our agreement? I watch a guy in a parka walking around our cul-de-sac, and I wonder what she’d say.
When she arrives, it’s hard to think about telling Mom we broke up. One look at Skylar, and I get that weak feeling in my knees again. She’s in a short black skirt and a tight long-sleeved shirt, with big boots to mid-thigh.
“Is this the infamous skirt?” I say, delighted.
She twirls in the driveway. “You like?”
“More than I can express.” My hand settles against her waist as I grin in appreciation. She smells amazing too—it’s that chocolate-caramel ChapStick I can still taste on my lips. “Mom will be here soon, so we should claim the better dessert crêpes. But we need to be quick.”
She looks up at me in those big shades, a playful smile on her lips. “A good quickie always hits the spot.”
I can’t keep my mouth from falling open.
“You should see your face,” she says, her smile turning wicked. “It’s like something short-circuited in your brain.”
“It did.”
A series of bright flashes goes off, and I drop my cane.
“Pike! Let’s get a nice smooch for the camera!”
Skylar clings to me. “What’s happening?”
I lift a hand to shield my eyes from the next flash. It’s the man from the cul-de-sac. A reporter? A fan?
The camera keeps clicking. “Looking forward to talking to you and Skylar!”
What? How did he find out about us? How does he know her name?
“Pike! Get me inside!”
I tuck Skylar under my shoulder and half run, half limp with her to the porch.
“Where are you going? It’s Chris Blake from Playbook Confidential. I was promised an exclusive!”
He is a reporter. Shit!
After I shove Skylar inside, I finally address him. “By who?”
I have this gut-punching feeling I already know the answer.
Of course, Mom shows up ten minutes later. Of course, she’s the one who brought the reporter here.
Now she sits at the kitchen table, acting innocent. Skylar’s under the covers in my bed. I made her go rest because she wouldn’t stop trembling.
And because I need to deal with my mother. Alone.
“Your stunt at the doctor’s office caused a cascade of problems. A staff member recognized you and went to Playbook Confidential. Blake came to me for commentary about your relationship.”
“So you offered him an exclusive?”
“It kept him from writing his own story. You were at a neurology office. We can’t have people thinking you have brain damage.”
“Who! Cares!”
“More people than you think.”
“You should’ve come to me first!” I don’t give a shit what they say about my brain. It’s Skylar I’m worried about.
“Blake wanted to see for himself. Since it’s the first time anyone’s heard from you since rehab, it’s important we show them you’re doing well. Better than some sob story about pity sex in a supply closet after bad news at the doctor. Her words, not mine.”
My stomach turns over. I can see why the tech would twist it that way. That’s the only reason anyone would have sex with me now, right?
“There’s got to be some HIPAA violation there.”
“You weren’t a patient, honey. She’s free to say she walked in on you having sex.”
“I wasn’t having sex!”
“All Blake wants is one interview about your life post-accident. And he wants Skylar to be there too. Just give him a happy ending.”
I glare at her, even though I know it’s not all her fault.
She’s putting out my fires, like she always did as my manager.
That wasn’t my choice as a kid, but it was the only way she’d let me board professionally.
With all the traveling and older influences, she wanted to be in charge.
Until suddenly, she wasn’t, and I was, and we got stuck in this strange tug-of-war I should’ve ended years ago.
“If Skylar’s going to be with you, she’ll have to accept that you’re a person of public interest.”
But Mom has made it all about “proving” I’m fine. It’s not enough for her to see that I’m “happy” with a girlfriend. The whole world needs to know as well. She was probably thrilled when Blake came to her. It’s the attention she thinks I need to land more gigs.
“Go stall Blake,” I say. “Tell him I’ll talk to him.”
“And Skylar?”
“Do not say one more word about Skylar without me present, or I swear I won’t even spend holidays with you.”
Mom only smiles at my threat. “Look at you, so protective. I’m happy for you, Brandon.”
I shut myself in the laundry room after she leaves and text Kal.
Help. Mom sold me and Skylar out to a reporter. I have to give an exclusive now.
Kal writes back immediately. On what?
My life. My relationship.
Dude. Your relationship isn’t even real.
And how do I tell everyone that? Now?
My phone rings.
“Can you give them something else?” Kal asks.
“Like what?”
“Something to keep him out of her business and focused on yours? Could you do something scandalous? Hang on. I just got to Lennox’s.
” His voice grows muffled as he talks to his future wife.
“Sorry, my buddy’s having a crisis. I need a few.
Oh, got it.” He comes back to our conversation.
“Never mind, she’s busy with something urgent. ”
“Kal. Focus.”
“Can you break up with her publicly? Make it ugly?”
“That’ll make Blake even more interested.”
“What if you get with someone new immediately after? The press will want to know whoever you’re sleeping with, like they used to.”
The idea makes me physically sick. It’s not just that I’d have to find someone who’s interested in me and media attention. I don’t want to sleep with more random women. I want to sleep with—
Oh.
Oh, no.
But it’s more than physical. I’m into Skylar, and realizing it shocks me down to my core.
“I don’t think that’ll work,” I say weakly.
“Other scandalous things besides sex…” Kal starts his car. “Rehab? Drug scandals are big with celebrities.”
“No.” The last thing I need is for the public—or my doctors—to think I’m abusing my meds. I will not give opioids more bad press.
“You could pay Skylar to do the exclusive with you.”
My phone beeps. An unrecognizable number. I decline, but it beeps again. Same number.
“Kal, someone keeps calling, hang on.”
“Hi, sweets, it’s Noemi.”
“Who?” I demand.
“Skylar’s friend? Emy?”
I frown. “How did you get this number?”
“You gave it to me, pal. The same night you promised to protect my friend. I’d like to know what happened between then and now.”
I sag against the dryer. “I swear I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Don’t care. How are you fixing it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why are you hiding out while Skylar is freaking out in your room?”
I look up suspiciously. Emy’s probably getting a play-by-play from Skylar, who never gets off her phone.
“You’re going to take care of my girl. That’s what you signed up for when you recruited her as your fake girlfriend.”
“I didn’t recruit—”
“Fix it or I’ll go to the paparazzi myself.”
The hell she will. “What are you going to say? Skylar was also involved.”
“I’ll make something up. Analia will corroborate my story. You do not want to mess with me.”
So. The sweet Italian girl on video isn’t so sweet after all. I should threaten her back with lawyers I can afford and she probably can’t, but I’m not like that. It doesn’t help me out of this situation with Blake either.
In truth, I’m relieved Skylar has friends she can count on.
“I don’t want to mess with anyone, especially Skylar. I like Skylar.” More than I’ve allowed myself to admit.
“Go reassure her.”
“I need to talk to the reporter first. Otherwise, he’ll do whatever he wants. Do you and Analia want to come over? I have lots of food, and Skylar would probably appreciate a familiar face after all this chaos.”
For once, Emy stays quiet.
“What?” I ask.
“We haven’t met in person. Probably not the best time to make that introduction.” Emy hangs up.
They haven’t met? What?
It shouldn’t change things, but it does.
I’ve never had online friends, so it’s hard for me to understand.
But I know how relieved I was to find a safe space in the group.
For Skylar, it’s her only safe space. She’s invested immeasurable time in that community and has built great relationships from it while still maintaining her privacy.
All that could blow up in her face if I make the wrong move here. What can I give Blake that’ll make him leave Skylar alone? How can I break up with her believably? I can’t think of anything except Kal’s suggestions.
Unless.
There might be one way.
My heart sinks, but I need to get Skylar out of this mess. I’m the one who should deal with the consequences of my fame, not her.
I head to my room. “Skylar? Can I come in for a sec?”
“Okay.” Her voice is small.
“Hi,” I say quietly.
She sits in my king bed with the flannel covers pulled up to her chin, her expression full of anxiety. The window’s open despite the cold, like she needs more air, so I lower my voice in case Blake can hear us.
“I’m going to talk to you about this, but I need to take care of the reporter first.”
“You’re going to take care of it?”
“Yes.”
Relief floods her features, and I know I’ve made the right choice—even if I hate it.
“Can I get you some crêpes while you wait? I need to get rid of Mom, too, or we can’t talk freely.”
“I’ve lost my appetite.”
I sit down on the bed and pull her into a hug. “I’m sorry.” I want to tell her everything will be all right, but I’m not yet certain this will work.
She squeezes me back, leaning her head against my chest, and I’m tempted to pull her down onto the bed with me so we can shut out the rest of the world.
I let go reluctantly. “Give me a couple minutes.”
“Could I borrow some of your clothes? I’m uncomfortable in my skirt.”
Not the time to picture Skylar naked in my bed, but it happens. The last time she wore my clothes, she was in only my shirt and a thong. I manage to point her to my walk-in closet, then force my weary muscles into submission.
One foot after the other until I make it outside.
I plaster on my camera-ready smile and offer a handshake. “Mr. Blake, Brandon Pike. Sorry for the confusion. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Heard you were hooking up in a closet,” Blake says with a laugh. He’s not much older than me. The sort of guy who gels his hair into spikes.
“Yeah.” I give him a cocky shrug. “You know how I am.”
“I hear Skylar’s your girlfriend.”
I keep my smile easy. “I owe you an exclusive. Unfortunately, Laurie didn’t run this by me first, and I have a busy schedule.”
“I already have a draft typed up. Coupled with the photos, it’s enough for our readership even without your comments. They’re dying to know what you’ve been up to.”
“You can print something now, but if you do, I won’t give you the only interview I’ll do in Whistler for the Shred Awards.”
Mom’s face betrays her shock, but luckily, she’s not facing Blake. I hold my breath even as my stomach turns over. The longer I wait to talk to him, the more likely he’ll print something without my input. The awards are two weeks away, but it’s the biggest bargaining chip I have.
When he takes a while to consider it, I say, “Well, if you don’t want my post-accident take…? I’ll share my story elsewhere. Sorry you had to make the trip.”
“No, it’s no trouble,” Blake says. “We’d love that exclusive.”
“It’s yours.”
“Excellent.” He pockets his recorder. “So, Skylar’s going to Whistler with you?”
I keep smiling. “Of course. I’m excited to debut her to the world—at the right moment.”
Blake chuckles like we’re good buddies. “Between us, my girlfriend hates spontaneous photos too. But you know how it is. Part of the job. No hard feelings.”
“None at all.”
“We’ll stage some great shots.”
“Perfect. She’ll love that.”
I head back inside and wait for my mother in the kitchen. I’m itching to grab my journal and process every warring thought currently racing through my mind.
I grab the takeout receipt and start folding it. Once. Twice. Again and again. She walks in while I’m reducing it to a tiny, crumpled square.
I don’t look at her.
“I’m so proud of you,” she says. “And Whistler!”
At least one decision doesn’t need to be overthought.
I take a deep breath and chuck the receipt in the trash.
“You’re fired.”