Page 67 of Notorious

“Ah. The no-action alternative.” She smirks. “Well, if I crop the photo to show your rings and use a black-and-white filter, that should class it up.”

“Thanks,” I say dryly. “I’m glad you can make me classy.”

“You know what I mean.” With a few taps on her phone, she sets up a post and then holds it out for me to review.

I have to admit I’m impressed. By focusing on our hands, she’s made what could be construed as a drunken mistake look like something with way more dignity and romance. A lump forms in my throat. I nod. “Post it.”

Paige’s finger hovers over the button. “Done.” She smiles. “Now let’s work on the rest of your campaign.”

On his third full day of inpatient care, Johnny tells me, “A lot of shit has come up. Will you come with me to one of my sessions with Christian after I’m out of here, so I can tell you both at once? I’ve already had to tell the story too many times to the lawyers, and it’s … hard. For me.”

I really want to know what he’s talking about—now, not sometime in the future—but I won’t press. I don’t want to make things more difficult for him. Besides, it sounds like this is something private, and we’re surrounded by other patients visiting with their loved ones. “Of course. Anything you need.”

“Thanks.”

“I know you’ve been asked a lot, but how’s your mental state? I was pretty shocked when you told Dr. Gray how much you think about suicide.”

“Yeah, that’s not goin’ down that much. Maybe a little bit. The meds help. It’s like those bumper things at the bowling alley—they keep me from falling into the gutter.”

“They don’t stop the thoughts entirely?”

“Nope.” He scrubs his face. “It’s hard to explain how shitty it is to be plagued with a recording in my brain that tells me, over and over and over again, to kill myself. That the world’ll be better off. Mama’ll be better off. That I’ll show them, and they’ll all be sorry.”

“What do you mean they’ll be sorry? Sorry for what?”

“Hell if I know. Maybe that they pushed me to this. That they’re bad people.”

“Who are bad people?”

“I’m talkin’ about shit with my lawsuit again. And it’s all a mess inside my head—suicidal thoughts, thoughts that I guess are just depression, I dunno what else. I dunno if it’s from my childhood or from more recent shit. I just …” He holds up his hands helplessly. “I don’t have it all figured out.”

“You don’t have to,” I say.

“I keep repeating to myself, ‘the only way out is through.’”

“Is that helping?”

“Definitely.” Johnny’s eyes look a little red, and he leans closer. “Can we talk ’bout somethin’ other than me, please? I’m getting a little tired of that topic.”

“Sure, babe. Anything you like.”

“Then, how’s the campaign going?”

“Paige posted this press release.” I hold out my phone. “Hope that’s okay. Sorry for doing it without asking.”

Johnny stares at the black-and-white image for a while. Paige had disabled comments, but there are tens of thousands of likes.

He clears his throat, his cheeks pink. “It’s mighty fine with me.”

I smile at him, lean over, and kiss him.

When we left Vegas, I thought I had to fix Johnny. I don’t feel that way anymore. It’s more like he’s simply someone I’m dating, who I care about a whole lot.

But does he see me like that? Or am I imagining things that don’t exist?

He’s starting to look healthy. I hadn’t realized how defeated and wan he was before, since that’s the only way I knew him. Now, though, he’s got rosy cheeks and his eyes are brighter, even though he has a few days’ worth of stubble. He’s more animated, and he mentions wanting to get a part-time job so he’ll have something to do once he’s out of here. We start brainstorming possibilities that won’t bore him to tears.

“You like working with horses, right?” I ask.

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