35. Ari
THIRTY-FIVE
ARI
The conference room is cold, but I can’t decide if it’s the temperature or the modern décor.
It smells like glass cleaner and anxiety—but that last part could just be me.
The last three weeks have been so good, I think I’ve worked myself up too much over telling Blake and the guys about us.
I’m not ready for our blissed-out, happy bubble to be popped.
Will’s fingers are warm where they rest around my ankle, my feet propped in his lap while we scroll through our phones, mostly sending each other stupid memes.
His thumb absently traces the bone just above my heel, grounding me before the legal strategy session about Jesse’s life imploding in real time.
When the man himself walks in, he’s looking even better than he did a few weeks ago. He looks healthy, skin and eyes bright, and rested. Luc has done what none of us could manage alone. He’s reminded Jesse who he is and what he has going for him.
“Missed you, man,” Will says, opening his arms for a hug.
Jesse gestures for me to stay where I’m at and bends down to give us both a hug.
“It’s been quiet,” I agree. “Too quiet.”
He fills us in on everything he’s been up to—mostly getting turned out by his pro-footballer boyfriend and writing music about getting turned out by said boyfriend. I almost say I’ve been doing the same but catch myself. Will pinches my calf and smiles knowingly.
When everyone arrives, and I do mean everyone—PR, legal, and the entire security team lining the back wall—there’s a small beat of silence when they all turn their attention to Blake.
The room being this full of so many stoic faces reminds me that the peace we’ve felt lately has only been because we’ve all been in hiding and avoiding the news.
Blake jumps right into things. “The source of the leaks has been identified as Curtis Howard.”
The name isn’t familiar to me, but once Blake explains that he is a far-right conspiracy blogger, I understand what we’re working with.
Most of these guys work from the dredges of the internet on a fringe platform, getting barely any views or attention outside of their echo chambers.
But these days, it doesn’t seem to matter how far-fetched the theories are, it only takes one loud mouth with the right amplification to get attention.
And good ‘ol Curtis has a history of hacking the private data of politicians and celebrities and either posting it or selling it to certain politicians. Which is how only certain news sites with a propagandist agenda got their hands on Jesse’s very private videos.
Curtis Howard provided the ammunition, and the powers that be used them for a coordinated attack.
I meet Will’s eyes. We’ve been talking about this a lot, about the strategic attacks that escalated when we started making enough noise to challenge the political state of our country.
We’ve always been vocal about civil and human rights, but when the administration started doubling down on using trans kids and immigrants as political scapegoats, we got louder.
We put money behind organizations they targeted.
We’ve used our stage to say names they’d rather erase.
And with our partnership with the Waves app, we’ve been making a lot of waves.
It’s not a surprise they’d use any leverage they can.
We joke a little about how ridiculous some of the theories about us are, but it’s not really funny.
The wilder the accusations are, the more plausible others seem.
If they repeat something outrageous enough times, and back it with enough institutional weight, it stops sounding insane to enough people to make a difference.
So maybe nobody actually believes that Jesse drinks blood or keeps sex slaves in a basement he doesn’t have, those theories are nuts and honestly kind of funny.
But next to that cuckoo drivel, the idea that we use our popularity and charisma to brainwash kids and spread hateful lies seems plausible.
It seems like these senators and journalists and even the president, who is named on every other page of a well-known investigation into a pedophile trafficking ring, comes across as simply concerned for the youth of America.
I’m jarred out of my internal thoughts about all the lovely things I’d like to see happen to the current leader of the “free” world by Scott standing from the middle of the line of security detail lining the back of the room.
It seems we’ve had a mole trailing us from venue to venue, at least since the charity concert, posing as a security guard. When Scott mentions figuring it out when he saw an unfamiliar employee with a phone backstage, I freeze.
The air leaves my lungs slowly.
I saw that man. Collided with him even. Just after sneaking out of a dark corner with Will.
It didn’t even occur to me that, aside from the band, Blake, and our personal security detail, no one is allowed to have a phone backstage. It’s common practice for most artists and is a strict part of our normal contract with every venue.
I replay the moment in my head, the man’s smile, the way he turned his screen off before putting the phone in his back pocket.
My pulse is loud in my ears.
Jesse presses his palms to his eyes. Luc was there that night, and Jesse had run off stage to kiss him after the countdown.
“What’s the likelihood this guy is sitting on something that could hurt him?” Jesse asks.
He’s referring to Luc, but it’s not just him that could have given too much away that night.
Will shifts nervously. I glance over at him and catch his worried gaze.
Had he seen us?
I think about how invincible I’d felt in that moment, when Will had first tugged me into that corner and pressed me into the wall. How he’d kissed me like nothing else mattered.
We’re fucking idiots.
It’s one thing to risk ourselves like that, but we didn’t even consider that we could have been risking everyone else as well.
Or maybe there’s a chance our affair could take the pressure off Jesse and Luc?
“We’re going public after the Super Bowl,” Jesse says, voice steady despite the tense set of his shoulders. “We just need to do whatever it takes to keep this quiet until then. It’s just a couple more weeks.”
I clear my throat. “Is there anything we can do to distract the press from Jesse and Luc until after the Super Bowl?” I ask. Perhaps a spicier and more interesting love affair the public can balk at?
“I can’t think of anything more interesting, unless anyone else is having an illicit affair,” the PR rep says flatly. “That’s sarcasm, by the way. We don’t need any more scandals, please.”
Silence settles over the room like dust.
Slowly, I slide my legs off Will’s lap. The warmth of our connection disappears immediately.
I reach for a bottle of water just to have something in my hands. Naz crosses his arms, looking unimpressed with the PR rep’s sense of humor. Blake looks constipated. I wonder if he knows about all the illicit affairs happening under his watch.
I don’t suppose Naz’s relationship would be all that bad. But ours would be a scandal. Fuel for the hellfire of purity culture that protects predators and vilifies queer people.
Jesse brushes off the uncomfortable silence. “Calm down, everyone. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. What more could happen in just a couple of weeks?”
I wish he hadn’t said that. It feels ominous.
The meeting goes on for a little while longer, logistics and legal crap, but I barely hear it. My mind keeps circling to that dark corner. The smile on the man’s face. The phone in his hand.
When everyone finally stands to file out, Will doesn’t look at me right away. But once Naz walks out to talk with Scott and the other bodyguards, and Jesse steps out to make a call, he taps my chin.
“You still sure about this?” he asks. I know he’s not asking because he isn’t fully in this, he just wants me to know that he has my back either way.
I nod. “I feel like we should. I mean, before that meeting I just wanted to. But if we’re a liability?—”
“Don’t say that,” he says, holding my chin to face him.
Blake finishes talking to Laura, the PR manager, then makes his way out the door. Will and I follow him to his office. When he realizes we’re behind him, he pauses for a moment but doesn’t say anything until we’re in his office with the door closed.
He doesn’t smile or greet us or ask how things have been. He launches immediately into, “What did you do?” Exhaustion sharpens his tone. “Please tell me one of you didn’t mail something to the White House that can be traced back.”
Will is holding back a smile, blinking innocently at Blake. “What? No.”
Blake studies us more closely. His eyes move from Will to me and back again. He seems to measure the little space between us with his gaze. Will links his hand through mine, and Blake's posture stiffens as understanding dawns slowly.
“No,” he says quietly, making a slashing motion through the air. “No. This cannot happen right now.”
I hold his gaze. “We don’t want to make any sort of announcement or anything like that,” I say evenly. “We just thought it best that you know. You, and the guys.”
“Do you have any idea what this would do to the band’s credibility right now?
And I’m not just talking about ticket sales or charts.
I’m talking about all the work you’ve done to raise money and awareness for what matters right now.
” He runs a hand over his face. “Naz’s thing is manageable if it somehow got out.
But this—” He gestures between us. “This is the match that blows it all up.”
Will’s hand tightens over mine. Blake exhales slowly.
“All of our focus has to be on getting through the Super Bowl without further scandal. If there is footage from backstage, if someone is sitting on something, we cannot add more variables. Whatever this is—” His eyes flick between us again.
“It has to take the back burner. Do whatever you need to do to keep it quiet.”
I nod once, because there’s no argument against what he’s saying. He’s not wrong. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
Will is quiet beside me, but I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves. I wonder if he’s feeling as low as I am right now, or if it’s just his protective nature getting the best of his temper.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Blake says in a softer tone. “I wish it wasn’t like this. If you weren’t, you know, brothers , it wouldn’t be a big deal. But they’ll use everything they can against you to paint you all as the immoral, evil villains. And we can’t give them ammunition like this.”
I want so much to lean into Will, to let him take some of my weight. It isn’t fair that something so good, so right, could be twisted into something so ugly.
Outside of Blake’s office, Will stops me and gazes down at me. “You okay?”
I think about Will’s apology in Seattle, about Christmas in New York. The way Will hasn’t hesitated even once since we got on the same page. The way he chose option three. The way he chose me.
“I’m fine,” I say, looking up at him. “It’s going to be okay. We still have each other. So we keep laying low, we get through the Super Bowl show, and then we plan our next move.”
Will studies me carefully. “So you’re not second-guessing this? Us?”
“No. Never.” I shake my head. “I’m second-guessing timing. But never us.”
He steps closer, voice lowering. “If that guard had something?—”
“We’ll deal with it if or when it happens,” I say. “Together.”
Together like we always have, but more.
This isn’t secrecy because of shame. There is nothing shameful about our love. This is about strategy. And that is something I can cope with.
Their side can spin narratives. They can amplify stupid conspiracies and lies. They can use illegal tactics to bully and expose our secrets.
But they can’t manufacture what we have.
Because what we have is truth. And love.
And love always wins, dammit.