Page 1 of All In: The Price We Pay

Chapter 1 – Evan

The sound of dull pounding pulls me from my dreamless sleep.

I open my eyes and turn toward the open bedroom door behind me.

Who the hell is at my apartment door? And what time is it, anyway? My fingers are clumsy, and it takes me two tries to get a grip on my phone.

Fuck.

Ignoring all the messages and missed calls—I don’t even glance at the time—I just jump out of bed. Although I’d rather ignore whatever drama is trying to break my door.

With my phone in hand and wearing nothing but boxers, I rush through my apartment. The possibilities of what could be going on race through my head, filling me with itchy nervousness. It’s not every day that I get yanked out of bed like this, but there are a few people in my circle who are known for this kind of thing.

Neither my mom nor my sister has called. That means my family is okay. Most likely the person at the door is someone from the building.

A call from my manager appears on the display. Instead of answering it, I open the door.

Derek is standing there, his face bright red. Ah. And my suspicions are confirmed.

Without saying a word, my manager, in a suit and with his shirt half-unbuttoned, pushes past me into the apartment. Strands of his dyed black hair fall onto his slightly sweaty forehead.

“Good morning,” I say sarcastically and carefully nudge the door shut, which clicks gently into place.

“There’s nothing fucking good about this morning,” Derek growls at me. He points at my phone. “Have you even bothered to check the links I sent you yet?” His tone cuts.

My pulse races. Derek has always had a short fuse, but he doesn’t usually misjudge situations.

“No, what’s going on?”

He swipes his finger across his phone and holds it out to me. “Does this ring a bell?”

My gaze falls on pictures. Grainy, lousy paparazzi shots of me and Joaquin. My heart thumps, and my world stands still for a moment. It’s happening. The scenario that’s been hanging over me like a death sentence for over eight years is rearing its ugly head. The point of no return has been reached. I’m exposed. Caught. My breathing quickens, and I can’t manage to use the techniques my therapist has practiced with me. It’s happening. I’m going to lose everything.

Maybe not everything.

Amid the onslaught of emotions, there’s this tiny thought: finally.

“Evan. Answer me.”

I snap my head up and stare at Derek. “That . . . ”

“Dammit. You’ve never caused any trouble before. When the rumors started a year ago, I thought they were some weirdos trying to piss you off. But . . . ” He’s waving his phone in front of my face again. “How am I supposed to deal with this?”

Like a kid, I shrug my shoulders. I want to deny everything. I want this to finally be over so I can talk to someone about it. I didn’t want any of this to have happened.

“Who is that?” Derek grumbles again.

My fingers tremble as I grab the phone. Dammit, the pictures are so blurry I can’t even recognize myself. I know who’s in them. “Joaquin.” How was that possible? We’d been careful. The panic makes me break out in a cold sweat. The pictures of Joaquin and me blur before my eyes.

Derek snatches his phone out of my hand. “And? How’d you two get caught by the paparazzi while making out?”

I glance back at the photos. The oxygen starts flowing to my brain again. Nothing has happened yet. Derek is exaggerating as usual. We’re not even kissing. But the New York Monarchs’ eternal bachelor is pressed close to a man as they disappear into a building entrance. That gives the tabloids enough fuel for speculation to out me against my will. “A friend. Nothing more. We’re walking down the street, man.”

Derek glimpses at the photos and nods. “Maybe. But this is the second time in less than twelve months. How would you suggest I handle this? What am I supposed to tell the press? Three of your brands have already sent their marketing people after me. What am I supposed to tell them?”

I lift my head and look him straight in the eyes. “I don’t know.” My gaze falls to the floor. I don’t want to see him. “That I’m gay.”

His loud, mocking laughter echoes through my apartment, bounces off the walls, and pierces right through me, sending a shiver down my spine. “You don’t seem to be quite up to date. Nearly all of your advertising partners have officially turned their backs on ‘woke’ content. If we don’t come up with a reasonable explanation quickly, everything’s going to blow up in your face.” Every word is a blow to me. It’s as if he isn’t listening to me at all, as if everything I say is completely irrelevant.