A mob of reporters are gathered on the sidewalk, right past the edge of his property. They’re armed with notepads, microphones, and video equipment. And they’re all calling his name.
Stella growls and lunges forward, dragging him a couple steps before he pulls back on her leash to rein her in.
“Trevor, your eyes are red! Have you been crying?” one woman calls out.
“Do you have a statement for us?” a guy who looks too young to be a reporter asks.
“What the hell,” Trevor mutters, before regaining control of his faculties and abruptly turning around, leading Stella back inside the house.
What the hell’s going on? A statement about what? Surely this can’t all be because he signed an autograph at the grocery store yesterday, can it?
Even if he doesn’t get recognized that often, much of the public still remembers who he is when they hear his name. But as far as the music industry’s concerned, he’s pretty much over. Nobody important. Just another washed up boybander who’s not as good looking as he was when he was young.
He didn’t do anything crazy to bring this on, so it makes no sense.
His phone’s ringing again, and this time he grabs it and answers without bothering to look at the screen. “Yeah?”
“Hello, Trevor, this is Stephen Dorst withRadio Nine-Oh-Nine. How are you?” Without waiting for an answer, the far too chipper man goes on. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming in this morning to do an interview. We—”
Trevor ends the call.
What. The actual. Fuck.
Checking his phone, he sees seven missed calls from Courtney.Shit.He needs to call her back, figure out what’s going on.
Stella is whining pitifully now, so he reluctantly lets her out in the backyard. Then he sits on the couch and braces for some unknown impact as he taps on his publicist’s name in the Recent Calls log.
“Trevor, thank god,” she says right away. “Do you know?”
“If you’re talking about whatever it is that caused a mob of paparazzi to show up outside my house, then no,” he tells her, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. “I don’t.”
“Skyler gave an interview.”
“Doesn’t he do that all the time?”
“Trevor.” Her tone lets him know that whatever this is, it’s serious. “You need to watch it. I’m sending you the link. And a link to a video of a song from his show last night. You’ll probably want to watch that too. Then call me back, okay?”
“What the heck is going on?”
“Promise you’ll call me back. Don’t keep ignoring me.”
“Yeah, all right, geez,” he grumbles, annoyed again. “I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose. I was asleep for Christ’s sake.”
“Okay, good,” she says. But despite the words, she sounds stressed out in a way he hasn’t heard her sound in a very long time. Possibly ever. Then she takes a deep breath and adds, “It’s going to be okay.”
He wants to ask why the hell it wouldn’t be okay, but she hangs up before he can.
The links come through a few moments later, and he clicks on the interview first. It’s withMidnight Mania, a late-night show that films in L.A. According to the signature tape scrolling across the bottom of the screen, they bumped Scarlett Johansson’s interview to bring Skyler in.
Skyler’s wearing his signature black skinny jeans and a practically see-through white button-up with the top two buttons unbuttoned, paired with a ridiculous fedora. Not even close to his sluttiest outfit, but the sight of him, even in the small rectangle of Trevor’s phone screen, makes Trevor’s mouth water in a way he’s not exactly proud of.
He’s pretty sure the phrase “thirst trap” was invented because of Skyler James.
The host, Bennet Lane, is talking to Skyler about his concert last night, and it all seems normal until he says, “Okay, now we’ve got to talk about that last song you did.”
Skyler nods, a sly smile on his face, like he knew this was coming.
Bennet looks like he’s about to have a field day, leaning over his desk so far he might as well be crawling onto Skyler’s lap. “‘Heartbreak Honey’ is trending on social media, and we’ve all seen the performance by now. You must realize everyone’s asking the same question, so here it is. Skyler James, the world has speculated about your sexuality for years. Are you finally telling us that you are, in fact, gay?”
