Fuel the Fire (43 page)

If I lie to the world and pick a label, she doesn’t want me to lift this burden alone.

Her loyalty is admirable, but her speech hits me in a new way, with a new realization.

I’d rather Rose teach Jane to
never
step down and cower, to never appear as something else as I’ve always done.

To be real.

To be herself, to love every part of her own soul, no matter if it’s what someone else desires or not.

That’s the woman I love.

I don’t want her to be anything less.

I open my mouth to combat her, but she says, “Just let me try. If Jane is heckled by her peers, I want to at least know that I did something to change the outcome.”

“You teach Jane to never be afraid to speak her mind by never being afraid to speak yours,” I whisper to Rose. “You give her the tools to defeat their words through confidence and self-respect.”

“And you?” she asks me. “It’s not fair that you have to carry this…” She rolls her eyes as they fill with tears. I wipe beneath them.

“I haven’t made a choice yet.” I can’t tell her that I’m leaning towards the option that’ll help Jane. The fake me. I’ll sound like a hypocrite, and maybe I am in this instance. I would much rather protect Rose’s spirit, even if it means barring her from protecting mine.

“I’ll support you no matter what,” Lily suddenly says to us.

Rose sniffs and then Daisy passes her a piece of toilet paper, and Rose dabs beneath her eyes.

“Me too,” Daisy says. “Whatever you say, I’ll stand behind.” She gives me a smile, referring subtly to my choice and the press conference in May.

“I have to ignore you,” Lo says. “Don’t I?”

“It’s up to you,” I tell him.

“For how long?” he wonders.

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth.

He shakes his head automatically. “No. I’m not doing it. I’m not going to give my dad what he wanted. Then he’ll just keep doing this shit over and over again, and goddammit, if
anyone
needs to learn a lesson, it’s him.”

My lips curve upward.

Ryke nods in agreement, his jaw hardening. “I gave him part of my liver, and this is what he does?” His distraught eyes rise to me, for understanding, for anything that’ll make it better.

I do have more knowledge than them, but it won’t ease his pain. What no one but Rose may know and what Jonathan may not fully understand himself: he reacted today based off fear of abandonment. He can give reasons like
I’m trying to stop Connor from seducing my son
all he wants, but it’s more than that.

It’s about Jonathan feeling like I’ve taken his position in Lo’s life. For guidance, for connections, for money—Lo comes to me. When I’m around, Jonathan is unneeded. There’s nothing worse than being useless when you thrive off being useful.

He felt inferior and powerless, probably for the first time ever.

Greg, his best friend, is kind-hearted and malleable. I’m calculated and stoic.

When I meet men like Jonathan, I usually step back and try to appear non-threatening. I fake it because they can’t put up with how I normally am, but I’ve never had reason to do this with Lo’s father. He served no value to me. I didn’t need anything from him. I didn’t want him as a connection. If we were at odds, I thought it made no difference.

I didn’t regard Jonathan Hale as a variable in my life. He was nothing. And the
nothing
I disregarded turned out to be the something that I should’ve paid more attention to.

That’s why this happened. There is no other reason than this.

As I look at Ryke, I realize I have the opportunity to shed light on the situation, or I can leave it how it is. They can believe that their father is a bigger bigot and asshole—or I can show them that he’s just utterly imperfect.

I don’t like Jonathan. I hate him, in fact, but I pity him more—and maybe it’s this pity that has won me over. Or maybe it’s because I really see no point in revenge.

Either way, I begin to share my thoughts that won’t rid the hurt he’s caused, but it’ll at least put to rest the villain in their eyes.

[ 39 ]

CONNOR COBALT

I casually suck on a cigarette, inhaling deeply. Scott watches the color of the smoke that leaves my lips: filmy, translucent gray rather than a plume of white.

He’s constantly making sure I’m not playing him. I remember his extremely opinionated comment a month ago:
real men don’t hold smoke in their mouths
. And I unfortunately have to abide by this.

“You realize there are two cameramen on the eastern balcony of that apartment complex.” I tap ash into a tray and then sip my whisky to drown the cigarette taste.

Scott takes a large swig of his bourbon, barely acknowledging the apartment complex that overlooks Saturn Bridges, a Philadelphia bar that’s been flooded with people since we arrived at 1 a.m. He also chose to stand on the bar’s deck patio, potted plants partially concealing our view of the street.

Scott wanted to meet in public, the same day that the news broke about me, further reminding me that he loves money only one degree above notoriety.

I’m aware that this isn’t the best look for me:
Connor Cobalt is seen without his wife at a local bar the same day it’s revealed that his marriage is a sham!
Rose plans on picking me up, so the “without wife” comment will disappear.

It doesn’t help that the world believes Scott is Rose’s ex-boyfriend. I’m not sure what the public will think about me meeting him. It’d make more sense if they knew the truth: he was the producer of
Princesses of Philly.

“I’m secure in my sexuality,” he reminds me for the second time. He puts his cigarette between his lips, and I rest my forearm on the iron railing, a fern brushing my hand. “So who was it that spread the lies?” he wonders.

This is why he asked me out today. Curiosity.

He also believes the accusations are entirely baseless. He’s weaved enough false webs for the public that he must not take anything in the tabloids at face value.

With another sip, the liquor burns my throat. “Do you plan on giving them a handshake?” I ask with a growing smile, my voice lighthearted, even if it’s not what I feel.

Scott shrugs with a smugger smile.
Go ahead and smile, you fool.
“I just never want to piss off whoever you did.” He raises his glass in cheers to that. I do the same, and we drink in unison. Then he licks his lips and nods. “So…do I know him?”

I let the embers eat my cigarette. “No, and trust me, you don’t want to be dragged into this mess.”
Trust me
is a declaration that he’ll cling to, waver over, until he asks—

“Why spend time with me?” He combs his fingers through his slick, dirty blond hair, doubt in his furrowed brows. “Why try to help me convince your friends to be a part of a season two?”

I suck on the cigarette again and blow smoke into the air, my posture more like Loren Hale—slumped and apathetic—than like me: domineering and overconfident. “I honestly thought you were into Rose,” I begin my speech in an easy-going tone. “Like—really into her. I was jealous of what you had that I didn’t, of what you could offer her that I couldn’t. And there was a moment where I thought that she liked you
way
more than me, man.” It’s all a lie, obviously.

He sports an entitled smile, as though women are flocking to his side and feeding him grapes. “I could’ve told you that she wanted to fuck me on
day one
.” He’s attempting to piss all over me, but he’s the idiot with opinions that don’t match the facts.

Rose never wanted to fuck him, not even for a moment.

He chuckles into his next swig.

I always try to find another road before I put myself in this situation, but I need his trust and there’s not another lane to go down. I see no other
legal
way to achieve my goal than this.

I laugh. “If you did tell me on day one, I would’ve hated you a million fucking times more.” It’s like we’re reminiscing about our deep-seated loathing of one another, exactly what I want.

He laughs too and pats my arm. “I would’ve hated me too.”

I blow out smoke again. “Look, I don’t hold anything against you. After I figured out that you had no interest in Rose, I didn’t give a shit.”

“The sex tapes—”

“Genius,” I tell him, my lips rising into a brighter grin.
If you have nothing real to say, Richard, then why speak at all?
I hear Rose’s quick-tempered voice.
It has to be this way,
I think before I proceed. “Those tapes gave me the exposure I needed to profit off a diamond corporation.
You
helped me, man.” These words rip through me, and I know they’re not going to be the worst ones. “Rose may be upset, but she doesn’t matter.”
That’s complete bullshit, Richard.
My stomach twists unnaturally. “I had to hit you so she wouldn’t throw a little tantrum about ‘why didn’t you stick up for me’ afterwards, you know.” I roll my eyes, as though everything Rose does irritates me. As though I struggle to put up with her every single day.

How do I know who the real Connor Cobalt is?
she asks.
You’re different around certain people.

Don’t ever leave my head,
I think. I need these constant reminders. I need to feel the guilt, remorse, every human sentiment that I used to abandon. When they leave, when I’m left hollow and detached, I’ve lost too much.

Scott’s lips part in complete realization, as if I gave him the missing puzzle piece that forms the whole picture. “So if I asked you to help me plant the cameras for the tapes—”

“I would’ve helped you in a heartbeat, man,” I say. “It was a great idea. Fuck, I wish I thought of it first.” I nudge his arm playfully.
Shove him off the balcony, Richard.

Patience, darling.

He laughs. “It was genius, wasn’t it?” He finishes off his drink with a self-satisfied grin. “Had I known you were cool with it, I would’ve just asked you to put the cameras in there. It took my crew five tries to hardwire them in your room when you were gone.”

I snuff the cigarette on the ashtray. “No shit?”

“It was a bitch,” he says, “but you have the real bitch, don’t you?” He watches my face, waiting for my lips to downturn, but I just smile again. The only thing that keeps me from breaking character and publicly humiliating him among cellphone cameras and bar patrons—is the idea of ruining him at the end of this.

“She’s a handful,” I tell him and then pat his chest. “Speaking of which, she’s actually coming around to a season two, but she has a ton of requirements.” No one can lie like I do.

He snorts under his breath. “Of course she does.”

“I’ll email them to you.” I check my watch. She should be here…and then my phone buzzes.

Just parked. I’m coming in to claw your face off—the fake one, not the one I love.
– Rose

I like when we work together, but I don’t want her to see Scott or vice-versa. I squeeze his shoulder in goodbye, triggering camera flashes. Scott almost laughs at them.

“I have to go,” I say, “but thanks for this.” I down the drink and set the glass on a wooden patio table.

“I knew you needed it.” He actually shakes my hand—the first time he’s offered this gesture. It’s a friendlier handshake, pulling me to his chest. He pats my back. “Keep me posted about everyone?”

“Yeah, definitely.” I have a better read on him than I ever used to. He has this nervous look in his eye whenever we leave, afraid I’m going to pull a switch on him and fuck him out of his deal with GBA. I hold more cards, and I just need Scott to trust that I wouldn’t hurt him.

I predict that he’ll test me sometime soon. One test. Just to see if I’m being truthful about everything I’ve ever said to him. We meet every weekend, and I’m sure he’ll pick one sentence I told him, a phrase or comment, and try to see if I contradict myself.

If I pass that, he’ll view me as a real friend.

* * *

I exit the bar using the outside staircase with my bodyguard in tow, bypassing hoards of people, some journalists that I recognize from
Celebrity Crush
. Wendy Collins among them. When my soles hit the sidewalk, I can’t blow past the paparazzi. Despite my bodyguard yelling warnings to
back up
, his arm outstretched, they press up against me, pushed nearer by other cameramen hugging too close.

“Have you slept with men, Connor?”

“Are you gay?”

“Do you love Rose?”

“Who’s your partner and is Jane considered his child too?”

I stay silent and search for Rose at the entrance of the bar, the bouncers instructing everyone to remain in line and not flock me.

I dial a number and put my phone to my ear. “Where are you?!” I yell over the noise and try to push ahead.

“I’m stuck in the parking lot—
shoo, stay back
.” The cacophony on her end is louder than mine. “Give me space or I will ram my five-inch heel into your asshole.” 

I barrel through the cameramen, unable to run but I shove them aside, no longer slowly trudging through. A few fall over, careening into the pavement. My bodyguard rests a hand on my shoulder to keep up with my pace, and when I have enough space, I sprint around the brick building to the side parking lot.

 As soon as I see the sheer volume of cameras and people surrounding Rose, I race as fast as I can towards her, all other insignificant thoughts disintegrating from my brain.

Vic, her bodyguard, tries to escort her through the masses, and her other bodyguard, Heidi, who she hired after Jane was born, flanks her left side.

“Rose!” I yell, tall enough to see over the droves of people.

She whips her head in my direction, but she can’t see past the cameras. “Connor!”

I’m ten feet from her, about three people blocking me. I have to ditch my bodyguard to wedge between bodies, the questioning, the shouting increasing tenfold by my presence.

“Rose, I’m right here!” I yell as she cranes her neck. I reach a hand past someone’s arm, trying to touch her.