“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 theWhite Housethat 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 betweenus 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 abig 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.
THIRTY-SIX
WILL
As if our meeting put the thought out into the universe, it takes less than forty-eight hours for everything to go to hell.
