“You don’t have to do this,” Joel said, watching me in the mirror as I put the finishing touches on my makeup. I’d asked him to come tonight as support, though I hadn’t told him the whole truth behind why I needed that support, and now I regretted asking him.

“Yes, I do,” I said, though I definitely didn’t want to. In one day I’d lost it all—Jeff, my career, everything—and it wouldn’t be long before people saw the tabloid photos and started reposting and sharing them online. The Flame hadn’t yet been flooded with hate mail but it wouldn’t be long. Still, if I wanted to get through this with any shred of my career left intact, I had to go out on that stage and deliver this stupid speech, no matter how badly I wanted to avoid it.

I applied more makeup to the dark circles that had formed under my eyes thanks to the sleep I hadn’t gotten last night after Jeff left. Thankfully, the stage was primarily lit from the floor, which would help minimize the risk of anyone noticing how ghastly I looked. The makeup alone wouldn’t do the trick.

“Why? What do you think it’s going to do for you?” he asked.

“It’ll make me look more respectable.”

“How? How can any part of this prevent the shitstorm that’s about to hit? Why don’t you just cut your losses and cancel this thing? It’s not too late,” Joel said.

“Yes, it is. The room is already three quarters of the way full and I’m not scheduled to go on for another ten minutes,” I said. “Imagine how much worse it’ll make me look if I cancel after almost everyone is already here. They’ll be livid, then they’ll see the photos of Jeff and me and really go to town on me.”

“So what? It isn’t always about what the public thinks, Kile. You’ve got to take care of yourself, too,” he said, his hand reaching out to rest on my wrist and pull the makeup pad away from my face. Yeah, I’ve tried not giving a shit what the public thinks, and look how that worked out for me, I thought, the images on the front cover of the tabloid flashing in front of my mind for the millionth time.

“I am taking care of myself. I’m not at home clammed up, drinking alone, and feeling sorry for myself. Instead, I’m doing something about it,” I said, knowing it wouldn’t convince him because it didn’t even convince me.

“Are you ever going to tell me everything?”

“The tabloid doomed both of us. That’s really all there is to it,” I said.

“I still can’t believe this, all of this,” he said. “And I can’t believe how well you’re holding yourself together. I’d be a fucking mess if I were in your shoes.” Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean I’m not a fucking mess, too, I thought. I didn’t dare hope Jeff wouldn’t be in the audience tonight because I knew he would be, sitting there with his stupid pen and paper, like the journalist with a job to do that he was.

Thinking of his face closed my throat as tears threatened to spill out of my eyes and ruin my makeup. This should never have happened, I thought, trying to steel myself. I should never have agreed to do this stupid documentary, should never have spent time with him alone, should never have allowed him to get inside my head. But I had and there was nothing I could do to change it.

What’s done is done, I told myself. Right now I need to focus on my career, or what’s left of it. When I saw Jeff, because I knew he’d make sure I did, I wouldn’t make the mistake of letting him in my head yet again. I’d stay strong and keep my distance—I had to.

“Are you OK?” Joel asked. For a moment, I’d forgotten he was there.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“It’s easy to see what you want to see, even if it isn’t really there,” I said and he laughed.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Just switch yourself off like that.”

“Necessity is the mother of invention,” I said, turning in my chair to him. He searched my face, a sad smile on his. “Don’t do that. Don’t you dare pity me or feel sorry for me. I don’t need it and I sure as hell don’t want it.”

“Hey, just because you’re a robot with your feelings doesn’t mean all of us have to be,” he said.

“Mr. Avery, are you ready?” a man dressed in black asked, thankfully interrupting the conversation I didn’t want to have.

“As ready as I can be,” I answered and the man nodded.

“Follow me, then,” he said. I stood from the chair and Joel grabbed my forearm as I passed. I looked down at him without a word.

“Kile, it’s not too late.”

“It’s far too late,” I said and shrugged off his hand to follow the stagehand. He led me around a corner and stopped me just at the edge of the curtain. The stage gleamed in the light before me and my nerves flared up. I swallowed, hard, closed my eyes and took a deep breath to prepare as the stagehand wired me up with a microphone. I can do this. It’s no different from all the other times I’ve done it, I told myself as a voice filled the room, announcing the start of the show. That’s it. It’s a show, an act. Just get through it.

“And now, please everyone welcome Kile Avery,” the voice said and the stagehand gestured for me to step out. I walked out onto the stage to cheers and applause, wondering if they’d still applaud for me once they laid their eyes on the tabloid. Still, I waved and clapped along with them. It’s an act. All just an act, I reassured myself.

“Thank you so much,” I said, my voice filling the room and surprising even me. “Please, please, take your seats everyone,” I said, and though a few people remained standing and cheering, the majority sat down. And then I spotted Jeff. Three rows back, dead center. He hadn’t been standing, hadn’t been clapping, so I hadn’t seen him, but now there was no mistaking his silver-blond curls and piercing blue eyes. I froze, and all of the resolve I’d been trying to build up leaked out of my mouth along with the breath I’d let out at the sight of him. It’s fine. I knew he’d be here. Just go, get started, I told myself as I scrambled.

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” I said. “It means a lot to me,” I continued, driveling at this point, but I needed the time to gather my thoughts. The buzzing of the bright lights on the floor in front of me filled the silence and my head for a few moments until I remembered what to say and decided how I’d say it.

“Love is bullshit,” I said, the same way I’d started the last of these things, only this time the truth of it had taken on an entirely new sting. The audience laughed, as I knew they would, and a few clapped and whistled to show their agreement. “I’m kind of famous for saying that these days, aren’t I?” I asked to more laughter.

I paused and stole a glance at Jeff, who wore a smirk as he scribbled something on his paper. A glint caught my eye and I squinted to find Ross and two other cameramen standing at the back of the auditorium. This is the last time. The very last time, I told myself.

“But I have to be honest. I didn’t always believe that. It’s a pretty radical thing to say and believe,” I continued, more to distract myself from Jeff and the camera crew than for any other reason.

“For a while, for the better part of my life, actually, I thought that love was what we were all supposed to be aiming for. That’s certainly what I’d been taught to believe, anyway,” I said. “And then I got cheated on,” I continued, to boos and jeers. “I know, I know. Screw the guy who did it,” I laughed. But at that moment, I couldn’t even picture Brandon’s face, much less feel angry toward him. All I could see, all I could think about, was Jeff. His eyes were locked on mine and I hoped he knew where I was going next.

“As bad as that moment was—and let me tell you, it was awful—it was nothing compared to what came later,” I said and the crowd fell silent, probably confused about where I was heading with this.

“I thought I’d learned my lesson when I got cheated on. That was when I started posting videos online about love. I suspect most of you have already seen them,” I said. “For about five years, I went on believing that love is, in fact, bullshit. And then I met someone, someone who made me rethink all of that, as much as I resisted him at first,” I said and looked back into the audience to find Jeff staring wide-eyed at me.

“I thought I knew what to do this time around, but I didn’t have a clue. Against my better judgment, I let this guy in, thinking maybe love deserved a second chance,” I said. “And maybe it did. I think I loved that guy, I really think I did,” I continued, my voice cracking, my eyes burning from the tears I fought back. Jeff was mouthing something to me, waving his hands in the air to get my attention, and everything else around me seemed to freeze as I read his lips:

“Don’t do this,” he was saying, over and over again.

“I’m sorry, everyone. I can’t do this. I really can’t,” I said and the people looked at each other, confused and upset, as I stepped off the stage. The stagehand gripped me, trying to convince me not to walk away like this, but then Joel was there tearing the guy’s hands off me. My mind raced, full of shame and guilt and confusion, as Joel steered me backstage but it didn’t matter. I needed to get out of there and fast, before anyone had the chance to see me like this. Before Jeff had the chance to see me like this.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Joel, my voice shaky.

“Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “Do you want to go?”

“Yes, please. I can’t stay here,” I said, and he nodded.

“I’ll pull my car around. Wait here,” he said, helping me sit back down in my makeup chair before he darted away. When he was gone and I was alone, I heard the commotion coming from out in the auditorium. Part of me wanted to go back out and try to right things, to apologize and give the rest of the speech as I’d written it, but I couldn’t. Not as long as Jeff was there.

I should’ve banned him from the event, I thought. I had the power. I could’ve called Lee and demanded he keep Jeff from showing up. I thought I could face him, thought I could stay strong and keep my wits about me, but I was wrong. I didn’t want us to be apart, not really, but it had to be this way.

“Kile?” a voice asked, the last voice I wanted to hear. I turned around to find Jeff standing there, his eyes watering.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “You’re not allowed to—”

“I don’t care. I had to talk to you. I have a press badge.”

“That doesn’t mean I want you here. You’re making this way harder than it has to be.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he said, stepping forward. I leaned back. I didn’t want him to touch me. I was afraid of what it might do, of what I might do, if he did.

“Yes, it does. We were never supposed to be a thing, Jeff. We fucked up by thinking otherwise, and we’re going to pay for it. It hasn’t happened yet, but it will.”

“I talked to Lee,” he said, sidestepping me and catching me off guard. “He didn’t have anything to do with it. He swears he didn’t,” he said and I laughed. I can’t let my guard down, not again, I thought. He’s trying to disarm me, trying to get back in. I can’t let him. For the good of us both.

“It doesn’t change anything. You know as well as I do we can’t do this,” I said.

“Why? Why can’t we? I don’t give a shit about NewSpin, I don’t give a shit about this stupid documentary. All I care about is you,” he said.

“I know, and that’s exactly why we can’t,” I said. “I told you, Jeff, if it weren’t NewSpin, if it weren’t this documentary, it’d be something else. We can’t be together because we were never supposed to be in the first place. God, I hated you then. I can’t ever go back to that, but I can’t be with you, either,” I said and his face fell.

“You don’t believe that. I know you don’t.”

“You don’t know half as much about me as you think you do.”

“Really? I know that you love me, or you did. You said so, to all of those people out there gathered to hear you talk about how much you think love is bullshit,” he said.

“Because it is bullshit!” I shouted. “Everything about us, about what we had, what we did, was never going to work. People like us, we don’t have the luxury of love. We just don’t. We’re married to our jobs, we have to be.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive, Kile. I’ve learned that the hard way over the years,” he said.

“Jeff, I’m sorry. I really am. I did love you, I do love you, but I can’t do this to myself. I can’t keep having to choose, I can’t keep having to sneak around and do things in the dark like it’s something wrong or something to be ashamed of, and that’s exactly what we’d have to do if we tried. I won’t do it. It’s not fair to either of us,” I said.

“We could quit our jobs. We could start something together, it’d be a powerhouse,” he said.

“You’re grasping at straws and you know it, Jeff,” I said. “This is over. Your career would be over, my career would be over if we didn’t stop things. You know it, I know it, and the sooner we accept it and move on, the better off we’ll both be,” I said and a heavy silence settled between us.

“Think about it, Jeff. Once the news about the tabloid spreads, if it hasn’t already, people are going to start digging. Who knows what else is out there? What else do they have on us? Even if we tried, they’d come after us. And even if we managed to fend them off, what would we have? They’d never leave us alone, they’d follow us everywhere we went. I don’t want that. Do you?”

I watched his eyes, watched as his heart broke, but it had to happen. I couldn’t let him back in, no matter how badly I wanted to. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again, and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he said and without saying anything else he turned to leave. My head fell. I couldn’t hold it up anymore, not with the effort of also trying to keep myself together. But I heard something, an odd gasping sound, and my head shot up. Jeff stood frozen in place, staring forward.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Jeff shouted and I leaned around him to find Ross standing behind him, his camera up and rolling. The air I still had in my lungs vacated and I felt like I might pass out. As if the tabloid wasn’t bad enough, as if everything else wasn’t enough, now this?

“Nothing, I thought we were still recording so I came back and—”

“Bullshit,” Jeff said, charging forward at Ross. He turned and tried to run but Jeff was on him in a matter of seconds, his strong hand holding Ross by the arm.

“Give it to me,” he ordered.

“What? Give what to you?” Ross asked, his voice high and terrified.

“The memory card. Now,” he said.

“It’s not yours to take,” Ross argued.

“Give him the fucking memory card, Ross!” I shouted. Fumbling with shaking hands, Ross ejected the card and thrust it into Jeff’s open hand. Jeff held it up, looked at it for a moment, and folded it in half as easily as if it had been a piece of paper. Then he bent it back in the opposite direction, forcing it to snap in half. He threw the pieces at Ross, who jumped back, his face white.

“Tell Lee to go and fuck himself with those,” Jeff said, his voice low but powerful.

“What the hell’s going on?” Joel asked, and I whipped around to find him standing behind me, his brow furrowed.

“I’d like to know the same thing,” I said, staring at Jeff.

“Kile, no, it’s not what you think.”

“How do I know you weren’t working with him all along?” I asked, my chest tightening at the thought. “You were using me, weren’t you? It was all a ploy, all a way to get your sad, sorry career back on track,” I spat, and then Joel’s hands were tight around my shoulders, trying to pull me back as I lunged out of the chair I’d been sitting in.

“Kile, no, it’s not like that, I didn’t have anything to do with—”

“Save it,” I interrupted and rounded the chair to get away from him as quickly as possible. I didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want anything to do with him at that moment. He’d sold me out, used me just like I feared he would. There wasn’t anything I could say.

“Let’s go,” I said to Joel and stormed out of the auditorium before he had the chance to try and stop me. Outside, there were already people gathered by Joel’s car, which he’d helpfully parked as close to the door as possible. They shouted at me, asked me questions I didn’t want, nor feel obligated to answer. I held my hands up in front of my face to cover it as Joel helped me into the car and we tore off into the night.