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My ex-wife sold a juicy story and pictures of our son to the press. Drug money, if I had to guess. I grit my teeth. “How much?”
Nora looks at me funny.
“How much did she sell the story for? How much was this worth to her?”
“One hundred thousand.”
“Fuck,” I hiss. My legs shake with pent-up energy. I stand up and squeeze past Nora. I need to move, need to think.
“I paid them double to stop running the story.”
Her words stop me cold. “You what?”
“It’s not going to fix the
problem. The story is already out there, but if this is the main source, I wanted to shut it down.”
“Thank you.”
Nora looks like she’s about to cry, which makes me feel like even more of an asshole. I want to hold her, tell her I’m sorry, and that this is just a rough patch we’ll get through. But I can’t. Not yet.
“I’ve also got my lawyer looking into the situation to see what we can do legally. His guess is probably not much, but maybe we can scare her enough that she’ll keep her mouth shut.”
“It’s no use. She’s a drug addict. All she cares about is her next fix. I wouldn’t put it past her to milk this for everything she can.”
“You’re probably right.”
A thick silence engulfs us. Finally, the pilot makes an announcement to prepare for landing, and I take the seat beside Nora and buckle up.
“Grayson?”
I drop my head against the seat and roll it to the side. “Yeah?”
“That picture of Jack…the one with the bruises… Will you tell me what happened?”
I swallow past the lump. “I was giving Jack a bath one night, and I found bruises on his back and thighs. At first, when I asked him about them, he told me he fell, but something in his eyes didn’t sit well with me, so I pressed him a little more. That’s when he told me Lorelei’s boyfriend was smacking him around. I saw red, Nora. I thought I was going to murder the guy.”
I tell her about showing up at Lorelei’s and the bruises I found on her face and getting arrested. I tell her the same story I told Bo, and by the time I’m done, she’s crying.
“I had no idea. God, what a bitch. And Jack…it makes me sick to even think of someone laying a hand on him.”
This time, I can’t help but pull Nora into my arms. Maybe we can absorb each other’s pain.
“We’re gonna get through this,” she vows against my chest. “I promise you we’ll get through this. It’ll pass, just like everything else.”
I wish I was as confident as she is. “I hope you’re right.”
Sunday fades to Monday. The normally quiet streets of our sleepy town are now bustling with news of my past. Despite Nora’s efforts, the story broke across the country. Even the reputable news stations are reporting it, which is baffling to me.
Children are starving in third-world countries, our healthcare system is falling apart, and they’re reporting a story about Nora Hayes, her new boyfriend, and his juicy past. What is wrong with our world?
Heck, there was even one gossip website that had a picture of me blotting wine from Shaylee’s dress with the caption: From Nora to Shaylee, this sexy single dad is making his way through Hollywood one starlet at a time.
Fucking ridiculous.
I take a drink of coffee and stare out at the crowd gathered at the end of my lane. Paparazzi are there in droves, vying for a picture or an interview, both of which they’ll never get, if I have anything to say about it.
When I first got home, I was pissed. I wanted to go out there and tell those fuckers where they could shove it, but Nora stopped me—probably for the best, or I might’ve ended up in jail. Since then my anger has eased to a simmer. I’m still mad at the situation, but now I’m more frustrated and agitated that they just won’t go away. They’re like flies on a nice juicy pile of shit.
