Page 100 of Going Solo

I buried my face into his shoulder, sucking in the smell of him. He ran his hands up into my hair, letting the hood drop down.

“I’ve missed you,” I said.

“I’ve missed you too.”

Fiona got out of the SUV and coughed politely. “Before you boys get too carried away, can I borrow Toby for a second?” She was holding a pile of papers and a pen. Cole released me.

“I’m sorry, Toby,” she said, “but with everything that’s going on, we’ve had to beef up our insurance. We need you to sign a new NDA. We also need you to sign a release form for some incidental footage WebFlix might want to use.”

This was a punch to the stomach.

“I already signed an NDA and a release form when I did all the paperwork forPop Reviewjoining the tour.”

“I know, but this one covers…” She searched for the right words. “All the personal stuff that wasn’t covered by the original NDA.”

I shook my head in disbelief. Cole reached for my hand and pulled me towards him. “I’m sorry, I know it’s a pain. It’s j?—”

I pulled my hand away. The annoyance that had been bubbling below the surface—my frustration at being cooped up like a prisoner, of not being able to go to my own home, of my face and name being dragged through the mud in the papers every day—began to fizzle and pop. Steam and smoke began to billow from the top of my metaphorical mountain.

“Let me guess, you feel like I’ve got a gun pointed at your head?” I said.

Cole seemed to shrink at that.

“Tobes, don’t be lik?—”

Fiona raised a hand between us. “I’m sorry, Toby, after Jasper?—”

“You’re comparing me toJasper?”

“We know you’re nothing like Jasper,” she said.

“Ten years,” I said, starting to pace. “In ten years, I’ve never said a word against you. Not a single social media post. I kept your secret. I never outed you. I certainly never wrote a fucking book. The one time I spoke about you publicly, I did so with kindness and love and reverence.Despitethe fact my association with you ruined my life, my reputation, my mental health?—”

“Tobes, be fair,” Cole said. “It’s admin. It’s not about you.”

A car door closed. Fiona had got back inside the SUV—leaving the paperwork on the bonnet and leaving Cole and me to our fight.

“You seriously think I’m going to go to the press about you? I hate the press. Do you have any idea what I’m going through, what my family is going through? And it’s all your fault.”

Cole tried to pull me into a hug, but I shrugged him off. “It’s tough on all of us right now, but it’ll blow over,” he said. “It always does.”

“That’s fine for you to say, with your blacked-out windows and Jack Reacher in your back pocket. You’re leaving the country in an hour. I’mliterallyhiding out at my best friend’s gaff because someone was going through my mum’s bins.”

“Always put rat traps in your bins,” Cole said.

“I don’t have rats, I have reporters!”

“That’s why you put rat traps in your bins. Old trick of Robbie’s.”

“Arghhhh!” My cry of frustration echoed through the concrete car park.

Cole held up his hands. “Look, we don’t think you’re going to go sell us out. We know that’s not who you are. Fiona’s being extra cautious. After everything that’s happened. It would mean a lot to me if you would sign it. It’s meaningless. It’s basically symbolic.”

Finally, Cole had said something I agreed with. I looked him directly in the eye. “You’re right, babes. One hundred per cent. It’s symbolic of the fact you don’t trust me. It’s symbolic of the fact you think I’m here to profit off my association with you.”

“Profit off your association?”

I’d finally hit a nerve. Good. I wanted a fight. I wanted to see a bit of mongrel burst through the sweetness. I wanted to have this out. “Toby, you don’t even want to be seen in public with me. This whole past month you’ve been behaving like I’m a?—”

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