Asher rushed forward, ignoring Ryder’s warning shouts to stay back. Falling to his knees on the sidewalk, he jerked Cameron into his arms, holding so tightly his muscles ached.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Are you okay?”
Cameron clung to him just as hard, his slender frame trembling in Asher’s embrace. “I’m not hurt.” He burrowed his face against the side of Asher’s neck and gripped him even tighter. “I’m okay. I’m not hurt.” He repeated the words like a mantra a few more times. “Oh, my god, I can’t believe you did that. I thought he was going to kill you.”
Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Asher’s attention, and he lifted his head to track Ryder’s progress. The bodyguard approached Kyle’s unmoving body cautiously, his gun still held aloft as he used the side of his foot to send the 9mm spinning several feet away. Crouching, he pressed two fingers to the side of Kyle’s neck and shook his head.
Asher was pretty sure he knew what that meant, but he didn’t breathe easier until Ryder straightened and holstered his weapon.
“Is…” Cameron lifted his head and looked over his shoulder. “Fuck, is he dead?”
Asher tucked him close again and sighed. It wasn’t the ending he had imagined. It wasn’t even the one he’d wanted. Even the scared, angry parts of him that hated what Cameron had just suffered hadn’t wanted Kyle dead.
Not able to bring himself to say the words, he pressed a kiss to the top of Cameron’s head and nodded.
Chapter Twenty
Curled up in hisfavorite armchair by the fire in Asher’s library, Cameron thumbed his finger across the screen of his phone. It was a typical, lazy Sunday, and neither he nor Asher had any desire or need to venture out into the cold. At some point, he’d have to make the short drive back to Mission Grove, but for the time being, he was content to sit and read.
It felt almost criminal to be pouring over an online article on his phone while surrounded by so many incredible books. Yet, the pages on the shelves didn’t have headlines likeAsher Dare Vindicated.
Cameron sighed.
It was just one of the hundreds of articles circulating on the internet these days. Most of them seemed to be regurgitating the same information, almost word-for-word, but it was still better than the ones that talked about Kyle Ander’s tragic demise.
Police had arrived shortly after Kyle’s death, their lights flashing and sirens blaring. Cameron had been checked over by an EMT at Asher’s insistence, then he’d given his statement to the police. Since several of the reporters on hand had kept their cameras rolling, there really wasn’t much to investigate.
Open and shut. Bagged and tagged.
Cameron shifted in his seat as his stomach twisted uncomfortably.
When Kyle had pulled him away from Asher’s side and pressed a gun to his head, he had never been so terrified. Sometimes, when he was very still, when he didn’t have anything else to occupy his mind, he thought he could still feel the cold steel against his temple and the arm pushing heavily on his windpipe.
It had been almost a week since the events that had unfolded outside the studio, but every time Cameron closed his eyes at night, he still saw Kyle’s sightless eyes staring back at him. He had a painful feeling that it would be a while before he got that image out of his head.
Shuddering, he pushed those unwanted thoughts to the back of his mind and returned his attention to his phone.
Like others he’d read, the current article gave a brief synopsis of Asher’s career, then went on to summarize his involvement in the Mitchell Faraday case. Next, it touched on some of the highlights of his interview with Meredith Tripoli and even offered a handful of memorable quotes.
When the piece finally reached the part about Asher’s parents, it leaned heavily to Asher’s side of events from his childhood. It didn’t go so far as to make his parents out to be monsters, but it didn’t exactly cast them in a favorable light, either.
“You know,” he said, looking up from the screen, “there’s something I don’t get.”
Sprawled on the sofa with a copy of the latest James Patterson novel, Asher hummed that he was listening, but he didn’t look up from the page.
“You were a minor when you were picked up for shoplifting, right? Couldn’t the courts have ordered your parents to take you back?” He fully understood why Asher wouldn’t have wanted that, but he couldn’t figure out why the possibility hadn’t even been broached. “Or, I don’t know, charge them with neglect or abandonment or something?”
He was careful not to include the word “abuse.” They hadn’t discussed that part of Asher’s past since the interview, and Cameron was doing his damnedest not to push. When Asher was ready, he’d talk about it.
Sighing, Asher bookmarked his page and sat up. “I told the judge that I had run away and that I didn’t want to go back. The youth shelter he sent me to was for runaways, a sanctuary, I guess. Legally, I could stay there for thirty days before they had to hand me over to my parents. I made sure I was long gone before then.”
“Oh.”
It didn’t really seem fair, and Cameron hated that they’d never pay for the suffering they’d caused. He guessed he’d just have to content himself with their public humiliation. It probably made him a terrible person, buthe was enjoying every second of watching the media rip apart their lies.
Everyone finally knew the truth. About everything. Of course, Asher being gay would never be universally accepted among his readers, or even his fellow authors. However, the support since his interview had been overwhelmingly positive, giving them their first real glimmer of hope that things might really be okay.
Even Landon Dwyer was finally getting his comeuppance.
