“Thank you, Wanker.”

Kian was watching the exchange, and I found his gaze now, but he was focused on Wanker. I was surprised. Instead of the normal reserved and walled-up expression that I thought he’d have, his eyes were narrowed slightly, and his head was inclined forward. He was curious about Wanker. When he turned to me, a look of approval flashed over his features, and he gave me the slightest of grins. Kian liked Wanker.

I liked knowing that. I wanted him to like my friends, and thinking of that, I still owed Erica the explanation of all explanations.

I asked Kian, “What time is Laura coming?”

Erica frowned. “The publicist, Laura?”

Kian answered me, “She’s here. She texted. She’s at the hotel, waiting for me.”

Me.

Not us.

I didn’t think he meant to say that or maybe I was being sensitive, but I remembered Snark’s words. “They’re his team, not yours. You are not their client.” He was right.

Laura was Kian’s publicist, not mine.

“Well,” Erica said as soon as the door closed behind Kian, “he was hella hot for the interview before, but seeing him up close and personal and when he looked at you”—she pretended to fan herself—“a volcano would’ve melted itself. The chemistry between you two is hot.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop from grinning. Erica was adamant that the media didn’t know I was there. They knew I hadn’t been earlier. The rumor was that I was holed up somewhere with Kian, so they were hoping for a lucky break. The plan was that I would stay and hide. Kian slipped out because that was what he did, and he was going to meet with his team. We’d connect later during the day with a better plan of how to handle my life being upended.

I sat down at the kitchen table as Erica started the coffee.

“I know there’s a lot of stuff being said in the news, but what’s the real scoop?” she asked.

I held my tongue, unsure of what all to say.

When she heard silence, she glanced back at me. “I’m asking as a friend. I won’t share any of this to anyone. I promise, Jo…rdan.”

Wanker pulled out a chair and plopped down. Raking a hand through his hair, he let it fall to the table with a thud. “She’s Jo. We met her as Jo, and she’s still Jo to us.” His head bobbed my way. “We’ll call her whatever she wants to be called.”

Both of them were quiet now, waiting for my choice.

It took me a moment to process this.

Jordan or Jo?

For so long, I’d been forced to be Jo. For so long, Jordan was met with scorn and judgment. There was none from either of them. My throat closed up as I choked out, “You can call me Jordan again.”

“Jordan, it is.” Erica finished the coffee and took the third chair at the table. She looked from Wanker to me and nodded to herself. “This feels right, the three of us together again.”

And…cue a litany of apologies and explanations.

I started, “Erica, I am so, so sorry—”

She held up her hand. “Look, I wasn’t born yesterday. I watched the case in high school. You were crucified back then. It was like you killed your foster father, not that deliciously hot mysterious guy who just left here. I get it. I do. I was just”—she lifted a shoulder in a shrug—“hurt that I didn’t know. And can I say, kudos for a dramatic exit from the party? That had everyone spinning. I mean, Kian came in and saved you again.” She pretended to fan herself once more. “If I had one romantic bone in my body, I’d be swooning.”

Wanker’s eyebrows pinched forward together. “Yeah.” He frowned across the table at her.

I bit down on my lip. Making things right with Erica was the first goal, but after that, I was clueless. For the first time in a long time, I had no idea where to turn to or run, if I should even run.

Clearing his throat, Wanker asked quietly, “What’s going to happen now, Jo…rdan?”

A slight chuckle left me, bouncing my shoulders up and down. It’d be a while before my given name would become normal to them, but that was the least of the changes I’d be getting accustomed to now. I let out a sigh and fell back against the chair, gazing around the table.

Wanker was concerned. Erica looked troubled as she was biting down on one of her nails.

I shook my head. “I have absolutely no idea.”

Erica’s hand fell from her mouth. She suddenly jerked forward in her seat, her elbows landing on the table, as the coffee pot was spouting behind her. It was almost done with the first pot. “What exactly is the problem? I mean, I get it. You were hiding from the media—”

I interjected, “And the nation.”

She kept going, waving a hand to me, “And the nation. I get that. But people can’t blame you anymore. Kian is out. He got out early, and they’re not prosecuting him anymore, so that means you’re in the clear, too.” Her head moved back and forth from Wanker to myself. “Right?”

He lifted his shoulders. “The public isn’t forgiving. They blamed her when the case unfolded. From the reports we caught earlier, it sounded like it was going in the same direction.”

Snark said I’d be blamed as a distraction from Kian’s retrial, but that wasn’t going to happen. He said the police weren’t searching for me anymore either. Those worries were done and put away. There was one big one though. Wanker had hit it on the head, the public.