Page 74 of Saving Pookie

I mean to tell him that I'm fine, but the words don't come out. Instead, I simply nod and climb from my seat. By the time I'm exiting the stage, I'm half-convinced Braxton is following me, but when I look behind, he's not. This doesn't upset me because I need to be alone. I find an empty room in the back hallway and sneak inside to find solace in the shadows.

The peace I feel lasts for only a moment before I hear two men arguing. I peek around the corner and spot Mr. Pink and Talon at the end of the hall.

"Have you lost your goddamn mind?" Mr. Pink's voice vibrates as he tries to quiet his shouting. "You put these kids' lives in danger."

"They're not kids," Talon scoffs. "And they know what they signed up for. Reality isn't always pretty and nobody is interested in watching a circle jerk of kumbayays."

Mr. Pink balls his hands into fists and I consider the idea I'm about to watch a blowout fight. That'd be entertaining. "There's a huge difference between the drama of a couple splitting up and bringing a known abuser around." Mr. Pink retreats backward and shakes his fists, relieving the tension. He grits his teeth and he's right back at it again, cornering Talon. "If I would have known, I would have given Braxton a raise instead of berating him in my fucking office."

"Get off your high horse, old man," Talon cackles, shaking his head. "This monster of a show is all because of you." He pokes Mr. Pink aggressively in the chest. "What the fuck did you think you were signing up for?"

Mr. Pink quiets, his tone changing from anger to disappointment. "You're a gay man, and you should know better. You should know the consequences of playing around with serious shit."

Talon doesn't register what the older man is trying to say, though. That, or he's intentionally playing obtuse. "I really don't see what that has to do with anything. I'm just doing my job, and your boys made that extremely difficult. If they can't self-produce, someone has to be the bad guy."

Mr. Pink lets out a full-throated laugh, torn between amusement and rage. "I have to get away from you before I do something stupid, but don't think this conversation is over." He backs away slowly, turns, and rushes down the hall. He spots me out of the corner of his eye and comes to a quick stop, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I should have protected you. If you ever need anything, please know that we take care of our own. I don't want to leave you like this right now, but I need to go take care of some things before the show starts up again."

"Thank you," I whisper, and I can tell he doesn't want to leave. Not yet. He lingers for a moment longer before stepping past me. As he storms down the hallway, he glances over his shoulder one last time before disappearing around the corner.

First impressions matter. Sometimes, someone shows you exactly who they are the first time you meet them. Other times, they end up being someone else entirely. Based on my first ever interaction with Mr. Pink, I guessed him to be a pervert lacking boundaries. Looking back, I think he was playing a part. His behavior during that first interview was like a test or a warning—his way of saying, this is what you're getting into, can you handle it?

The answer then would have been a resounding no.

The answer now is that I'm still not quite sure, but now that lightning has struck, I'm going to take advantage of it to build a life I'm proud of. A life where I'll never be the victim in someone else's story again.

CHAPTER TWENTY

BRAXTON

We're about halfway done with this shit show, and I'm regretting inviting my mom. During a commercial break, I wave at her in the front row of the audience and smile, but it's faker than hell. It's been about twenty minutes since Pookie stormed away from the stage, and he hasn't returned. I'm starting to think he's not going to, that he's done for good.

With two minutes on the clock, I decide to go look for him and run into a frenzied Jules in the hall. "What the hell is this?"

"It's a reunion," she says deadpan, completely void of the usual pep in her voice. There are dark bags under her eyes. "The first one is always the toughest."

"It's an ambush," I sneer.

"Production wasn't happy," she says slowly, choosing her words carefully. "They wanted reality and decided you were all hiding too much."

There's a heaviness in her tone, tired with an inkling of sadness. She and Talon have been interchangeable up until this point, but I don't think she would have played any part in the Cameron setup.

Still, I have to be sure. "Did you know about Cameron?"

She shakes her head and ekes out, "No."

I give her a nod before brushing past her to find Pookie with only a minute left until the commercial break is over. I find him outside on the patio, his lips trembling from the cold. I wrap my arms around him, offering my warmth, and guide him to the door.

Once inside, he wipes the tears from his reddened cheeks.

"I'm so sorry." I rub my hands over his arms. "If you want to get the hell out of here, I'll go. Fuck this place and fuck these people."

"I'm not crying because I'm sad," he whimpers, and I lift my gaze to meet his. "There's this weight that's been lifted. It fucking sucks it had to be lifted this way, but I feel free from all this shit in my past." He ducks away, sniffling. "Maybe this is the push I needed to confront it? In some weird, fucked-up way, maybe Talon and Matty saved me from the chains of my past."

I purse my lips. "That's what psychologists call Stockholm Syndrome."

He chuckles through the emotions, the first honest laugh he's had all day. It's infectious. "So what do you say? Do we walk back on that stage and kick everyone's asses?"

"I'm ready to rumble." He readies himself with both fists held in front of his face and jabs each of them forward, punching the air.