“You can’t out him on national television.” Elliott.
“I can do anything I want.” Charles.
“Now, everyone, calm down.” I might have been the only one who heard Dennis.
“The hell you can.” Ozrik launched across the table, and Noah had enough sense to snag the back of his shirt before he collided with the producer and wrung his neck.
But Ozrik’s response started a riot.
Shouting. Cursing. Demands for cancellation, lawsuits. Threats of quitting the show.
Through it all, I couldn’t move. I could barely take air into my lungs. My chest ached. My head spun. Somewhere, on the periphery of my mind, I realized that every person in the room, save Jazz, had taken my side.
Every single person knew the truth long before Charles aired it on the screen.
Was I surprised? Not really. Ozrik and I had done a shit job at hiding our relationship. But at the critical moment of exposure, when my brain short-circuited and refused to join the battle, I realized that I had a team of friends who had gone to war for me.
That had never happened in my entire life.
A sharp whistle penetrated the chaos, and Dennis’s voice boomed over everyone’s. “Enough. Everyone, sit down.”
The shouting stopped, but no one sat.
The air snapped and sizzled.
Ozrik spoke, still seething and with barely contained hostility. “You edit all of that out, or I’m walking.”
“Me too,” chimed in several other people at once.
“You crossed a line, Charles,” Ozrik continued. “If you do this, you have no show.”
“I will call every newspaper from here to Canada and be sure they know what this shitty network is all about,” Olivia added. “They’ll drag you through the mud.”
“Now hold on,” Dennis said, hands extended like he was trying to calm a group of wild animals.
“No.” Ozrik’s tone brooked no argument. “You have the power to stop this, Dennis. It’s your company. If you let this type of thing happen, there will be consequences.”
The silence in the room was deafening. I couldn’t take it anymore. Somehow finding the ability to stand, I got to my feet and croaked, “If you’ll excuse me. I need… the bathroom.”
Ozrik touched my arm, but I shook him off, not unkindly, and headed on shaky legs to the exit.
It was Charles who called out. “Gale? Now, hang on a second. We can talk about this.”
I ignored him and stumbled up and down endless hallways until I found what I was looking for. The bathroom was as pretentious as the rest of the building.
At the sink, I splashed cold water on my face, doing all I could to bring my temperature down so I could think. I didn’t hear the bathroom door open, but I sensed Ozrik’s presence the same way I had on the day we first met, in a similar bathroom many floors below. My panic attack that day had been the result of travelingin a car for two hours while crammed between people I barely knew.
Like the first time, Ozrik stood beside me at the sink. I raised my head, meeting his gaze in the mirror. Water droplets fell from my nose and chin. I clung to the edge of the counter, trembling with the force of my grip on the porcelain bowl, fingers bloodless and aching.
Anguish swam in Ozrik’s eyes. “It’s my fault.”
“No.”
“Yes. I threw my headcam on the dash, but I didn’t turn it off. It was an accident. I swear.”
“Doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.” I ducked my chin and drowned myself in more cold water. My insides were an inferno, and I couldn’t douse the flames. Was this hell? Had God truly forsaken me? It certainly felt like it.
“Are you mad?” he asked when I came up for air.
