Page 3 of Snow Storm

Harley tried to ignore her. Really. But her words had crawled under his skin and made a home there. He couldn’t shake the constant comparisons, and even today—even after his brother had finally started trying to get to know him as a person—he was trapped in the cycle of thinking he wasn’t good enough.

Wes had graduated top of his year. He got accepted into three Ivy League schools. He worked for the DA’s office. He was smart and good-looking and kind.

And Harley was just…different. He was smart in his own way. He was good-looking to the people who wanted someone on the chubby side of the body spectrum. His luck got a little better when the “dad bod” started trending, but even then, he got more side-eyes than phone numbers because no matter how he looked, he was still an awkward weirdo in public.

He wasn’t a top-performing lawyer. He was a writer. He didn’t go to an Ivy League school. He didn’t go to college at all.

The only thing going for him was that he was good at what he did. When he first started, the market had been starved for stories like the ones he’d written—fantasy with a twist of queer and a hint of love story. Action-adventure where no gays were buried and there was more than one kind of happily ever after.

He was well-liked and well-off and maybe even a little famous now. But he was never sure of himself. Not entirely. And the one person who was proud of him was now gone, and he was facing the reality that his one accomplishment—holding on to a boyfriend long enough to make him a husband—had replaced him like he was a piece of clothing.

And with all that looming, now his agent wanted him to do some big, public book signing on the anniversary of his father’s death, right on the heels of his breakup, a week before he’d be spending his first Christmas completely and utterly alone?

No.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do it.” He forced the words out because he never, ever told his agent no, and he could sense from Ethan’s silence that he was surprised.

“Well, the contract you signed says you can,” Ethan said. Harley could hear him clicking his pen, and he swore he could feel that noise vibrating against the bones in his hand.

“I’m pretty sure a judge would grant me some leniency and grace if he knew what was happening in my life,” Harley argued back tiredly. “I haven’t slept in weeks, okay? I’m exhausted. I keep getting emails from Darren’s goddamn lawyer because he’s demanding half of a condo he didn’t pay for while also planning his wedding to our fucking couples therapist, and I’m just…I can’t. Okay? I just can’t.”

“Look, I feel for you,” Ethan told me, and it was all Harley could do not to call him out on the lie. “But we can’t piss off the publisher. Not with your next series hanging in the balance.”

Ethan was right on that account. Yes, Harley’s books still made bestsellers lists, but not the way they used to. And his royalty checks were notably smaller. They had been for a while. For the duration of his relationship with Darren, if he was being honest. He just wasn’t sure he was ready to face that his career might be on the downslide because what else did he have? Who else was he if not a writer?

In truth, he was burning out and tired of writing to a market he was no longer interested in. He wanted to write something else—stories that were deeper. Ones that resonated with him about what it was like to feel in the cold world he walked every day.

But he could tell his publisher wasn’t thrilled with that idea, and with a job like his, there were no guarantees that they’d keep him if he didn’t produce exactly the way they wanted. He could be dropped for one small faux pas.

And he wasn’t ready to lose his career after losing everything else in his life.

“Can we at least cut down the whole Q and A thing to half an hour?”

“The tickets are sold out. There’s not a chance in hell. People are interested sinceDisastrously Deadwas so fucking steamy.”

He felt himself blushing. He was a sexual man, so it wasn’t like he didn’t have those sorts of feelings. But he was also incredibly private, and he had always been terrified that writing an explicit sex scene would trigger people into asking him if he was writing from experience.

Because yes.

But also no.

And he wasn’t sure he could handle having to navigate those questions from total strangers.

“Look, I’ll make sure the moderators screen everything, and we’ll have a list of topics you’re not going to speak about,” Ethan said like that was some kind of compromise instead of standard requirements.

Harley pinched the bridge of his nose and wished there was a hole he could crawl into. He glanced out the window at the dark, heavy clouds in the distance. It was going to rain, which would turn into sleet because it was a goddamn cold winter.

There was exactly one week before Christmas. This holiday, he would be completely alone. Maybe doing this was a good idea. Maybe it would be just the distraction he needed after everything had crashed and burned. Maybe if he could get people excited for his work again, he could stop worrying about what came after this book.

He could handle the chaos. After all, it was only one day. Just a few hours of his time, and then he could go back to his condo and pretend like he wasn’t going to have to fight his ex to keep the things he’d worked so hard for.

“Fine. Send a car, please. I really don’t want to drive right now.”

“You got it. See you tomorrow,” Ethan said, then hung up.

Harley dropped the phone to his side and turned to look in the mirror hanging in his hallway. His eyes had dark circles, and his mouth was in a permanent frown. He sucked in a breath. “Okay, Harley. It’s just one day,” he said aloud. “You’ve got this.”

Chapter 2

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