Code Red by N.R. Walker

Chapter Fifteen

Viral was an understatement.

It was trending on every social media platform, along with variations of Roscoe and Maddox, Moscoe is real, Raddox in love, blah blah blah. It was on every news entertainment site, every music site; it was everywhere.

Not only was there the photo of Maddox and I hugging, but now every photo of us together ever was being posted. Photos that were years old, photos from yesterday. Us smiling, us in Buenos Aires, in Miami, him waiting for me, him dragging me into the van, him wearing my coat, my hand on his back, me carrying his stuff . . .

So many photos.

It was . . . well, it wasn’t fucking good.

Then Ambrose walked in, eyes narrowed, iPad in hand, and one of his assistants behind him appeared a little bewildered as though she’d just witnessed him lose his shit. He looked at us all together, noticed the screen with the photo on it, and sighed as if he was clinging to his last thread of sanity.

Luke stood up. “It was my fault. I took the photo, I uploaded it without noticing what was going on in the background. I know better, but I’m so used to seeing them together, I guess I just didn’t even notice. I don’t know.” He turned to us again. “I’m really sorry.”

Ambrose was flustered and angry, though he let out a slow breath. “What’s done is done. It can’t be removed, it’s everywhere. But there will be no more private uploads until this tour is over. From anyone. I have no idea how PR will spin this.”

“Spin this? If there is an apology,” Maddox said, his voice a little gruff. He cleared his throat and tried again. “If an apology is released because head office believes two guys hugging is something to be sorry for, I will lose my fucking shit.”

Ambrose stared at him, so I tapped Maddox’s knee. “Babe, you’re not supposed to be talking.” Then I looked at Ambrose. “What he means is that if there is any kind of press release about this, at all, he will lose his shit. And I’ll be right there with him.”

Maddox smiled at me, then turned back to Ambrose. “Tell them nothing,” he said, his voice still low and rough. “Don’t lie about us, don’t make excuses, and absolutely, under no circumstance should you apologize. I give them enough of me without letting them post shit about my personal life. Let them talk, let them post whatever they think. I don’t care. I will absolutely not apologize to the fans or the public for being gay. There is no spin to this. Tell them nothing. Business as usual, and fuck anyone who thinks I don’t deserve to be happy.” He stood up and stepped over to Luke and he held out his fist for a bump. “’S all cool, man. You know what? I’m glad it’s out there. Leave the photos up. If they’re taken down it will look like we’re backtracking, and now if I wanna hold Roscoe’s hand in public, I fucking will. If we’re done here, I’m going back to bed.”

Maddox headed toward the door, so I stood up to go with him, giving the guys a smile over my shoulder as we walked out. I was so proud of Maddox for saying all of what he just said, and from the expressions on their faces, the guys were too.

And Maddox wasn’t kidding when he said he was going back to bed. He crawled under the covers, pulled them up over his head, and stayed there. I joined him for a bit, checked on him every so often, made him more honey and lemon tea, and gave him cuddles and forehead-kisses.

He read, he watched some TV, he stared at the wall. He didn’t sleep, he didn’t talk, but he rested his body, which was better than nothing. His mind didn’t seem to slow down at all though. He wrote in his notebook for a bit, still bundled up on the bed, and then he ripped out a piece of paper and handed it to me.

I should have asked if you wanted that photo taken down. Sorry.

I shook my head. “Nope. Leave it up.” I brushed his hair back so I could see his eyes better. “Are you worried about what people think?”

He shook his head, but then he shrugged. It was hard to have an important conversation when he wasn’t supposed to talk. He took the piece of paper back and wrote a quick line. Worried you didn’t want that.

“Baby, don’t worry about me. I just want to be with you. I agreed with everything you said to Ambrose, and if you want to hold my hand in public, I’d be okay with that.”

He smiled but it didn’t last long. He took back the piece of paper and scribbled something else down before handing it to me. What happens after tour?

I put my hand to his cheek. “Well, I think we should take it one day at a time. We’ll find a way to make it work, Maddox.”

He shook his head. “No. Me in LA, you here.”

Oh shit. That’s right . . . I was going to see my parents. Which I hadn’t forgotten about, I just didn’t realize it was coming up so soon. I was staying here for a week . . .  A week without Maddox. God. The idea felt like a lump in my gut. “It’s just for a week,” I said, aiming for conviction. “We’ll be fine. I haven’t seen my folks in ages and they’re just a few hours from here, so it makes sense to see them now. Plus, we have a break after the tour.” The truth was, he would need a week’s rest when he returned to LA, and I’d be back before he needed to see any doctors. But man, even the thought of him being alone . . .  “You know, I could always come back and see my folks after, if you need me to go back to LA with you.”

“Or I could come with you?” he whispered in a rush. Then he let out a shaky breath. “I mean, if you want me to. Or not. I mean, if you don’t want me to, I’ll understand. I can just go home.” He tried to inhale but it was stilted and he made a small gasping noise. His hands were trembling. Jesus Christ. “I shouldn’t have said anything, sorry.”

I pulled him in close and held him. “Breathe with me,” I murmured, taking some deep breaths in and out. I waited until he was in sync with me before I spoke. It didn’t take long, so I pulled back and kissed his lips. “You want to come with me to meet my folks?”

He squinted his eyes shut. “I’m just not ready to not have you around, that’s all. I didn’t really think of it as a meeting-the-parents thing. God.”

I chuckled. “I would love for you to come with me.” I kissed him again and put my hand to his cheek. “Is that what you were so nervous about?”

He made a face. “I wasn’t sure . . . Roscoe, I don’t . . .” He shrugged.

I kissed his forehead, his cheek. “You don’t what, baby?”

“I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to go back to my house alone,” he murmured. “And there’s nobody I’d rather be with than you.”

“Look at me,” I whispered. I waited for his eyes to meet mine. “There’s nobody I’d rather be with either. I love you, and I’d love you to come back to meet my folks. And I know you don’t want to talk about it, but when we get back to LA, we’re going to make some appointments to see some doctors. About your throat and about your anxiety.” His whole body flinched at that, so I tightened my hold him. “Listen, baby, please.” I took a few deep breaths, knowing he’d do the same with me. “I’m not going anywhere. And whatever the doctors say, whatever we have to do, we’ll get through that together too. Okay?”

He was silent and still, so I rubbed his back and kissed the side of his head. “You’re not alone, Maddox. You don’t have to fight these battles on your own anymore.”

He let out a shuddery breath, and he clung to me, trembling until eventually he couldn’t fight it anymore and he began to cry. I held him in my arms as he sobbed. I rubbed his back, I kissed his head, I wrapped him up in my arms, and by the time he’d cried himself out, he was asleep.

I wasn’t a therapist. I wasn’t anything even close. As big as this felt, I knew this wasn’t a breakthrough. This was nothing more than a crack in the wall, a small hole to relieve some pressure.

The dam was yet to break.

It was coming, though. I could feel it.

The next morningwe were due at the recording studio in Lower Manhattan. Between the photo of Maddox and me in each other’s arms and the video the guys uploaded, and the final concert of the tour, Atrous was hot news.

We got to the recording studio just fine. We spent four hours there, the boys worked hard and had a lot of fun. Maddox was kinda quiet in the morning. He’d taken some Tylenol for a headache, but his voice was fine. I’d been so swept up in them singing, I’d almost forgotten about the outside world.

Until we tried to leave.

Word had traveled fast. We were filmed going into the recording studio, apparently, which meant we had to come out at some point, and a sea of people greeted us. The police were trying to get the street cleared, traffic was at a standstill—our vans were stuck half a block up—and to make matters worse, there was scaffolding along the front of the building entrance.

It was a mess.

Our security was tight and I had every faith in Steve and his team, but there were news reporters and cameras, paparazzi, and an absurd number of fans.

Steve gave us the rundown. “When the first van pulls up, Amber you’ll be ready to move out. Blake and Luke, heads down, watch your feet, keep your hands down. Don’t wave, don’t stop. Move together, and do whatever security tells you to do.”

Fucking hell.

“Ryan and Maddox, you’re next. With me.” Steve looked at Robbie. “You and Roscoe will be in the third van with Jeremy and Wes, same drill. Heads down, move fast but watch your feet. There will be local security and the police. We should be fine.”

I felt better knowing Maddox was going before me and that Steve was with him.

“Okay, okay,” Steve said, talking into his walkie-talkie. “We’re on the move. First van approaching now.”

Amber, along with Luke and Blake and their security, went out the door. Amber could handle herself just fine, she didn’t take a backward step, not for anything.

Steve pointed to Ryan and Maddox. “We’re up.”

Steve went to the front, Maddox held the back of Steve’s shirt, and Ryan covered the back. The crowd swelled and surged, and the noise was absurd. The police were there now, trying to keep people back, and our van pulled in.

“Okay, we’re up,” Robbie said. He went first, Jeremy and Wes close behind, and me behind them. We were ushered from the front of the building toward the vehicles, which was no great distance, but the crowd pushed and shoved and closed in like a wave.

My only priority was to protect Jeremy and Wes and get them to the van. The screaming and the yelling from the crowd were almost deafening, the click-click-click of cameras, and the swarm of people was disorienting, but I could hear my name being yelled above the others.

“Roscoe, are you and Maddox together?”

“Roscoe, look over here!”

“Roscoe, how long have you and Maddox . . .”

Christ almighty.

It was scary as hell, and I realized that maybe Ambrose had a point. Maybe separating me and Maddox was a good idea.

We were about halfway through, almost there, when the yelling got louder, deeper, and closer. It was a frantic noise, a commotion, and it was aimed at me. I was shoved hard from the side . . . then everything happened in slow motion.

I was falling, and I knew I was falling, but I was still trying to protect Wes and Jeremy. There was a swarm of people like hornets, jostling, shoving, yelling, pushing. My head hit something really fucking hard as I went down, and my vision swam, my head spun, darkness ebbed at the edges . . .

But then hands grabbed me, pulled me up to my feet, and threw me into the van. Outside the van was utter chaos. Inside the van, I was sprawled on the first seat, my pulse pounded in my ears, blood ran down my face . . . but a familiar face, beautiful and terrified, stood over me, and he screamed at the driver. “Drive, drive, drive!”