When I was younger, I’d come with my parents to events like this. Everyone would stop and watch as my mom and dad walked down the red carpet. My mother would look like a Hollywood movie star from another era, my father, always right next to her, would watch her smile at the cameras with adoration in his eyes. I’d be beside them, looking at them with wonder, believing I was the luckiest boy in the entire world.

Before we walked down the red carpet though, I remember being at home, watching my parents get ready for the evenings out. Mom would be in her dressing room, make-up artists fussing around her, stylists pinning up her hair—but she never seemed to notice any of that. She would catch my eye in the mirror, and smile at her only child. She’d mouth the words I love you, Levi—she only had eyes for me.

And I knew she did love me. It grounded me, kept me stable in a world that could have easily got me all kinds of fucked up, especially as I got older.

But my mom loved me, and my father loved me, and that was more than enough. Even as I got older, after they died, and I learned how to play as a bachelor, I still never let the excess get to my head. I had vacations all around the world, women when and where I wanted them—but it never caused me to think I was more than a man. I didn’t let it get to my head because I grew up watching my father remain loyal and devoted to my mother and me. I may be a bit of an ass, but I never became jaded, cruel, or entitled.

Before the awards shows, after seeing my mom, I’d go look for my father. Instead of finding him already dressed in a tux as his assistant requested, I’d find him in the kitchen, leaning over the island with junk food and a grin. He’d wave away the housekeeper, Roselyn, who always told him to eat something healthy.

My dad would offer me the bowl of chips, the leftover chicken wings, a can of Coke. He may have been named America’s Sexiest Man Alive five times, but he was one of those people who didn’t have to work for it. Both my parents—they were just naturally damn near perfect.

I think that’s why the public loved them so much. Why the movies that they starred in together would become instant hits, why their photographs became so sought after.

Why eventually, their fame killed them.

They were famous in a way Brad and Angelina only dreamed about. Except my parents never dreamed of this.

They just were. They were in the right place at the right time, they met when they were young, on their first movie set, both wanting to act and both having the talent to get cast in more and more roles as they fell more and more in love.

And somehow, even though they became beloved public figures, at the end of the day, they were decent human beings.

Better than decent, the goddamn greatest.

And somehow I was lucky enough to be their son.

All those memories flood back as I walk down the red carpet with Jules.

And as I watch her work the crowd, I realize that in a lot of ways, Jules is just like my mother. I try not to get emotional as I clasp my hand around hers. As she poses for photographs, I lower my eyes to the ground, blinking back all those memories. Realizing that falling for Jules wasn’t unusual or out of character at all—she’s the exact kind of girl I’d always dreamt of finding.

She’s like my mother in all the best ways. Beautiful, unassuming, genuine—and not at all looking for affirmation from strangers.

No, Jules doesn’t need anything from the people on this red carpet, yet she freely gives them so much of herself.

I know deep down that Jules was made for this sort of limelight, or at least, she’s the sort that deserves it. Because she’s not chasing anything when she stands here and smiles, while she blushes at the photographers’ kind words and thanks people graciously for their compliments.

For all the shady people in this town, women like Jules make it almost seem worth it.

But when I see Sondra standing with Sawyer’s parents, Sophia and Henry, a different emotion washes over me.

Fuck. Why is she here? But of course, that question is ridiculous. Of course, she’s here. She starred in this movie alongside Sawyer.

I’ve read snippets of articles over the last several weeks, Somehow, they allude to Sawyer having some sort of sex addiction which is why he was cheating on Sondra. It’s bullshit of course, but right now, the studio is doing everything they can to keep the image of Sondra and Sawyer unblemished before the release of the new film that the studio has already poured millions into. They can’t afford to lose anything now just because Sawyer hooked up with a supermodel.

So, from the grave, my best friend has been diagnosed with a latent sex-addiction. It was apparently ignited when he met Gretchen. Fucking bullshit.

My stomach turns though, realizing the model Sawyer hooked up with, Gretchen, is coming here tonight.

Why? Why in God’s name would she be invited? My eyebrows crease as I try to make sense of this.

Having her here is intentionally inviting drama to this premiere—I don’t get it.

I look at Jules, needing to ask her what the fuck is going on, why Gretchen would come, who would even have given her an invitation.

“I knew we shouldn’t have come,” Jules says. “I’m really sorry, Cal. We can go. I didn’t even think about the fact that Sondra would be here. I was so self-absorbed.”

I shake my head. “It’s not her, what I’m wondering about is why Gretchen is here? Tomorrow’s headlines are going to be questioning why Sawyer’s hookup came to the premiere on the night he’s being honored in a memorial. Nothing about it makes sense, Jules.”

Jules’ eyes widen, realizing the meaning of my words. “I didn’t even think of it this morning when we were at Danny’s office. Gretchen was just so happy to have the bonus and the tickets, but you’re right. This is weird.”

“Where’s Danny?” I ask. “I need to talk to him, to understand what’s going on here. Gretchen shouldn’t have come. It’s awkward with his parents being here—they don’t need to deal with this.”

Jules nods. “I was so caught up in how you would feel about being here I didn’t even think about his parents. But why would Gretchen even want to come?”

“Everything you told me about her is that she goes wherever she can get good publicity. That’s it.”

“After everything, I think she would have learned—”

I cut Jules off. “Babe, that’s not the way the city works. At the end of the day, a headline is worth a hell of a lot.”

“But isn’t your integrity worth something too?” Jules asks, and her words just solidify my belief in her.

In our relationship.

In our future.

My parents would have fucking loved this woman.

“I think it’s worth something, I think our integrity is worth a hell of a lot. But I’m not everybody. And neither are you, Jules.”

“I want out of this city before it rips me apart,” she says, shaking her head. Her eyes are sad, and I wrap my arms around her just as Sondra, Sophia, and Henry see us and walk over.

In her ear, I whisper, “I love you, Jules.” Then I pull back, greeting Sophia and Henry with hugs and introductions to Jules—who they have heard all about already—and then offer Sondra a curt greeting. I don’t have time for her bullshit.

“I’m so surprised to see you here, Callahan,” Sondra says disapprovingly. “Didn’t know they were giving bartenders tickets to this event,” she says. “Or are you working the open bar tonight?” She laughs as if she’s said something funny. Everyone else just looks at her tightly.

Sophia and Henry know who I am, obviously, and so does Jules. So Sondra’s words just sound fraught and shallow.

“I can’t believe our son isn’t here,” Sophia says, dabbing her eyes, a slight slur to her words. She is unsteady in her heels, and I watch Henry steady her with his hand on the small of her back.

“It’s okay, love,” Henry tells her.

“But the night before he died he told us he hated this movie,” she says under her breath. “Why are we even here?”

I turn to them. “I thought you said you hadn’t spoken to him the night before he died?”

Sophie and Henry exchange a quick glance. “Right,” Henry says. “It was in the voice mail he left. You’re right. We didn’t speak to him.”

Sondra shakes her head. “We need to act supportive of one another right now, okay?” She locks her eyes with Sophie. “Remember? We are here for--”

“The tribute?” Jules says. “Right? For Sawyer’s tribute?”

“Exactly,” Sondra says, straightening her back. “The tribute.”

Confused at whatever angle these three are vying for, I lean close to Jules and tell her that I’ll be back. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Do you want me to come with?” Jules asks.

Before I can answer, Danny Bruneau walks toward us with Gretchen and Colette. Speak of the devil.

I need to get Danny alone and ask why he thought to bring Gretchen tonight was a good fucking idea.

But before I can, Danny’s already giving out handshakes and hugs, and Gretchen and Colette are in a stare down with Sondra. Danny works his charm, dismantling tension between Sawyer’s parents and Sondra, getting his models to smile at his old fashioned jokes.

Jules has moved on and is standing with Sophia now, discussing something quietly, but my eyes are still focused on Danny.

“Can we have a word, sir?” I ask him.

“Well, I think they’re gonna call us to our seats in a few minutes, don’t you?” Danny asks.

“It can’t wait,” I say.

Danny looks at me, his eyes narrowing. With pursed lips, he steps back as if using Gretchen and Colette as his armor.

“What is it, Cal. Anything you want to say to me you can say in front of my friends.” Then he grins again, warmly, but it isn’t a sincere smile.

I grew up in show business, I can fucking tell the difference.

“I don’t think this is a conversation for everyone, actually,” I say, my eyes darting between the women before me.

“Aww, come on Cal. Feeling nervous at your first red carpet event?” Danny asks. “Because, son, you have nothing to worry about with a girl like Juliana on your arm.”

At that, Danny turns to Jules and gives her a peck on the cheek, but he seems nervous, and when he moves I can tell his hands are shaking. Something isn’t sitting right—with me or with him.

“Anyone want a drink?” Danny scans the crowd for a cocktail waitress. He flags one down and she delivers everyone glasses of white wine. Danny takes his, drinking it quickly. Too quickly.

“Everything okay?” Colette asks him. Apparently, I’m not the only person clued in on the fact that Danny’s not acting like himself.

“Oh, I’m great. I’m great. Just dandy.”

“Okay, I just...” Colette shakes her head.

The waitress comes back around and Danny grabs another glass of wine, and when the waitress hands it to him, he seems to grip it a little too tightly with his shaking fingers and half of it sloshes over the rim.

The waitress reaches for a napkin to wipe the spill off the gleaming hardwood floor, at the same time Danny leans over to take the rag from her. His phone falls from his pocket as he bends over the floor cleaning the spill, and I reach down to pick it up for him.

The lock screen isn’t on, and a text message lights up the screen.

Maybe it’s tacky for me to read it, but I can’t help myself.

Danny still doesn’t realize he’s lost his phone, and the words on the screen are glaring at me, refusing to let me look away.

The text reads, “Video received. Payment made. Keep up the good work.”

Maybe it’s the word video that strikes a chord with me, I press on his camera icon, wordlessly, and watch as images pull up on his phone. Images that are being delivered through a private feed.

Images of the Fuck Club.

My Fuck Club.

“Hey, hey, you got my phone there, Cal,” Danny says standing and reaching for it.

“What the fuck is this?” I ask.

I don’t even look up, don’t register that Danny is coming toward me and reaching for the phone. When I click on the video tab, the first one is a video of my mother fucking throne room.

And it’s a video of Jules naked, on her knees, before me.

Someone is going to fucking pay for this.

And that person is Danny Bruneau.