Snow Storm

Chapter 2

Harley

“I don’t got this.” He murmured the words under his breath, but one of the mods looked up at him when he spoke, and he frantically checked to see if he had a hot mic.

He didn’t.

He was either louder than he thought, or he was just being paranoid. Which seemed increasingly likely. The venue was crowded. The bookstore had a conference room on the third floor, which was sold out, and they overbooked, so it was standing room in the back.

Ethan actually did manage to get them to shave off a little time, so now he had to talk for forty-five minutes instead of an hour. But he didn’t think those fifteen minutes were going to feel like much with how overwhelmed he was already.

He wanted to crawl into a hole and not come out until everything stopped feeling like the walls were closing in on him.

He knew public speaking would always feel terrible, but normally, he could handle it.

He didn’t bother asking why right now was different. He knew why. He still felt a pit in the center of his chest from losing his dad, and he was stuck wondering how many people in the room knew that he and his ex had split. Harley had never really bothered with social media. He was obligated to post three times a month, and earlier on, it had been easy to show a glimpse of his life with Darren.

But his ex had started to balk every time Harley asked for a selfie, and he’d seen a few comments asking where Darren was. He never answered, but he knew there were people out there who watched for gossip.

And fuck, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do if someone asked. Darren had socials, but Harley hadn’t been brave enough to check them, so he had no idea if he’d posted anything about their split. If the world knew, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. It would save Harley the trouble of having to tell the story. But if they asked…

He was screwed. He’d make a mess of it, and rumors would fly, and then he really would have to start looking for a cave in the middle of nowhere.

“Water?”

Harley almost jumped out of his skin as he turned to see his agent. Ethan was hovering just to the right of the table where Harley’s books were displayed, holding a water bottle out toward him.

“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the bottle from Ethan.

His agent looked unfairly calm and poised in his button-up and trousers. Harley was in jeans because the fabric of slacks made his balls itch, no matter what kind of briefs or boxers he wore. And he had a very soft thermal Henley, which was the only thing keeping out the cold. He felt a little frumpy with his beanie-mashed hair and wind-chapped cheeks, but at this point, he chose comfort over anything else.

And at least he’d managed a shower, so he didn’t smell like takeout and unwashed sheets.

“Okay, so, the mods have a list of off-limits questions. The reader names were drawn by lottery, and everyone’s already been pre-vetted and had their questions and comments approved.”

That made him feel a little better. “And I don’t have to do a reading, right?”

Ethan pulled a face. The bookstore had wanted him to read one of his steamy passages, but he felt like he was going to burst into flames at the thought. When he protested, Ethan had tried to strong-arm him, but it was probably the look on Harley’s face that had him giving up the fight.

“No, but I’m going to hear about this later. I—oh shit. They’re starting. Good luck. I’ll be right outside.”

“Everyone, please give a warm welcome to…”

“Oh fuck. Here we go.”

“Watch the mic,” Ethan warned before dashing offstage and heading for the side door.

Right, right. The fucking mic. He bit his lip and managed a small smile as the lights brightened over where he was sitting.

“…R.J. Ruiz!”

The applause was thunderous, sinking deep into the center of his sternum. His ears began to ring, and his eyes watered as he walked past the doorway and up the three steps onto the portable platform. It bowed under his weight, though he knew it would hold, but he hated the feeling of not being stable.

Smile, he told himself. Smile and wave.

“Thank you,” he said when the applause began to die down. His mic was on, making little scratchy sounds against his shirt as he moved. He made his way to the center of the stage, where a chair was waiting, and he sank down. He wished more than anything he could be more charismatic instead of an anxious mess about goddamn everything, but he was who he was. Instead of getting fired up at the attention, he wanted to evaporate into mist.

Where was an old-school Bram Stoker vampire when he needed one?

“Thank you. I’m excited to be here to talk to you all today. Are you ready to get some questions answered and some books signed?”

The crowd cheered.

“Great. Me too.” That lie came a little too easy. “I’m sure a lot of you have come from pretty far away?—”

“Ontario!”

“Berlin!”

“Cornwall!”

“Take off your shirt!”

“Yeah!”

The statement was followed by raucous laughter.

He gave them a wave, trying not to grimace. He glanced over at the moderator to his left. She was short and looked a little bored, fiddling with her bookstore name badge. To his right was another woman—taller than her counterpart, looking just as disinterested.

Fantastic.

“Why don’t we talk a little about what got me here today, and then we can take some questions.” If he pretended people weren’t being weird, maybe they’d stop. Never mind that that had never worked in the past and probably wasn’t going to work now.

His spiel had been written to eat up time. It was something he’d learned early on. He’d written down a dozen scripts with variations on them so he could cycle through them during book talks, and so far, he hadn’t been called out for having something pre-written.

Harley could recite without having to think, which helped him calm some of his anxiety, and even though the heat in the room and the sound of people moving around and muttering and breathing were starting to get to him, he could focus.

The real test would come with the questions.

It didn’t take long for the mods to start calling people up, and the first ten were questions he was used to answering. How did he get his start in writing? What was he planning on doing next? What did his writing day look like? What kind of advice did he have for someone just starting out?

“How did you choose your pen name?”

That was one he got a lot. He smiled, thinking of his abuela. She was the only part of his childhood with his mom that gave him the warm fuzzies, but she’d died long before he got the chance to show her he could be more than just the strange little child that sat at her knee while she told him stories.

“It was a tribute to my grandmother. She wasn’t actually my mom’s mom, but she took her in when she was really little, and she was always really supportive of me. I wish she could be here today to see this. She’d definitely be more entertaining than I am.”

A few people laughed as the mic was passed to the next person in line. And then the next. Then the next.

A couple of people asked about his family and were polite when he declined to answer with any real detail. But when a man took the mic with a dark smirk, Harley knew he was going to be a problem. He’d seen that look before—the mischievous look of a person who knew they were about to attempt to get away with breaking the rules.

His stomach tightened.

“My name is Roy.”

Harley managed a smile. “Nice to meet you, Roy. What’s your question?”

Roy took a long beat, his smirk going wider. “So, it was posted online that you and your fiancé broke up, but that was after this book came out. I was wondering if you were inspired by your ex when you wrote the sex scenes in Disastrously Dead .”

Harley’s ears started to ring so loud he couldn’t hear the crowd’s murmur. Both of those questions were off the table. He licked his lips as his hearing came back online.

“Um…I’m sorry?”

“It wasn’t kinky, but it definitely wasn’t vanilla or fade to black like you’d been writing before. Did you and your ex act out those scenes before you wrote them down so they’d be accurate? The one with the oil and the glass dildo was so hot. I almost came in my pants by the time I was done.”

Harley’s entire body went hot with something that felt like shame and panic. This was not supposed to happen. They were supposed to stop this. His gaze turned frantically to the mod to his left. She was on her phone. The one on the right was talking with an audience member.

Ethan was nowhere to be found.

Harley cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. Boundaries. He had to set boundaries. “I appreciate your question, but that was on the list of things I’m not comfortable answering.”

Roy’s smirk turned into a full-blown smile. “So you’re what? Overwhelmed with internalized homophobia? Is that why you think gay sex is uncomfortable to talk about in public?”

“I—” Oh fuck. He was shaking, and his eyes were hot. His ears started to ring. He could feel the panic attack creeping up his spine. “That’s incredibly inappropriate.”

Roy laughed into the mic. “ Wait . You think queer sex is inappropriate?”

“I think discussing my personal sex life with a room full of strangers is?—”

Roy cut him off again. “What kind of self-proclaimed queer author can put it in a book for millions of people to read but can’t even say it in a room full of your own readers? That’s pretty weird. Is there any truth to the online rumor that you don’t write your own books? There’s a website claiming that your books are written by a ghostwriter who doesn’t want to be publicly known, and they hired some average-looking straight dude to fill in the role of author to protect him.”

“I don’t?—”

“Have you heard of the Reddit account dedicated to uncovering your real identity? One man on there claims he has your home address, phone number, even your mom’s name. Is that true?”

His heart was beating out of his chest. He stood and pulled the mic from his shirt. “Thank you. That’s enough for today.”

The room erupted into cries of protests, and the mods turned to him, but he didn’t give them a chance to stop anything. He was gone before anyone could say another word. He swore he felt someone grab at his sleeve, but he was too on edge to stop.

He stormed past the side door and found himself in the little nook beside the main hallway. He didn’t make it five steps before he felt a touch on his arm, and he spun, shoving the stranger away. But it wasn’t a stranger. It was Ethan, and he looked furious.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get back in there!”

Harley’s eyes felt like they were going to pop right out of his skull. “Are you serious? Did you hear that shit?”

“I did. And you need to nut up and be a fucking adult, Harley. Running is going to make everyone think those rumors are true! You get back in there and deal with uncomfortable questions. This is not how you’re contracted to behave.”

His face went red-hot. “You’re joking, right? You told me the people were vetted. You said the mods gave out a list of topics that I wasn’t going to discuss, and people have been trampling over those all afternoon, and the mods did nothing to stop it. I’m allowed to set boundaries!”

“Oh fucking Christ. Spare me the therapy speak, Harley. Get your fucking ass back in there and apologize to your readers.”

“Are you joking with me?”

“No,” Ethan said with an incredulous laugh. “I’m deadly serious. Get your fucking ass back in there, apologize to that man, describe your dick down to the freckles if that’s what he wants, and make this right. You’re nothing without all of this, Harley. Fix it.”

Harley couldn’t help his laugh. The sound was high and tight. He was on the verge of snapping. Then he heard a shutter sound from behind him and spun to see a crowd of people behind him.

The little hallway was connected to the main hallway, and it looked like half the attendees had come out to see what was going on. There were phones up, recording him and Ethan, and he had no idea how long they’d been there.

But somehow, for the first time in his life, he’d run out of fucks.

“If you did your job properly,” he said, his voice low and furious, “this wouldn’t have happened.”

Ethan barked a laugh. “Oh yeah? And if you were half as talented as your ego, you wouldn’t need to do little signings like this to keep from going broke. You’re not important to this industry. You’re a sad little nobody who can’t even keep his broke-ass boyfriend interested in him. It’s no wonder why he left you. I should have fucked him when he came on to me.”

Something snapped. His vision whited out, and he felt like he was standing outside of his body.

“Yeah.” His voice sounded hollow, like it wasn’t his own. “Maybe you should have.” And then Harley punched him before his entire world went black.