10. Johnny

After we eat breakfast, I get up to take a shower, but before I can get into the bathroom, Kurt slides past me, grabs the rest of my pills out of my toiletry bag, and puts all of them, along with the derringer, in the plastic laundry bag provided by the hotel.

"Leave the door open, okay?" he says. "I'll be in the next room if you need anything." Like I don't know how to shower on my own.

I feel lower than a snake's belly when I realize that he doesn't trust me to be alone. But I s'pose I've earned that lack of trust. I get him back by coming out in nothing but a towel and getting dressed in front of him. Serves him right for giving me no privacy.

His eyes flare with interest. So, okay. He's attracted to me. Maybe he'd want to mess around—if the time was right.

A flicker of heat ignites inside me. I can't remember the last time that happened. Everything's been so dull for so long, but with Kurt, it's like there's this candle lighting up something I thought was gone forever.

Even feeling bad, I can dream and wish.

For him.

While I was in the bathroom, Kurt put on his tuxedo pants, shirt, jacket, and shoes. Looks like the tie and cummerbund are in the laundry bag he's holding.

Classic walk-of-shame attire … just with an extra gun and some pills.

"Do you have anything else on you?" he asks. "Anything that you could use to self-harm, I mean. Knives, razors?"

I think about it and shake my head. "No. I use an electric."

"Would you tell me if you had anything?"

I nod, my head spinning. "What good would it do to hide stuff from you? You already know everything."

"Hardly. But tell me if you remember something else."

"Deal."

After taking a final look around and checking out remotely, I pluck Ace's note from the flowers, slide it and the marriage certificate into the front of my bag, and leave the hotel key on a table.

What the hell am I gonna do now? I have nothing. Literally nothing but a suitcase and Kurt's vow to help.

The ride down in the elevator is different from what I remember of the drunken one last night. Kurt and I look at each other, not talking, as various people crowd in there with us. What's there to say? My chest feels hollow, and my pulse is as sluggish as molasses.

On our way to his hotel, he spies a huge pharmacy on the Strip. "Hang on," he says, "I bet they have pill disposal."

My heart sinks—all my plans gone—but he's probably right. It's dangerous to have that much medication on me. I've proved I'm not making good decisions these days.

If I ever did. I should grab those pills and the gun back from him and be done with it all.

He marches up to the pharmacy counter and places the pill bottles in the red disposal box off to the side. After it's shut and secure, we stand there a moment, staring at it. My arms feel too weighty to lift, my legs too heavy to move.

He reaches out and touches my wrist, and I flinch. "Hey. You okay?"

Out of habit, I nod, and he stares at me.

Might as well be honest.

I shake my head.

"Hey," he says, and he wraps me in a hug. It surprises me, but I hug him back, liking the way he feels against me. He smells like weed and cigarette smoke and coffee, with something underneath that's faintly musky in the best way. It's comforting. I hold on to him a bit longer than I should.

Kurt feels right against me.

We break apart, silently walk out of the pharmacy, and cross the street to his hotel.

It's nice in a different way than mine. While mine was Vegas chic, his is more old-world. It's starting to dawn on me that he's from a different world than me. The reference to his bank account and "family money" probably should've been a tip-off.

I go with him, wheeling my small suitcase that contains everything I own, feeling like I have no purpose whatsoever. He opens the door to a spacious suite, about as nice as mine but with a more classic feel. I'm wagering Kurt wasn't comped this room, though. Again, different worlds.

He stashes my handgun in the hotel safe before he showers, again with the door open so he can keep an eye on me. I resist the urge to peep in at him, even though I know from this morning that I'd like what I'd see.

Kurt locking the gun up makes me feel like the muck you pick out from a horse's hoof. I should feel better now that I've got someone helping me with Mama, but I don't. If anything, I feel shittier.

I can't even kill myself properly.

I'm a total loser.

She's gonna die because of me.

"You feel up to a five-hour drive?" Kurt calls, the water muffling his voice.

"Sure, darlin'," I say, fiddling on my phone.

"Did you fly here?"

"Yep."

"Are you going to cancel your return flight?"

"Only booked a one-way," I admit.

"Did you rent a car to get around town?"

"No, I used a Lyft from the airport."

As he scrubs, Kurt keeps up the chatter like we're at a church social.

Shucks. He's forcing me to talk so he knows I'm still here. He's also keeping me from fixating on all the junk in my brain.

It makes my sour heart get a little sweet on him. Heck, it was already more than a little sweet on him.

As we gab, I scroll through social media and come across some photos of Kurt and me from last night.

We look like we belong together—two men in tuxedos grinning at each other. Kissing. Hanging off each other. Drinking.

He's prettier than a speckled pup. Damn.

It's more than his looks, though—it's the way he treats me like I'm someone special, even though I don't deserve it. I can't deny I like it, though. Can't deny I want him. I save the images to my phone.

Then I stumble on the aftermath of my speech. I'd forgotten that I'd essentially tossed a grenade but left before it detonated.

There are all kinds of stories about my lawsuit against the studio. Reactions from performers, fans, and studio brass about my retirement. Even some comments from politicians—both those who condemn porn as a scourge on society and those saying that we need stronger laws to support and protect the actors.

I throw my phone down, still shooting the breeze with Kurt about his favorite restaurants in Las Vegas and where we should stop for lunch on the way back to LA. I busy myself with poking around his room, but he doesn't have much here that reflects him other than some red luggage with black piping.

He emerges from the bathroom wearing a dress shirt and slacks. If that's what he wears for a drive through the desert, I wonder what it takes to get him to go out in only a T-shirt. His hair is slicked back, and he's freshly shaved.

Damn.

I wanna devour him.

But I leave him alone, because he's all gussied up, and I shouldn't mess with that.

He packs quickly and calls down for the valet, but when we step out of the elevator in the parking garage, we're confronted with a horde of paparazzi.

Flashbulbs go off, photographers jostling to get the best images of us.

Oh, damn. It's getting real.

"So it's true you married Velvet the Cowboy, Mr. Delmont?" one reporter says, shoving a microphone at Kurt, whose eyes widen to the size of spare tires.

"What are your future constituents going to say when they learn you married a gay porn star?"

"Have you seen your opponent's reaction?"

"What does Melissa Delmont think of your marriage?"

"Is this in response to Sam Stone being in a romantic relationship with Julian Hill?"

Kurt's gobsmacked. I whisper in his ear, "Put on your sunglasses."

He nods and pulls them out. He seems to be frozen, and while I don't want to make things worse for him, I want to move this along. Something clicks inside me. I guess I'm more used to invasive press questions than he is.

I throw an arm around his shoulders. Then I flash my big aw-shucks smile, turning on my charm. "Thanks for your interest in Kurt, but he's not going to be answering any questions right now." Kurt melts into my side, reinforcing my decision to take care of this for him.

"Photos have surfaced of you partying last night," another says. "What do you have to say about that?"

I tip my hat to the reporters. "Folks who have no vices have very few virtues."

"What about you, Velvet? You announced your retirement last night. What are your future plans?"

"Dunno. Enjoy being married, I guess." I hold up my hand. "I'm pleased to report this here ring's cut off my circulation."

There's a pause, then a few laughs and some confused expressions.

"It fits fine," I say with another grin, and make a point of squeezing Kurt to me. "I'm just no longer available."

More camera flashes. Someone asks, "How long have you known each other?"

"Thank you," I say, and steer Kurt over to the valet station, where they tell him his car is almost here.

A driver pulls a shiny black BMW to the curb, and we throw our luggage in the trunk, get in, and take off, leaving the paps behind us.

Kurt's hands tremble as he turns right out of the parking garage.

"Hey, darlin'. You okay? You wanna pull over and let me drive?"

"I'm fine."

I'm tempted to roll my eyes. "Okay, I think we need a few ground rules. You called me on my horseshit this morning. I'm going with you to your house, because I can see that it's for my own good, and while I'm a stubborn so-and-so most of the time, I've decided I'm going to try to not be stubborn about this situation here. I can't think of any way to help my mama, but I'm smart enough to recognize that maybe you'll have a better solution. Now, your hands are shaking, and I'm thinking that the paps got to you because you woke up with a hell of a hangover and found out you were married to some fella you don't know."

Kurt glances at me and turns left to head to the freeway.

"So maybe one of our ground rules is honesty. I was honest with you that I was gonna take those pills. And that I'm feeling numb and useless. How are you feeling?"

"I'm panicking," he admits, and pulls sharply into a gas station, parking to the side and cutting off the engine. He bangs his forehead on the top of the steering wheel. "What the fuck are we doing? I married the man of my dreams, who's also a porn star. Please know I'm not judging you, but it's political suicide. Fuck, wrong word. And?—"

"And I'm a disaster," I supply. "Sorry, don't mean to interrupt you, but I ain't gonna make you insult me when I can do it just fine."

"You maybe have some big issues that we need to solve," he says gently. He blows out a breath. "I was startled out there, and I didn't know how to react. My mind's going a mile a minute. Whatever happened to ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas'? That doesn't apply to us? What the hell?" He throws up his hands.

"Also, ‘man of your dreams'?" I ask, thinking back through what he just said. The tips of Kurt's ears turn pink. Interesting.

"I told you I'm a big fan."

"You really are precious," I say, affection for him rushing over me in waves despite my numbness. He's still shaking, so I go back to my initial point. "I'm a good driver. And for some reason, I'm not feeling as hungover as you. So why don't you let me drive until we get the hell out of here and you get settled. We can switch back whenever you like."

Kurt glances at me, then stops to really study my face. "In your, um, scenes, you tend to take over, take charge. Is that what you're like in real life?"

I want to kiss his cute button nose, but he looks too upset for that. Plus we don't need any more photos—even though no one seems to be paying attention to us right now. "I do like doing that," I admit. I love it when I get to play a soft pleasure dom, because it's in line with my personality—my usual personality, at least. This present funk isn't like me—although it's been a long time since I've felt like my old self. But I don't tell him that. I also don't tell him how focusing on him makes the noise in my head go away. "C'mon. You're upset. There's only one highway until we get closer to Los Angeles—it's not like I'm going to get us lost."

"I hate to ask, but are you okay to drive? You're not going to go hurling us into oncoming traffic?"

Damn. I'm horrified that he has to ask that, but under the circumstances, it's a reasonable question. "I promise I'm going to drive like a normal person and not do anything rash. I'd never hurt you."

I know I mean that. I'll not hurt a hair on his head. Ever.

Kurt nods and opens his door, and so do I. We walk around the car and meet at the trunk. Before he can pass me, I grab him and hug him. He clings to me a moment, then nods and proceeds to the passenger side. I settle into the driver's seat, wondering if he's been wanting someone else to take the wheel of his life for a while.

Meanwhile, I need someone to help me out of my predicament.

Maybe this unplanned marriage can help us both.