Adoring Keaton: A Stand-Alone Friends-to-Lovers MM Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 9)

by Siobhan Davis

  “Maybe we should ask our PR company for their input,” Mom says, leaning in to kiss Austen on the cheek. “I understand you both want to protect one another, but it could end up helping.” She looks to me. “Being in a loving, committed relationship will help negate some of the seedier allegations, and it might appease the NFL,” she adds, looking at Austen. “Having an openly gay player in a committed relationship will be an easier sell for your agent.”

  “No,” we both repeat again, smiling softly at one another.

  Mom sighs. “Just think about it, and I’ll see what Christina says.” She moves away, to call our family’s chief publicist. Christina is an expert at putting the right spin on things. Even so, I’m not going to use Austen to try to win back some brownie points with the media.

  I made this mess, and I want to keep him out of it.

  “You didn’t answer my question about Dax,” Austen says, glancing between me and Keven. Mom is on the phone, and Dad is ushering our friends into the living room, plying them with coffee and cookies.

  Kev props one hip against the island unit. “Brock and Dax partnered up, and they sold the video to the porn company for a seven-figure sum.” A muscle flexes in Austen’s jaw. “It appears that Dax’s uncle is part owner of the porn company, so he likely set up the deal.”

  “What the fuck?” Austen blows air out of his mouth, his confused expression fixated on me. “How did this happen?”

  I shrug. “Our best guess is they somehow figured out that both of them were watching us, and they got talking and realized their goals aligned.”

  “That fucking asshole. I’m going to fucking kill him,” Austen seethes.

  “Get in line.” I rub a hand across the back of my neck.

  “How did they do this without us knowing?” Austen asks.

  “There is no communication chain between them,” Kev says. “At least not on their usual phones and email accounts. They obviously used burner phones and fake email accounts.”

  “So how did you even know Dax was involved?” Austen asks, still looking confused.

  “The porn company was quick to confirm the identity of the sellers. They’re hoping to pass the blame,” Kev says.

  “What will happen to them?” Austen asks.

  “Brock and Dax are MIA,” Kev says, “but not for long. As soon as those warrants are processed, we’ll put out an APB on them, and we’ll catch them. They’re looking at forgery, extortion, and fraud charges. Trust me, they’re going to get what’s coming to them.”

  “Forgery?” Austen asks.

  “The porn company anticipated this would happen, and they supplied paperwork this morning which we’ve already reviewed,” Kev says.

  “The bastards forged my signature on the consent papers,” I hiss. It’s not that difficult to find a copy of my signature online.

  “It’s a bad forgery,” Kev confirms. “Our handwriting experts will discredit it, and the company won’t have a leg to stand on. We just need to line everything up, and it takes time to cut through some red tape, but we will get it handled.”

  Austen nods, before turning to me. “I’m sorry, Keats.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not your fault your ex is an asshole.”

  “I still brought him down on you. If he hadn’t come here, Brock would never have met him and had a way to monetize the video.” He looks away, and his shoulders slump.

  “Hey.” I grip his chin, forcing his gaze to mine. “Don’t do that. The only ones responsible are Dax, Brock and Rod.”

  “What’s Rod’s part in all this?” he asks as Mom hangs up the phone. She moves to the living room, patting my arm as she passes by me.

  “His signature is on the consent paperwork, but he’s in a private rehab facility. I’m going up there with a colleague to interview him. He was either complicit—”

  “Or they forged his signature too,” I surmise, finishing Kev’s sentence.

  Kev nods. “Either way, I’ll have that answer tomorrow.”

  Mom orders takeout when Kade and Eva return, and our friends take off, leaving us with my family.

  I toss my prawn stir fry around my plate as I listen to my brother and his wife update us on the meetings they held today with campus administration and security.

  The college has agreed to allow our security guards to enter school buildings and lecture halls, on the provision they’re not armed, and they’ll instruct campus security to keep reporters and TV crews off the grounds, but it’s a tall order because the campus is large and the media is sneaky. But I can’t fault their willingness to help.

  It seems Austen’s coach attended one of the meetings, and he’s given his support to the measures, because he wants to keep Austen’s focus on the game and he’s keen to keep all mention of Austen’s revelation from the media until this furor over me dies down.

  The administration will allow me to attend classes online, if I want. I’m sorely tempted to take them up on their offer, but hiding away will only make things worse. If I want to stay at Berkeley, I’ve got to face this head-on.

  I just hope I’m strong enough to do it.

  ***

  “What happened with the game?” I ask Austen a couple hours later when we’re in bed. Mom and Keven are still here, sleeping in the other two bedrooms, while Dad took Kaden and Eva home. They wanted to return to their kids, and there’s nothing more they can do here. I tried to encourage Mom to go home too, but I know she’s worried about me, and she refuses to leave.

  “We lost, and Coach threw an epic hissy fit.” He leans on his side, brushing his thumb along my lower lip. “I played my worst game ever. I couldn’t concentrate for shit. I was too worried about you.”

  I don’t want that for him. A new layer of guilt settles on my shoulders. “How were your teammates when you were leaving?”

  He shrugs. “Most of them are still processing. Preston’s and Colton’s support will go a long way toward bringing the others onboard. Coach has warned everyone to keep their lips sealed. He wants to contain it to the team for the moment. He didn’t hold back. He said anyone who talks about it outside will be kicked off the team.”

  “I’m glad he’s stepped up for you.”

  Austen traces circles on my chest with his finger. “I’m not sure it’s for me. He’s in damage control mode, and he’ll do what he has to, to protect the team.”

  “He wasn’t outwardly hostile to you though, right?”

  Austen nods. “He was pissed I didn’t come clean from the start, but he seemed to accept my explanation.”

  “I think it’s going to be okay for you.” I smile. At least one of us might come out of this relatively unscathed, and I’d rather it was Austen.

  “Nolan and Alan are going to be a problem.”

  “I want to lay that motherfucking asshole out cold.” Anger resurfaces, and I know Austen didn’t tell me the worst of it. I know he’s sheltering me from a lot of the shit that went down in the locker room, and I hate he has to do that.

  “You seem to be handling this okay,” he says, staring lovingly into my eyes.

  “I think I’m still in shock. Thank fuck tomorrow’s Sunday and I have a day to prepare for next week. It’s not going to be fun.”

  “You’ll survive this, Keats. You’re tougher than you think.”

  “I couldn’t do this without you, and yet I hate that this exposes you too.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” He leans in, kissing me. “Just focus on yourself, and I’ll focus on me, and then we’ll be able to better support one another.”

  If only it were that simple.

  ***

  Monday is a shitshow of epic proportions. Austen left first, for his usual early morning gym session, and he texted me to warn the media is out in full force in front of our apartment building.

  Because we don’t live on campus, there is nothing the college administration can do to help with the situation here. Mom and I spoke with the building manager yesterday, and she is less tha
n pleased with me. This is an exclusive, highly sought-after building, and she fears my presence here will devalue the property.

  Bitch.

  She also said she’s received several complaints from other tenants, and if the situation with the media doesn’t die down soon, I will need to find somewhere else to live.

  Mom quickly put her in her place, stating in no unequivocal terms that me living here for the past fifteen months has likely already increased the value. She also mentioned the fact the rent has been paid in advance, up until next summer, and she finished with a threat to sue the management company if they even attempt to throw me out.

  I’d had an option to buy the place when I first moved in, but I chose to rent instead because I don’t see myself staying permanently in Cali and it seemed smarter to just rent.

  Now, I wish I’d given it more thought.

  I don’t know how long Mom’s threat will work, but for now, it seems I don’t need to worry about being kicked out of my place. It’s pretty pathetic to admit, at twenty-one-years of age, that I’m so fucking grateful my mom is here. Although I drew the line at her coming with me to campus today. That’s something I’ve got to do by myself.

  Reporters swamp my SUV when I exit the parking garage, and I’m grateful my brothers forced me to buy a car with blacked-out windows. I press down on my horn repeatedly, inching the car forward at a snail’s pace, until I make it out onto the road. I guess the days of walking to campus are over with. For now.

  The day is long and arduous with expected and unexpected outcomes. While the obvious finger-pointing and whispering was expected, most students have left me alone. I’ve had a few sleazy looks and a few shouted slurs, but equally as many sympathetic looks and offers of support. A guy and a girl from QARC, one of the LGBTQ groups on campus, approached me with an offer to join the group and attend one of their meetings. They gave me some info on other support groups, and it was the highlight of my day. I’m not sure I’ll ever have the courage to actively participate, but knowing they took time out of their day to seek me out, to let me know I’m not alone, means a lot to me.

  One of the reasons why I chose to come to Berkeley was the diverse student body, and they are known for their liberal views. I think, in time, things will probably settle down on campus, but I’ll have to come to terms with the knowledge plenty of my fellow students have seen me at my most vulnerable, and that’s the challenge.

  Along with the media. Because it’s clear they’re not planning on letting this go anytime soon. At least, not until the next big scandal draws their attention away.

  Despite having my bodyguard in the room and additional security resources around the business campus, reporters managed to sneak into two of my classes, pouncing on me in the middle of lectures, forcing me to leave. Austen tried to leave too, but I wouldn’t hear of it.

  Now, more than ever, we need to create distance in public, because I won’t let the media scum drag him down too.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Keaton

  “I made dinner,” I say when Austen arrives home after practice.

  “Where’s your mom?” He comes up behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder and placing his hands on my hips.

  “I made her go home. There’s nothing more she can do.”

  The video is gone from the porn site, and it’s been removed from all the main social media sites, and the various teams are working to get it removed from everywhere else. However, that hasn’t stopped gossip sites and news channels from reporting on it, and I’m still trending online.

  I shut down all my social media accounts because I couldn’t stomach the never-ending notifications, and reading the comments was doing nothing positive for my mental health. Though I have plenty of supporters, there are an equal number of trolls who are determined to tear me down.

  I grab my wineglass, gulping back a few mouthfuls as Austen stares silently into space. “How was your day?” I ask, shucking out of his embrace to grab the vegetable mix I parcooked earlier.

  “Fine.”

  Tossing the vegetables into the sizzling chicken in the skillet, I turn to face him, lifting a brow.

  He leans back against the island unit. “Nolan and Alan were being their usual prick selves, but the rest of the team seem to have accepted it.”

  “So why the long face?”

  He levels an intense gaze on me. “I’d have thought that’s obvious. I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, returning my attention to the stir fry.

  “You’re guzzling wine at eight on a Monday night. You’re not okay.”

  He’s right. I’m not. Because a bunch of reporters were waiting in the parking garage when I came home and they heckled me all the way to the elevator. My bodyguard might have physically kept them away from me, but he couldn’t magically glue their mouths shut.

  “Are you gay or bi or pan, Keaton?”

  “How often do you have threesomes?”

  “Are you into orgies?”

  “Are the guys in the video your boyfriends or fuck buddies?”

  “Do you only bottom?”’

  “Have you topped?”

  “What do you have to say to those parents who state you are a bad role model?”

  “What do your brothers think about you being gay?”

  “Did you cheat on Melissa with other men?”

  “Have you fucked any famous men?”

  “Are you into BDSM?”

  The questions came at me relentlessly, in quick-fire succession, and I tried to blank my mind, to ignore their rude, invasive questions, but I wasn’t fast enough to block them out, and now they churn in my mind, tormenting me on a continuous loop.

  And I just want it to stop.

  The thought of everyone thinking they know me now, when they know even less about me, is suffocating. Everyone thinks they have a right to comment on my sexuality and my sex life, and I can’t bear it.

  At least in class, I had something to distract me from my own thoughts. Since I came home, all I’ve thought about is the shitshow that’s my life, and it’s the last thing I want to discuss with my boyfriend.

  I just want everything to go back to the way it was. When I was happy. Not this miserable shell I’m barely existing behind.

  “Just drop it, please,” I implore Austen, turning the heat off on the stove and dividing the food between two plates.

  “You can’t bottle this shit up, Keats,” Austen quietly says. “It’ll rot your insides.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” I say, handing him his plate. I hop up on a stool, and Austen sits on the one beside me. “Today pushed me to my limits. It wasn’t all bad, but I don’t want to talk about it. I want to leave all that crap at the front door when I come home every day, because it’s the only way I can do this, man.” I hang my head as intense pain threatens to drown me.

  “Okay.” Austen squeezes my shoulder. “Just know I’m here anytime you want to talk. Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

  “I just want to return to pretending,” I whisper, not able to look him in the eye when I say it. “I just want to pretend.”

  ***

  One week turns into two, and the media attention shows no sign of abating. Daily interview requests continue to pour in, especially in the wake of Brock’s and Dax’s arrests. Kev and his team located them in Hawaii, holed up in a five-star hotel, where they were apparently fucking their brains out. Oh, the irony.

  Rod Williams was pivotal in helping track them down, and he’s critical to the civil and criminal proceedings against them. It turns out Rod was a victim in this as well. Brock was holding something over him which forced his participation that night. Then he used the video as further blackmail, causing the guy to overdose and almost die. His parents intervened, getting him into a private rehab in SoCal. He didn’t give his permission to release the video either, and it’s already been proven that his signature was forged too.

  Our legal team has sp
oken with Rod’s, and we’ve joined forces to issue civil proceedings for damages against both guys and the porn company. Our attorneys are cooperating with the criminal proceedings the state is taking, and there’s no doubt the guys are going down for this. Brock is also facing drug charges, because the police raid on his home found his stash, and both have been kicked out of Berkeley.

  I’ve had little to do with all this, but Mom calls me daily, and she runs everything by me. Instead, I’ve retreated into my shell, and I’m comfortable inside it. I go to classes, do my best to avoid the paps, and keep my head down, and I’m a virtual recluse the rest of the time.

  I know Austen is worried about me, and there’s a distance growing between us that wasn’t there before. I hate it, and I don’t want to push him away, but I can’t help how I feel. And right now, I just want to be alone.

  “Keaton,” Austen shouts from the living area of the apartment, and I drag my weary body from my bed, shuffling out to meet him.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask the second I see his face.

  “That bastard Nolan went to the press,” he confirms, holding out his cell. “He outed me, and he also alluded to a sexual relationship between us.”

  “Great.” I sigh, rubbing at my temples. “Even I didn’t think he’d be that foolish.”

  “He wasn’t named in the article,” Austen says, pocketing his cell before I’ve had time to read it. “It referred to him as a reliable source. Coach went apeshit. Called us all in early. Asked the guilty party to own up, but no one came forward. So, I spoke to Coach about Keven, and I called him from the office. Keven ran a cell trace and within an hour was able to prove Nolan had been in touch with the reporter. The idiot used his own phone.”

  “Please tell me Coach didn’t lose his nerve. That the bastard was kicked off the team.”

  “It has to go before a disciplinary board, but he’s been suspended, and I know Coach to be a man of his word. I doubt Nolan will be back on the team. At least something good has come out of it.”