“Your sexuality is none of my concern, unless it affects your emotional well-being. Does it?”
“I’m tired of living in the closet. In order to be me, I need to let the world in on who I am. Besides, I don’t like pretending a stranger my mom found is my date.” Henri imagined Dr. Worthington pecking away on her computer, filling in the pieces for the puzzle named Henri Lafontaine.
“Are you saying you want to form a relationship with a man?”
Was he? “I suppose I am. Maybe. Someday.”
“There may be backlash if you come out, on you, on your family, and on your career.”
Normally, “the family” comment would have pissed him off, but Dr. Worthington had proven time and again that Henri had her full consideration, not the family. She’d made Henri her primary concern—the reason Henri still called. “My parents don’t much care for me whether I’m gay or not, and I survived an overdose and years of just being me. My fans have stuck with me through stints in rehab, infighting with the band, picketing from right-wingers, and a scandal or five hundred. If they, and my family, can’t deal with who I really am, fuck ’em.” The only one who mattered was Jenni, and she’d want Henri to be happy. Besides, her favorite TV show starred a gay teen. She’d be cool.
Now that wasn’t quite right. Seb mattered too.
“Are you sure you’re doing what’s right for you?” Ah, the voice of reason. Why Henri paid the big bucks.
“As sure as I’ve ever been about anything.”
“Henri?”
“Yes?”
“For what it’s worth, I believe you’ve always known what you wanted, you just weren’t allowed to have it. Now, how about drugs? Alcohol?”
Damn. Henri hadn’t even thought about drinking or smoking a joint in days. “I haven’t even been tempted. Aren’t you proud?”
“The only one who needs to be proud of you is you.”
The good doctor had no idea how wrong she was.
* * *
“I’ll becoming back soon. Any leads on the guy at the party?” No way in hell did Henri want to return to LA and face the jackass who’d drugged him.
Detective Shepard’s sigh wafted through the phone, as negative as any of Henri’s former songs. “Without much to go on, I’m afraid we’ve reached a dead end.”
Oh shit. The nut job waited, rope, duct tape, and drugs in hand. Was it too much to hope that he’d picked up a new hobby? Maybe comic books? Or returned to New Jersey?
“As we discussed before, I recommend heightened security. If you ever see him again, keep us informed.”
Henri reined in the fury growing inside. Yelling at the detective wouldn’t solve anything. He had his hands too full of homicides and domestic violence to worry about one puny rocker.
“Thanks, I will.” Was even being here putting Seb in danger? God, Henri hoped not.
