Page 98 of If the World Was Ending

“Normally I’d assure you they’d never pick him because the Byrne brothers are the studio darlings, but thanks to the press finding out you used to be roomies, chances are they will pick him now,” Ford assured Colby. “Have I mentioned that was fucking stupid?”

Yep. He had mentioned it to Colby every chance he got since the photographer had included that little nugget of information about Colby and Hunter being former roommates in a caption on the Chateau Marmont Instagram. Every entertainment website in existence had picked it up and run with it. Colby’s team had been asked to comment on it, as had Hunter’s, and both gave the same standard response—it’s true and they remained on good terms, happy for each other’s success, and wished each other the best. Blah. Blah. Blah.

Colby sighed and ran his hands through his hair. In the end, he knew fighting was futile. He’d have to do this charity thing. Because he did want to win that Oscar and even if he didn’t think attending this event would matter in the grand scheme of that, Hannah and Ford thought it would. “Fine. Whatever. Fuck.”

Ford nodded and tugged both his phone and his pack of smokes from his pocket. “I’ll arrange a car and line up Briar and get Knightley to put together something to wear.”

“It’s a gift-wrapping event at The Grove. I don’t need a whole team,” Colby argued as Ford started for the door.

Ford either didn’t hear him or he just didn’t care because he kept walking, and the last thing Colby heard him say was, “Hey Briar, last-minute booking required for your boy Colby.”

The next day, Briar stood in front of him in his private bathroom and fussed over his hair. Normally, he didn’t mind it. Briar had become his personal groomer when he asked her to do it for their album cover. She’d done Kenner and Trevor too. She’d still been looking for full-time work since her TV show had been canceled, and so it was kind of a favor, but she was excellent at it. Now she was a full-time groomer and worked with tons of people, from actors to models and other musicians. In fact, today she’d come straight from another client.

“My god, how much more coiffing do I need. At this point, if it doesn’t look right, just shave it off,” Colby muttered.

Briar smirked. “It looks good. It would look better if you’d stop wearing the scowl under my masterpiece.”

Colby’s eyes shot up to her face, and her smirk deepened as she finally stepped back and gave him some space. He immediately stood up, pushing the kitchen chair Briar had dragged into the bathroom toward the clawfoot tub. He surveyed himself in the mirror. Briar had gotten his hair to look styled without looking too manipulated. “It’s good. You’re right. Thanks.”

He walked into his bedroom, where Knightley was holding up two shirts. The left hand held a sculpted gray shirt with silver buttons halfway down the front. The second was a thing, an almost see-through black T-shirt with a heavy silver-gray chunky knit cardigan on top. “I’ve got a necklace to wear with both of these. A longer one for the fitted, open-neck shirt,” Knightley said as his eyes moved to the key around Colby’s neck. “You can wear that if you want, but people might ask about it. You’ll be able to see it through both shirt options.”

Colby fingered the key on the chain that lay against his bare chest since he’d removed his shirt when Briar insisted he wet his hair before she started. He dropped the key. “How about…” He walked to his dresser and opened the second drawer. After a minute, he tugged out a vintage black tee with a black and white image of the Beach Boys' Christmas album cover on the front. “This work instead of that sheer black thing? It fits snug and shit.”

Briar spoke before Knightley could. “It’s got a Cobain vibe to it yet reflects the season without being cheesy.”

Knightley nodded. “Yeah, that works. As long as you pair it with the black pants and the black boots.”

Colby nodded and pulled the T-shirt over his head. Knightley’s phone pinged as he stood over the pants that were laid out on Colby’s bed. “Fuck.”

Colby glanced at his stylist. “My other client just ripped his shirt. Fucking hell.”

“You can go, if you trust me to make sure he finishes getting dressed,” Briar offered.

Colby wanted to argue that he could dress himself, but he did have to admit that he always looked better and felt more confident when someone else made sure he was polished. And he needed all the confidence he could get if he was going to be standing side-by-side with Hunter for the first time since they had sex two weeks ago. That disastrous first paparazzi encounter after that night at Marmont confirmed it. He’d been out with Kenner and Briar at a little dive bar in Hollywood across from the In-n-Out. It was supposed to be low-key and under the radar, but Trevor had waltzed in—make that staggered in—with Marley Dattilo. She was a problematic teen actress before she became a problematic adult one. And now she was Trevor’s go-to for partying and playing. Colby would call her his girlfriend, but he did that once, and Trevor nearly took his head off.

“I can quit her whenever the fuck I want. She doesn’t own me,” he’d hissed two inches from Colby’s face in their kitchen one morning. So Colby didn’t refer to her as anything other than her name. But when they’d shown up that night, a trail of paparazzi had followed them and hovered on the sidewalk. They’d been kicked out of a restaurant for fighting a couple of weeks prior, and the cops had been called on them when they made up two hours later and treated the sidewalk outside like it was their private bedroom. So now the couple—or whatever the fuck they were—was tabloid fodder.

Colby had left almost immediately after they’d arrived, pretending to be tired. Briar and Kenner had snuck out the back door because Kenner had driven and was parked in the lot behind the place. Colby had Ubered and didn’t want to ask Kenner for a lift home because he was fairly certain that Briar and Kenner were banging. He’d found him “hanging out” at Briar’s a couple times now. God, if only Colby could be bisexual, like Kenner and Hunter, then maybe this would be easier.

He waited by the window until his Uber arrived and then was assaulted by flash bulbs as he crossed the broken sidewalk to get to it. There was a lot of the typical “Over here, Colby!” and “How was your night, Colby?” Which he ignored, but when someone in the small group yelled “You and Hunter Law ever still hang out?” His step faltered, and his head swiveled to find the source.

It was a short, balding dude with an unexpectedly friendly smile. “Were you roommates by choice or by circumstance?”

“Started as circumstance and changed to choice, I guess,” Colby had answered, too shocked to not be honest. “He’s a great guy, but we have different lives now.”

“Sure, but like you still like him?”

I love him.

Colby had clenched his jaw and shrugged. Fucking shrugged.

That had made all the gossipy bullshit sites. Colby Keaton Won’t Say What Went Wrong with Friendship was the headline that pissed him off the most. But none of them were good. Hunter had been doing a better job when he was assaulted with questions, but he was an actor after all.

“Who has a crisis?” Colby found himself asking as he followed Knightley to his front door.

Knightley didn’t answer in words. He just fixed his dark eyes on Colby and flattened his mouth into a line. Briar pushed past both of them and opened the door for Knightley. “Do me a favor and text me a photo of his hair? He tends to fuck it up when he’s spiraling.”

Knightley nodded, and as Briar closed the door behind him, Colby stared at her, his jaw unhinged. She cupped his cheek. “I do this for a living, remember? It’s a new business, and I take all the work I can get.”