25. Kurt

My life's changed, and I'm not entirely sure how that happened. I really like it, though.

My attraction to Johnny grows with every moment we're together. I wouldn't have thought that was possible. It's not just that I'm living with my absolute crush, whose essential goodness comes through even when he's not feeling great.

During the month-plus since our night in Vegas, my husband has spent five days in a hospital, two weeks in outpatient care, and the better part of ten days split between therapy and his new job on the ranch. And somehow he's also started doing all these things for me that I didn't even realize I needed.

Tonight, I walk in the door after running an errand, and he has index cards spread all over the dining room table. He's standing and studying them, moving a few around.

"What'cha doing?" I ask, snaking an arm around his middle and kissing his shoulder.

"Figuring out which zip codes y'all need to focus on to win," he says in his low drawl. Like it's obvious that he'd be helping me with this.

I raise an eyebrow, scanning the demographic data on the cards. "How'd you get this information?"

"I talked with Paige. Got the info from her spreadsheet. If we know how many registered voters there are in each zip code and how many of them normally vote, then we can figure out the best places for you to focus your campaigning. I was just lookin' at it all, trying to see how I could help."

"Shit," I say, pressing my palms to my cheeks. "You're a political strategist."

"Never said I didn't understand politics," he says with a wink. "Just that I didn't like politicians. Save one."

"I always liked porn stars," I say. "Well, one in particular."

He stands up, draws me close, and kisses me. "Did you watch my porn because you had a crush on me?" he teases, nipping at my lower lip.

I nod. "Yeah, in part." He's told me so many truths that I might as well share one of mine. Taking his hand, I pull him down to the couch and snuggle in next to him. "The other part was that I was lonely. I couldn't date anyone, because I was supposedly dating Sam. If I tried to hook up, I'd have to trust the guy to keep his mouth shut—which is a lot to expect from a hookup. I threw myself into my work so I didn't have much time for anything else. It's amazing how busy you can stay if you try hard enough. If you're scared of not having anything to do."

"Darlin' …" he starts.

"But I like sex. The only way I could get it without risking some scandal was alone with my screen. It's not the same as having someone to kiss and hug and touch, but … it was better than nothing."

"I understand loneliness." He sighs. "I was scared of future loneliness. Of the pain of losing Mama. That's how I got myself so messed up."

"That's a trauma response," I say. "Don't judge yourself for how you reacted when she's been so sick."

"Yeah, okay. The codependency thing. But that's not all." He sighs, and it sounds like it comes from all the way down in his toes. "I have an appointment with Christian tomorrow. If you come, I'll tell you both then. I will. Just don't wanna say it more times than I havta, 'cause it sucks."

He's made comments like that before, and in contexts that make me think something happened at the studio. But what? Did someone get rough with him? Did he have to fuck someone he didn't want to fuck?

And will talking about it make him want to get the pills and the gun again?

I haven't moved the gun since I locked it up. I hid the keys in the pocket behind the passenger seat of my car, where I don't think he'd look for them.

"I think you and I both have lived in the past a lot," I say, "and with this campaign, I'm living in the future. But I'm really interested in the now."

"Yeah, me, too." He peppers kisses along the back of my neck. "Though I do like getting to know you, so I like hearing about your past."

"Me, too. I mean, about yours. What was it like growing up?" I ask.

Johnny pauses with his lips on my skin, then draws back. "My daddy was a seasonal worker. He was there for a summer at the ranch and got together with my mama, and then he went on to his next job without knowing that she was pregnant. She wrote to him at the address of the camp where he was going—that was before everybody had cell phones—but apparently he never got the letter, so when he came back the next summer, it was ‘Surprise, you have a son.' Anyway, he decided to stay on and work at the ranch year-round, but it was tough living for them. Mama got pregnant again with my sister, and after a few years, my daddy took off. Still, things were okay. Even after Mama got sick, we were getting by, mostly, until the owners decided to sell up."

I'm quiet, just letting him talk. But I'm feeling very protective of his mother, his sister, and little Johnny, who didn't ask to be born in circumstances that were so spare.

"Like I told you before, we headed to Fresno. Took us a while to get there. We got in Mama's car—it was a beat-up old thing—and we'd drive as far as we could on a tank of gas, then see where we could sleep for the night. Most of the time we couldn't afford a motel room, but sometimes we'd find a place that would let us stay in exchange for working."

I squeeze his hand. "Where did you go to school?"

"I didn't, for a long time. When we finally ended up in California, I enrolled in school, but I was way behind. Mama had tried to teach me reading and arithmetic, but there are only so many hours in a day, especially when you're lookin' for work. Eventually, though, I did okay. I was a big kid, which helped. My daddy was a big man, I think. When I was little, he seemed big, anyhow. I could hold my own in a fight, and that kept kids from making too much fun of me."

"Were you in fights a lot?" I don't want to move from where I'm leaning against him, but I want to see his expression, so I turn and face him.

Johnny scratches his chin. "I'd say I was in fights just enough to let folks know not to mess with me."

"Makes sense."

"I told you about my sister. Someone at the ranch had a fiddle, and she took to it immediately. Then she learned to play softer songs. Sadder ones. Mama didn't have money for lessons, but May Ella'd just teach herself." He shakes his head. "She's incredible. I hear her playing in my head all the time." He pauses. "Actually, I'm hearing it less these days. When I hear it, all I can think is how much I still have to do to help my mama."

"You know that she's not your responsibility."

"But she is," Johnny says so earnestly my heart breaks. "Who else does she have? Family's got to take care of each other."

"Family can ask too much of you sometimes," I insist. Then I hesitate. "Well, I don't know your family dynamics."

Johnny holds out his hands in an "exactly" gesture. He gets a faraway look in his eyes. "Although this is the codependency stuff they were talking about in the hospital."

"What's that?"

"That I've been trying to fix things I can't ever fix."

I hug him. "It sounds like you've been through a lot. I guess the real question is, where do you want to go from here?"

"I ain't figured that out yet. I'm still focused on getting better and tryin' to get my mama taken care of."

"I wonder if Sam, or the firm, has gotten anywhere with the insurance company. Something sounds wrong to me. If she's otherwise a good fit, why isn't she getting approved?" I cock my head. "Could I be a donor?"

"What's your blood type?" I tell him, and he shakes his head. "Nope. I don't think that's compatible."

I renew my commitment to help him help his mom. I could just send her the money—I want to just send her the money. But doing that without Johnny's consent would feed his feelings of inadequacy. I've seen the little pad of paper where he's adding up every single thing I've bought him. I'm not willing to jeopardize his mental state by adding a big-ticket item to that list, especially when his mom's illness seems not to be an immediate crisis.

I don't know how to tell him that he's worth every penny in my bank account. That I don't care if he pays me back. That I don't want him to pay me back.

I don't know how to tell him that I want to protect him. That I want to take care of him. I don't know how to tell him how lonely I was before he came into my life and how integral he's starting to be for me.

"Are y'all ready for the debate?" Johnny asks, clearly wanting to change the subject.

"I think so," I say. "I'm never going to be perfect, but I want to do the best I can, so Paige and I have been practicing with a consultant."

"You're going to be amazing. Want me to come and be in the audience, clap for you?"

"You think you're up to it?" This isn't about me—I'm ready for Johnny to come out of the shadows anytime he wants to.

"I do." He pauses. "I'm gettin' used to feelin' my feelings and talking about them instead of just pushin' them down until they explode." He clears his throat. "So … you comin' with me to therapy tomorrow?" he asks. "Do y'all have time?"

I nod. "Of course."

When we get to Christian's office, Johnny doesn't get out of the car right away. He stares out at the ocean, then looks down at his lap, then gazes up at the office building.

"Today's gonna be hard," he says. "I think I'm ready, but it's …" He scrubs his face with his hands. "I'm scared you're gonna look at me different."

"I won't," I promise.

"How do you know that? What if the … stuff I have to say is awful?"

"You're not the type to ever do anything truly awful, and if something awful happened to you, it's not your fault."

"Okay, yeah, I get it." He doesn't sound entirely persuaded. "I'm just nervous."

I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. "That's probably why you need to talk."

"Maybe. Yeah. Okay."

We get out of the car and hold hands as we walk into the office, then settle side by side on the couch when it's time for his appointment.

Christian leans forward with a professional and kind smile. "What would you like to talk about today?" she asks.

"I wanna talk about what happened to me that day at work," Johnny says. "And why I brought my lawsuit. Even if I'm fucking petrified what Kurt's gonna think of me afterward."