Page 69 of Notorious

“I’m proud of you for going. It takes a lot to set aside all the shit and face your demons.”

“Pretty sure I haven’t even started to face my demons,” he says. “But I do think I’m headed in that direction.”

“Looking forward to the next step?”

He shrugs. “Kinda? It’s scary, too. I’m not sure what to think.”

“I have faith in you,” I say. “I know you can do it. And I’ll stand next to you and slay whatever demons I can.”

We fall into bed in each other’s arms, but we’re both exhausted. Before I even have a chance to think about asking to do anything, Johnny’s snoring quietly behind me, one big hand on my waist.

I love having him home with me.

I grin into my pillow and fall asleep.

CHAPTER 23

Johnny

Every morning for the next ten weekdays, I’m picked up by an official van and taken to the hospital to attend a group session for a few hours. Every other afternoon, I attend a therapy session with Christian. Sometimes Kurt comes with me to those, sometimes he doesn’t.

The violins are still making a racket in my mind. Sometimes I wonder where Kurt put the gun. I’ve stared too long at some railroad tracks, and every time I’m on the road I wonder what would happen if we just … veered into oncoming traffic and got it all over with.

Focusing on my brain is hard work, and some days I feel like I’ve been beaten with a meat tenderizer by the time I’m done. But I told Christian and Kurt that I made the decision to get better. Some days it feels like that promise is the only thing that motivates me to get off the couch.

Staying fit helps with my mental state. There’s a gym at Kurt’s condo complex, and he comes with me to work out. He complains, but in a cute way. He complains even worse when I make him join me for a run … but he comes anyway. Makes me all soft and sweet on him.

Kurt took time off from his job to be with me, but he’s still busy working on his campaign. He has a million meetings and is always going to fundraising dinners, taking phone calls, reviewing numbers and charts. He asked me how much I wanna participate in his public life, but we agreed that for now, he should do the campaign stuff alone. I’m far from being healthy enough to be out in the public eye. Better for both of us if I keep focusing on my recovery.

I wish I could help out with the campaign, because I do like being with him. I know our marriage is mostly about him not wanting to blow up his political chances even more—and putting me on his insurance, because he’s too generous—but if I had my druthers, it would be more than that. I want him to be mine.

It’s too bad that I’m such a damn mess.

If things were different, if I were worthy of him, I’d want to be with him for real. But he’s already done too much for me. I’m keeping track of every single penny he spends on me, but I don’t know how I’ll ever repay him.

I know the political stuff’s getting him down. He’s always looking at his phone and cussing. It’s clear he ain’t doing as well as he wishes—because of me—but I dunno any way to help him. I figure the only thing I can do right now is get better. I’m doing that as much for him as I am for myself.

Since I’m still having suicidal thoughts—and Kurt asks me about them all the time—he’s set up a babysitting system of sorts for when I’m at home and he’s out. He didn’t call it that or tell me he was doing it, but that’s what it is. He makes sure there’s always someone around. It pissed me off when I first figured it out, but now I think it’s cute. How can I not be charmed that he’s keeping watch over me? Some days he’ll send over our neighbor or their kid. Or Paige, his campaign manager—I bugged her for tips on how to help him. His assistant, Wendy, or his housekeeper, Galen.

Today, it seems my babysitter’s Julian Hill, the biggest pop star in the world. I’ll admit to being a wee bit starstruck, even though I don’t listen to his music.

He saunters into Kurt’s condo wearing tight, ripped gray jeans and a plain black T-shirt. He’s lean and tall, with tattoos everywhere. His hair’s an artful mess, and his face is impish and gentle. “Hey,” he says with a grin, holding out his hand. I shake it, my mouth dry. “I’m Jules.”

I nod. “Johnny. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m a fan,” he says. Why, of everyone who has ever seen my videos, it takes Julian Hill to make me blush, I have no idea. Maybe because of his fancy British accent—it makes him seem snooty, even though he’s clearly not.

“Thank you kindly,” I manage to get out. “I havta be honest with you: I only listen to country, so I ain’t sure what songs you sing. My sister might’ve listened to you, though, when we were growin’ up.”

Jules laughs. “That’s refreshing, actually. Then we don’t have to talk about music or any of that bollocks. What would you like to chat about instead? Tell me: What’s your favorite thing on earth?”

Kurt.

“Besides my mama and sister?” I ask.

He nods.

“Dogs,” I say. “And horses.”

---