There’s a note left saying that he’s out grabbing some food, and the studio is otherwise empty. When my thoughts spiral toward grief, abandonment gripping me by the ribs, I pick up a guitar again. My fingers are clumsy on the strings, fumbling over every familiar song. A lump in my throat, I try to strum one of the new songs that I wrote for Spencer, but it breaks me.
I wrote those songs from a different place than any of my other music. I wrote them from joy and love, not heartbreak or betrayal. And now that I’ve potentially lost my man, it’s like my body refuses to perform the melodies, like my voice can’t form the right syllables.
Like it’s all lost.
An angry, heartbroken riff sings out from the guitar, my anguish wrenching the song apart.
“Gabriel,” Fox says as he enters. His sunglasses are propped up on his head, and his expression tightens with concern when he sees me. “Fuck. How are you holding up, man?”
I put the guitar down and realize my hands are shaky. “Yeah.” I push a hand through my hair, not wanting the man producing my new record to see what a damn mess I am. I’ve been one PR disaster after another. “You know. Just playing with a song.” When his brow crinkles, not buying it, I try again. “Hoping to put this fight with Douglas Wilchins behind me.”
Fox nods as he tosses a brown bag of takeout food on the table and sits across from me. “I know you’re banned from the stadium, but you didn’t want to stick around Paris anyway?”
Shame swirls through me. “I made a spectacle of myself. It will be easier for Spencer to concentrate without me there.”
Fox hums. “I guess so. Being near my husband always makes me feel better. But you two always find your own way to do things.” He shakes his head slightly. “The video that’s going viral is a big one. We can hold off on any interviews until after the Grand Slam, but you’ll need to address it. We’ll plan something easy, the two of you together with a friendly journalist.”
“Whatever you need,” I say, although doubts swirl through me. Will Spencer even want to be in the same room as me after this?
Fox studies me, trying to read my emotions, which I’m probably doing a shit job of hiding. I wonder if he’s going to push the subject, but instead, his eyes turn to the guitar. “What was that song you were playing when I walked in?”
I puff air out my nose. “The song I was ruining, you mean? It’s not a real one, and it’s definitely not supposed to sound like that. It’s just something cheesy. Upbeat.”
He half-smiles. “About Spencer?”
I let out a surprised laugh. “Maybe.”
“It’s not cheesy,” he offers. “I don’t know what the hell you were doing with that riff when I walked in, but it was interesting. Complicated. Happy, sure, but…” He shrugs. “Not cheesy.”
“Oh.” I nod. “Cool. Thanks.”
I am excited that he likes the sound, but I’m too twisted up in my emotions to show it.
Fox hums under his breath. “Gabriel. Have you seen the video of you that’s going viral?”
“I don’t need to see it. I remember every minute.”
“Trust me.” Fox hands me his phone. “Take a look.”
The video starts, and I see myself glaring at Spencer’s dad. Right at the camera fixes on me properly, I launch into my mini-speech, telling him exactly what I think of his homophobic ass.
When I scroll to the comments, I see countless people cheering me on. It’s all hearts and love, fans expressing their righteous anger and venting about the homophobia in the sports world.
It almost feels good, except they don’t know that I’ve already fucked this up. They don’t understand how much this hurt my man.
“I expected a different reaction when I showed you the support,” Fox says. “Something else wrong?”
I swallow. “I don’t know. I’m not sure where things stand with Spencer right now,” I confess. “We might have some other PR challenges to come.”
Fox’s expression is steady. He’s probably thinking through all the risks to my career, wondering if he made a mistake signing me. To my surprise, though, he leans forward and doesn’t ask about the music at all. “You love him,” he says simply.
It’s true, not a secret at all. But he says it so simply it catches me off guard.
I love Spencer so much it hurts.
I’m ready to change the subject, push away the intimacy. But I remember how Spencer encouraged me to open up to other people, too, and I think about how brave he’s been coming out of the closet.
Spencer would want me to share with Fox, and that simple fact is enough to push me over the edge.
