9. Johnny

Well, hell. My plan didn't work. Whatever the opposite of a plan coming together is, that's what happened. A falling apart. A failure.

That's what I am. A failure at my plan to fix my mama.

Do I even trust Kurt? I've known him less than a day, and most of that time, we were both drunk. How can he do what he's suggesting? Is he just saying whatever he can to save his own ass?

The violin wails in my head. I should've just shot myself, with or without the pills.

We're sitting at the dining table off to the side of the hotel suite. He chose the greasy breakfast, so I pick at a plate of egg whites and veggies while he's having bacon and a cheesy ham omelet. I hold up my hand, the metal ring on it shiny and unfamiliar.

"Are you sure y'all don't wanna get this thing annulled?" I say, watching Kurt bite into a piece of toast. His lush lips press together as he chews, and his throat works when he swallows. I'm tempted to move closer to him, to touch him. To feel his skin against mine.

We kissed last night. I want to kiss him again.

A weird feeling settles in my stomach that has nothing to do with the hangover. Part of me likes the symbolism of the ring on my finger.

A lot of me likes him.

Kurt's shoulders stiffen in reaction to my words, and his gaze goes distant. I wanna kick myself for making him sad. "It's probably what we should do. My fucking strategist is having kittens, and I'm afraid to think what my mom—er—mother's going to say. But you're more important than any of that."

He says that so easily, but I plain don't believe him. No one runs for office and then says the election don't matter. The election's all that matters.

"Now, I'm a skeptic," I say slowly, "and I think most politicians are just in it for the notoriety and to promote themselves. I get the feeling, though, that you're going into politics thinking that you're gonna make better decisions than the last person in that position."

"Of course," Kurt says, sounding like he's not sure where I'm going with this.

"In other words, you're thinking about the good of society. Right?"

"Right."

I almost scoff, but I don't want to offend him. "So you're telling me that you're idealistic enough to get into politics to help others. That you're civic-minded. But you'll set that all aside, and you're perfectly willing to sacrifice those good laws or whatever you might be able to achieve … for me?"

To his credit, Kurt doesn't look annoyed. He must be used to people challenging him. So, hmm. Maybe he would make a good politician, because he can keep his cool.

He puts down his toast and leans in. "Have you seen The Last of Us?"

"That a TV show?"

He nods.

I shake my head.

"Then I'll do my best not to spoil it. All right … there's a scene in the show where the protagonist has to choose between saving all of humanity—maybe. Or saving a little girl—maybe. And the episode is about what decision he makes."

"Okay," I say slowly.

Kurt looks at me intently, willing me to understand something that I'm not getting. "It's a very powerful moment, and no matter what, some people will think he makes the wrong choice. What he ultimately does, I think, is perfectly in line with his character. All I'm saying is, I know the arguments about the good of the many and society and wanting to serve, because that's what's been drilled into me by my parents, and that's what got me interested in running. Now, though, when I'm faced with the decision—do I let you go so I can maybe win an election, or do I stay with you and see if I can help you?—I gotta choose you. It's simple. Your life is more important than some abstract concept I can barely articulate."

"You don't even know me," I mutter, my cheeks heating at the idea that anyone on the face of this planet besides my mama and my sister, May Ella, would choose me.

No one ever has.

"In some ways, it doesn't matter that I don't know you," Kurt says, and I see some feistiness in him that I hadn't noticed last night. A backbone. It's sexy. "I've made the decision that we're keeping you alive, because you clearly can't be trusted to look after your own best interests."

"Ouch." I sit back in my chair. "I don't know. I ain't entirely sure what's what and how things are supposed to be. I've always been a planner and then just followed the plan. Now that I've thrown the plan out with the pig slops, I'm … lost."

I should just die. Kill myself. Put all of us out of the misery.

Kurt looks at me with dark, compassionate eyes. "I understand that. I like plans, too, and I get on edge when they change. When we're all set to do something and then … nope—it's unsettling. But I can help you. Step one is to get you to a therapist."

"Whoa," I say, holding up my hands. "I didn't say that was okay?—"

"No, you haven't. And we'll talk about all of this. But I wanted to let you know that's what I'm thinking. There's no shame in going to a therapist, Johnny," Kurt says. "I go to a therapist." He rolls his eyes. "I've had more therapy than you can imagine, and one thing I've learned is that mental health is just the same as any other medical condition. If you broke your arm, you'd go to a doctor for a cast, right?"

"Yeah," I sigh, seeing where he's going with this.

"This is no different. Brain chemistry is a real, physical thing, and you having these suicidal thoughts is related to that. At least I think it is. That's why we're going to get you help."

I don't reply. I ain't got the money to get my brain fixed. My mama ain't got the money she needs to get her body fixed. That's the whole point.

But Kurt seems like he's not going to take no for an answer, and while part of me wants to challenge him, part of me wonders if he's so stubborn nothing can change his mind. And I'm just so tired. He's offering a solution, and I don't know if I have the energy to keep arguing.

Money doesn't seem to be an issue for him, either.

Mama says a fool and his money are soon … married. Appears that Kurt's the fool in this scenario, though I have no intention of exploiting him.

Still … it's tempting to let someone else take charge. Even though I know that's only a temporary solution.

"Since I've burned my bridges employment-wise," I say carefully, "I need to be clear that I ain't in a position to be able to contribute financially. Like, at all, at least until … until I find work."

"Burned bridges? You're not going to?—"

"Keep doing porn? No. I announced my retirement yesterday, but the way I see it, it didn't matter. No studio had given me work in months. Not since the lawsuit."

"Lawsuit?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "There's so much we don't know about each other."

"Right." He sips his coffee. "You don't have to tell me."

But I want to tell him. "I'm suing my former studio. I mean, it's been going on for … seems like forever, though my lawyers tell me everything's moving along as fast as can be expected."

"I'm sorry to hear that. That sucks." He frowns. "Wait a minute, I heard about that. Not any specifics," he adds quickly. "Just that they represent you. Weston Ramirez, right?"

"That's right."

Kurt grins a cute, toothy smile that distracts me from my mood. No matter what, I like being around this man. "I know Sam Stone," he says. "He works there, and he may have mentioned you being in the office." He blushes. "He teases me that I was less starstruck when he ditched me for Julian Hill than when he told me about seeing you in person."

I hadn't put those pieces together last night, since I'd been a wee bit sauced. But now that I think about it, I remember those posters around town showed Kurt and Sam together, looking mighty friendly. In a way, it's reassuring to know that Kurt really—probably—is one of the good guys. Everyone I've met at Weston Ramirez seems to be trying to do the right thing, even if they are lawyers, so if Sam was with Kurt, that backs up Kurt's story about wanting to help people.

I … enjoy being with him, even if he's fucked up my plans to get Mama money.

Maybe that blame rests squarely on me. I'm the fuckup here. I'm always the fuckup.

Still, there's a burning sensation in my chest. Kind of like … jealousy? Because I don't like the idea of Kurt giving his heart to someone else.

Kurt seems to read the look on my face. "Sam and I were never really dating," he says.

"No?"

"No. We used to mess around some when we were first stuck together," he admits, "but he and I are really just good friends. We got along great and photographed well, so we were good public faces, but I never felt about him the way I'd want to feel about a potential partner. Our relationship was something our relatives made up because it played well to suburban liberals." He takes on a mocking tone. "‘The governor's grandson and the lieutenant governor's son are in a long-term relationship. Look how stable same-sex couples can be. Isn't that nice?'"

I relax at the news that they weren't dating, and his words make me chuckle despite everything. "You sound slightly cynical."

"I'm more than slightly cynical." He gives me a tentative smile. "It wasn't the best idea. But your plan was worse. Killing yourself's not the answer."

"I thought it was the best solution."

"But you know that's not true, right?"

"I'll allow that convincing myself a bad idea's a good idea is a very bad idea," I mutter. "But I'm stuck. How else can I help her? I can't let her die. Not when I could get the money to save her."

"We'll figure it out," he says. "I'll help you."

My face, neck, and ears go impossibly hot at the idea of having to rely on anyone, but not so much that I refuse his offer. Because I'll do literally anything for Mama. Even set aside my pride.

Maybe that's my problem. Maybe my pride has gotten in the way of me listening to a few good ideas.

I'm a loser whether I have pride or not.

It's not like being with him is a hardship. He's gorgeous, and he's not at all an asshole. Not huge praise, sure, but I've been in the dating desert so long that the lizards know my name. Kurt's fresh rain on dry earth.

He's more than that. He might be my salvation.

"So you'll come home with me?" Kurt asks again.

After a long moment, I nod at him.

He smiles and nods back.