Absentmindedly as I stroked Harper’s fur, I clicked on the Gmail icon, purely out of habit.
I flinched as I saw the vast number of new e-mails. I scrolled through them. Nearly all with unfamiliar addresses. All with a glimpse at hate-filled messages waiting to be opened.
Cherie Mortzen’s name stood out from the horde.
Even as I tapped it, I knew what it would say. I think I expected it.
I didn’t read it all. Only skimmed, knowing what I’d find.
The book deal was off, and Cherie was nullifying her representation as my agent. She’d given reasons of negative publicity, not wanting her name or agency caught up in the scandal. Like I needed reasons.
I waited for the hurt. For another whamming of a hammer into my head and heart.
It didn’t happen. Maybe I was back to being numb. But more likely, it was Kayla’s assurance that held me together. That was better than any book deal.
I hit the phone’s power button and placed it on top of the bed as I stood, Harper safe in my arms. Maybe me safe with her in my arms.
Noah had the table set and the Indian food scooped out into serving dishes. Ron and Andy sat below the table, ready to beg. I almost laughed. “Special occasion?”
“I love you.” He shrugged. “And you were on the phone a long time.”
I smiled. Actually smiled. “Well, I have more news, as hard to believe that there could be more possible. I just got an e-mail from my agent. The book deal is off, and she is no longer my agent.”
Noah moved from behind the table, arms outstretched to embrace me.
I stopped him once more. “You know, it doesn’t even matter at this point. But I do have a question for you.”
He looked at me warily. “Okay?”
Getting the words out was harder than I expected. “Do you believe what they’re saying? What they’re suggesting?”
He looked offended. Almost angry. “Are you kidding? You don’t even need to ask me that.”
I started crying again. “Actually, Noah, I do. I need to hear it.”
His expression softened. “Oh, Randall. No. Of course I don’t believe that. Not in a million years. You’re a good man. A truly good man. And I love you and trust you with everything.”
Leave it to Noah to answer more than I even asked for and to make me cry harder.
I waved him over. “Well, hug me already.”
Chapter Twenty-One
FOR TWOdays, I didn’t leave the apartment. Not even to walk the dogs with Noah. Instead I hid.
Not particularly brave.
Noah kept driving by my apartment at my request. Though they weren’t there in droves, he saw at least one or two reporters each time he passed.
I hid and I trolled the Internet, watching as my picture spread across the globe.
Maybe that was a bit dramatic. But it was the Internet, so kinda global, though the story seemed to spike and then dissipate quickly. It didn’t have a real accusation, and since no one knew who I was before, they didn’t much care.
Except for a couple of gay gossip and entertainment blogs. Those seemed to find an endless supply of shirtless photos of me. I was thankful for those websites. It seemed their main objective was to show as many pictures of hot guys clothed in as little as possible. To do that without seeming creepy, they highlighted my history of prostitution—as much I still didn’t like that label—and erotic photography while pointing out that all other rumors were nothing more than what had been used against the queer community for decades, that there was no evidence, photographic or otherwise, that I was anything more than a dirty whore. Basically.
Who would have thought that would be good news?
It seemed a little too soon for them to offer my defense, at least if I looked at it from their perspective, but I was glad for it.
