19. Kurt

Idrive away from the pastoral hospital with a churning stomach and restless limbs. I just left Johnny in the care of a bunch of strangers. He's my husband. My brand-new, I barely know him husband, but my husband nonetheless.

I drive on autopilot, lost in my thoughts. I've had my dream man for such a short time, and I let him be taken away from me for his own good. I miss him already.

While I know he needs professional help I'm not qualified to offer, it feels wrong to be driving away from him when I really want to watch over him. He should be with me. I should be able to just lean in and touch him.

It's ridiculous for me to feel this strongly about him when I've only just met him, but he's a big guy with a big personality who's made a huge impression on me.

Thank fuck I met him before he harmed himself.

The first person I call once I get into better cell reception is Sam. After chatting for a moment, I ask if he wants to go to dinner tonight. We agree to meet at a chic restaurant near his work, and that's one thing off my list.

Now I have to figure out how to fit Johnny into my election plans. After that, I'll worry about what he and I are going to do once he gets out of the hospital.

I call Paige next. She sounds pissed when she answers. "Oh, now you're talking to me?"

I flick my eyes to the car ceiling, even though she can't see me. "I'm sorry, okay? Look, I know I've made your job a lot harder, and we'll have to deal with the press, but I like my husband, and I don't want to hide him."

There's only a brief silence. She's probably already got three contingency plans outlined and is just trying to decide on the best one. "Well, we'll need to get him some media training, and then he can come to a press conference," she says. "What's his availability this week?"

"Um." I pause. "About that."

"What?" Her voice is sharp. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I had to check Johnny into a hospital. It's none of your business, but he needed to get some help."

"Oh my god, is he on drugs? Holy shit, Kurt. Just when I thought you couldn't be a bigger PR disaster, you have to marry an addict?"

"He's not an addict," I say quickly. "And even if he were, addiction's a sickness, and getting help is a good thing. Be nice."

"Sorry," she mutters. "I'm on edge. That was rude of me. I wasn't thinking."

"Fine. In any case, he's in the hospital for a different reason. I'm going to respect his privacy. Just know that it will be a few days—likely until next week at the earliest—before he can go out in public. Maybe longer."

"Fine. Good. I'm glad he's getting better."

"Thank you. Are you making progress with managing my mess?"

"Kind of. I should've gone into fashion design," she mutters. "Fabric doesn't talk back."

"I know our marriage seems random"—because it was—"but either I win the election with him, or I figure out something else to do. That's all there is to it."

"So the election is unimportant all of a sudden? You couldn't have, I don't know, waited a few months to get married?"

I take a deep breath and hold it as I turn from the windy mountain road onto the highway. "There are other elections and other positions I could run for if I don't get this. I'm shooting for the moon right now, but if I don't make it, that doesn't mean I can't be on, I don't know, the local school bond committee or something."

"You don't have a kid."

"They need members of the public. And that's beside the point. All I mean is, he can be integrated into my campaign."

And my life.

"Fine. Whatever." She heaves another sigh. "We'll talk about it when we meet next. We also have to get you ready for the pre-primary debate. When can we schedule you for debate prep?"

"Whenever," I say. I've emailed my boss and HR to take time off to care for Johnny, and in any case, I've scaled down to part time during the campaign and can set my own hours as long as I get the work done. So I should be okay for the time being.

Part of me is wondering if I should just give up the day job anyway. It's not like it makes me all that happy. Sure, I like graphic design and nerding out on fonts, but I could do that on my own. I can find another option for health insurance.

"Where'd you go?" Paige asks.

"I'm on PCH."

"No, I mean where did your brain go? You got quiet."

"Sorry. Just thinking. Yes, schedule a meeting, and we can go over talking points."

"Fine." My phone beeps with another call.

"Paige, my momth—er, Melissa?—"

"I'll let you talk to the lieutenant governor," she says, and hangs up.

"Hey," I say to my momther as I signal to pass a Prius.

"Hey yourself," she says. "I hope you're well. We have a few things to discuss."

"I suppose," I say, trying not to be rude.

"Surprise, we're headed to Southern California this weekend. Can we meet your husband?"

"I want to say yes, except he's not with me right now. It will have to be next week at the earliest," I tell her.

"Oh? Is he busy?"

"You could say that." I realize I'm not going to be able to keep this from her even if I wanted to. "Mom, he's got some issues—not substance abuse or anything violent—and I've checked him into a hospital."

Her voice immediately takes on a caring tone. "Oh no. Is he okay?"

"I think he's going to be. I hope so. But he's going through some personal stuff, and he needs a chance to recover. Can you give him that?"

"Of course, honey. I'm sorry. We'll schedule when it works for him."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

I want to tell her that he was so close to being another Andrei. That I couldn't go through a loss like that again, even if I didn't care about Johnny as much as I do. And that I feel like I know him already, in part because he's been part of my intimate life for so long.

None of that's appropriate to tell my momther. So instead, we talk about her schedule, and when I hang up, I call my assistant and give her a list of things Johnny will need while he's in the hospital. Good thing I know his sizes and preferences now. I remember a book I read a year ago that I liked, and I ask her to add it.

I drive back home.

The condo feels emptier than usual, even though Johnny was here less than a day. He's got such a big personality that his absence looms large. I set his phone and wallet in the dish on the counter by mine and study them. His worn leather wallet reminds me of him. It's something a cowboy would carry around. His phone is an older model, which doesn't surprise me. They somehow look right next to my YSL billfold and new iPhone.

My pulse quickens at the memory of making out with Johnny in the living room just a few hours ago. When I wander upstairs, there's his suitcase and bag of new clothes in the corner of my bedroom, his towel on the rack, his indent in the pillow.

Dammit. I miss him.

I could look at him anytime I want to, on my phone or laptop. But the thought of watching him on my favorite porn site now feels slightly icky, even though I remind myself that he willingly puts himself out there for people like me to ogle and that he's been a part of my sex life for basically my entire adulthood.

Some people might think that I'm imagining the connection between us because I've objectified him in his videos, but I don't see it that way at all. Johnny was never simply a sex object to me—he always seemed so sincere and down-to-earth. So human and real. I always wanted him to be real for me.

Now he is.

It's just been me, my right hand, and my imagination (combined with a premium subscription) for a long time. Oh, sure, I've had a few dates and hookups, but no one's sparked the kind of interest in me that one evening with Johnny did.

Hell, I wanted to marry him after a few hours together.

And I still want to be married to him. It feels like I have some claim on him, and—as weird as it sounds—I feel possessive of him. I'm clearly delusional, since there are likely plenty of fans who feel the same way.

But I've got his phone and wallet, and his signature on a marriage license.

In that sense, Johnny Haskell is mine.

When I called Sam to schedule dinner, I wasn't planning on him bringing his boyfriend, but I understand why Jules is here. Sam has to manage his public image for Jules's sake. And having dinner alone with his "ex" is a recipe for disaster. Good thing Jules is terrific.

We're in the back of the restaurant, away from prying eyes, although when Jules leaves, there's sure to be photographers at every exit.

I want to be careful of Johnny's privacy, but these two are as trustworthy as it gets. Jules knows what it's like to have his privacy invaded. He has no desire to talk about anyone behind their back. Sam doesn't, either, plus he's part of Johnny's team of lawyers and is required to keep things secret.

Sam also has connections everywhere, because his grandfather is the governor of California, and he always seems to have a commonsense solution to problems.

"I need some advice," I say without preamble, after we've ordered.

"Oh?" Sam says, breaking off a piece of bread and dipping it in olive oil. "How can we help?" Sam's gorgeous, and his style is rather twee, what with his bow ties and suspenders. He's got pale blond hair and cerulean eyes. Jules is lean, dark-haired and dark-eyed, and covered in tattoos. They somehow match by being complete physical opposites.

"Did you see the news about me?" I ask.

"We don't go online too much," Sam admits. Oh. He and Jules would stay away from gossip, because they wouldn't want to see what's being written about them—and especially about Jules.

"Well. Um. I got married over the weekend," I say.

Sam's jaw drops before he gets the bread to his mouth. A blob of olive oil hits the tablecloth. "For the love of David Bowie, you did not."

Raising my hands, I say, "It was not planned. I was … very, very drunk."

"Who's the lucky guy?" Sam asks. "Do I know him?"

I squirm. "Actually … it's Johnny Haskell."

I wouldn't have thought his eyes could get wider, but I'd have been wrong. "Velvet the Cowboy?" he whispers.

I nod.

Jules chuckles. "Velvet the porn star?" His British accent sounds so posh.

"The same." I sip my water.

"Nice," Jules says, and Sam gives him a playful shove. Jules shrugs. "What? He's a gorgeous man."

"I didn't know you knew him," Sam says to me.

"I didn't. I met him Saturday night in Vegas, at a bar. And I recognized him—though, let's be real, I'd have wanted to talk with him in any case. He's even more handsome in real life than he is in his videos—as you know. I think he recognized me from some of our old PSAs, not sure."

"You met him on Saturday, and now you're married to him," Sam says flatly, then shakes his head. "Sorry, I don't mean to judge. I'm just surprised."

"Surprised the hell out of us, too," I admit.

"Well … congrats? Shelby, our receptionist, had a spontaneous marriage, and he's doing great and totally in love with his husband, so you're in good company."

Do Johnny and I have a chance long-term? It doesn't matter right now. "I wanted to talk with you because he's got some issues. And so does his mother."

"Okay." Sam clearly doesn't know where I'm going with this. How could he?

"Johnny asked me to tell his lawyers about what's going on with him," I say, "so, Sam, can you please make sure to share this with whoever is working on his case?" He nods. I turn to Jules. "And I can trust you to keep a secret?"

Jules smiles. "Of course, mate."

I let out a breath. "Johnny checked himself into a hospital for a few days, because he was having a mental health crisis."

Sam's brows furrow. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Can he have visitors? Would he want us to visit him?"

"I think so," I say. "Maybe not immediately, but I'll let you know."

"I'm sure the guys will visit him, then. They really like him."

"Yeah. I do, too." I sigh. "Okay, so that's part of it."

Sam bursts out laughing. "Holy shit, Kurt. There's more? You go from no news to lots of news."

"Yeah, I know. The other part isn't as surprising, I don't think. I wanted to ask if you had any ideas about how to help his mother. You guys do some insurance law, right?"

"We do."

"That's what I thought. The thing is, his mom's health insurance denied her a transplant that she needs. Do you know anything about appealing insurance decisions?"

"Sure. Those matters usually go through the company's utilization management department. It's illegal for them to take cost savings into account when making medical coverage decisions, but they do it all the time." He tears off more bread with a growl.

"That's terrible," Jules says. "You Americans have the worst health system. It's unbelievable."

"I know, right?" Sam says. He grins at me. "Maybe your mom can fix it when she gets to the White House."

"That'd be nice. At any rate, would you mind looking into it?" I ask. "I mean, I know insurance companies are the worst, but still. It seems weird that she's so sick, yet they won't pay for her transplant."

"Insurance companies cut corners, because they have to turn a profit," Sam says. "There's pressure to show increased shareholder value quarter over quarter and only so many ways they can make money—especially with rising costs. That doesn't make it right," he adds. "I'm just saying that it doesn't surprise me. I expect she already tried internal appeals. Most people who've had to deal with health crap know their way around the process. But we can go further—file a complaint with the Department of Insurance if need be. That is—I'm assuming she's in California?"

"Yeah."

He nods. "Just let me know her information, and I'll see what I can do."

"Her name's Sue Ann Haskell." I saw her name on the envelope Johnny gave me, the one he meant her to get after he was dead. Thinking about it makes my stomach hurt. I give Sam the name of her insurance company, which Johnny told me, and her phone number, which I pulled off his phone.

"I'm happy to help if I can."

"Thank you," I say, feeling a little lighter.

"Anything for my favorite ex," Sam says with a smile.

"So, what have you two been up to?" I ask, and Sam launches into a story about their recent trip to Italy.

I listen, glad Johnny is getting care and missing him all the same.

After dinner, I'm restless, so I end up doing a few hours of design work after all. But when I rub my bleary eyes sometime after midnight, I know this is too much: election, work, Johnny. I've already decided Johnny has to come first. Even if our marriage isn't real—though it feels realer every minute—he's a good man with a soft heart, and he deserves to be cherished. It seems like he's gone way too long without anyone showing him how much they appreciate him.

I'm going to do my best to fix that.

A quick check on my phone shows that, sure enough, the gossip sites are running headlines like "SPICING IT UP? Rocker Julian Hill and boyfriend Sam Stone dine with Stone's former lover Kurt Delmont—with Delmont's porn star husband nowhere to be seen." There's a photo of Sam and Jules holding hands as they duck out the back of the restaurant. I sigh at the comments speculating that we'd make a great threesome. Or foursome.

I log on to my computer again and send in an application for more time off from work, including details about my time-sensitive projects so they can be transferred to other designers. When I'm done, I go into my bedroom, which—after sharing it with Johnny for only a few hours—feels so, so empty.

I wonder what Johnny's doing right now. I hope he realizes how brave he's being, taking the steps to get well. It was easy to see that the idea of a locked ward scared him. It scared me, too, even though I know he's in a modern hospital, not something out of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. He's not being tortured. He's there to get the help he needs.

I wish I could see him, though. Just for a minute, to know he's okay. To tell him I miss him.