Then whoever was on the other end hung up even before she had an opportunity to reply, and Steve’s mom went ballistic.
“I should have thrown his ass to the curbmonthsago,” she snarled. Steve had never heard such vitriol in her voice—at least not when she wasn’t acting—and her face was twisted in a grimace. He nearly took a step back in surprise. Beside her, Drew looked up sharply, the Perrier bottle halfway to his lips.
“Is this about Rico?” Steve asked. It had to be, right? Unless one of the others had done something? But the odds of that…. Surely his mother had better taste.
She blew out a noisy breath, so much so that she ruffled her hair in the still afternoon. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t think it would come to this.”
Steve frowned. “Didn’t think it would come to what? Mom, you’re not making any sense.”
She stepped forward and grabbed his hands, and Steve’s heart sank. “You were right. ItwasRico. He’s the one who leaked those pictures of you and Drew to the press.”
Oh.Of course. Rico was a photographer by trade—that was why he and Marla had been working on a gallery opening. And she had warned Steve he might be at that benefit at the aquarium. He exhaled slowly. “Well, I’m glad you broke up with him. What an asshole.”
“Darling.”
In the periphery, Drew and Nina exchanged glances and stood up to give them some space.
Steve’s mouth went dry. He knew that tone—he recognized the self-recrimination from her regrets over not dragging his father to the doctor sooner. His throat tightened. He already knew what she was going to say. “What, Mom?”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She sighed, for once looking her age, or at least most of it. “If I’d been more careful with my companions, this never would have happened. I never wanted you to have to give up your privacy.”
“Well. That’s….” Like he’d said before, it was only ever a matter of time. Though he hadn’t thought it would be thissmalla matter of time. “Why? I mean, what does he want?” Stupid question, probably. Assuming he was also the blackmailer, he’d asked for fifty grand.
“From you? Nothing. Just to punish me for daring to break up with him. And now he’s asking for more money—enough to buy out my half of the gallery.” She huffed. “Darling, I…. When I started dating again, I didn’t think about what might happen to you. And I’m sorry about that. I should have done better.”
Oh jeez. “Mom!” he protested. He didn’t want her to feel guilty about something integral to her healing process. “You’re not responsible for anyone’s actions but your own. This is his doing, not yours. And it’s not like it’s going to ruin my life. I’m glad you started dating again. I just want you to be happy.”
She blinked rapidly, shaking her head as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes. Steve felt paralyzed. His mother rarely cried, at least not if she wasn’t being paid for it, and never over something this minor. Rita raised her head and leaned against Marla’s legs; Marla tangled her fingers in her fur. “Whatever shortcomings your father and I had, we did a good job raising you.”
He swallowed hard. “Thanks.”
Drew returned a few minutes later, when Marla and Rita drove off. He held out a cold bottle of water and waited for Steve to take a few deep sips before he spoke. “Tough news?” he asked finally.
“Mom’s ex-boyfriend is our mystery blackmailer. She’s pretty mad at herself.” Steve took another long swig to ease the tightness in his throat. “Now that I think about it, that must’ve been his car that passed us when we were jogging.” His stomach soured. Maybe he’d drunk too much cold water.
Drew took the bottle back and set it down in the chair. “Hey.” He tilted Steve’s chin up so they met eyes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m… yes? I just….” Steve opened and closed his fists, feeling helpless. “Mom feels shitty and I feelviolated, and it’s probably only going to get worse when we come out and—”
Drew tugged him into a hug, and the rest of Steve’s words died on a shaky breath. Steve let the tension soak out of him and into the fabric of Drew’s shirt. “Sorry,” Drew murmured. He leaned their heads together. “We can cancel the interview.”
“No.” Steve pulled back, shaking his head. “I’ll feel better when it’s over with. And I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. This way we control what’s said and when.”
Drew smiled. “All right, then. Let’s go.”
ITwas a long drive into LA. Steve spent the trip on the edge of his seat, fidgeting, his stomach turning. Twenty minutes in Drew took his hand, which helped a little, and started talking, which helped a little more.
“Gloria Friday Nightis pretty relaxed. Normally we’d have a list of questions she’d ask, but we’re a last-minute substitution, so I just had Alan forward some no-gos.”
That, Steve supposed, was worth having a publicist in itself. “What if I throw up in front of a live studio audience?”
“You won’t,” Drew assured him. Then he paused. “Though if you do, you probably won’t have to worry about being asked to do another live show for a while.”
“Ha-ha,” Steve grumbled, but the levity did help him relax.
Traffic nearly made them late. They pulled into the lot and were immediately rushed to Makeup, where a motormouthed production assistant went over how to wave and clipped on their mics.
“I cannot wait until filming wraps and I don’t have to wear this every day,” Steve said under his breath when she finished.
