You Can Let It Go [ZARRY]

Forty Seven

Zayn:

Zayn, get over here,” Louis said. “You have to see this.”

It was Thanksgiving Day. I’d been back on Louis’s couch for the last week and had emerged from his shower dressed in black jeans, a dark button-down, and my black leather jacket for the family dinner.

“You look. . . ” Louis kissed the tips of his fingers. “You and your jacket. . .”

“It’s waterproof, which is good, since I feel like I’m going to puke.” I nodded at the TV where an empty podium in front of a small building was surrounded by press in the late afternoon sunshine. The chyron at the bottom read, Richmond, Virginia. “What’s this?”

“Your billionaire lover is on the news,” Louis said.

“Maybe he’s going to tell everyone how much he loves you again and then take a few questions.”

“Very funny,” I said without energy.

Louis had learned about the Halloween party after all, and I’d taken no end of shit from him and the guys for it. “Turn it up.”

Louis grabbed the remote and the screen switched back to the news anchor.

“In a surprise move, Styles Pharma’s chairman, Desmond Styles has made his son, Harry Styles, CEO of the company,
ousting interim CEO, Jeff Azoff. Azoff has been the subject of scrutiny lately, as internal memos reveal his shocking and callous directives to push the company’s top-selling drug, the opioid pain killer, OxyPro, into communities with reckless disregard for the drug’s potency and potential for misuse.”

The screen cut to footage of Harry walking with a group of people through a small town, a sheriff and a woman in a lab coat among them.

“More shocking, Harry Styles has vowed not to fight the torrent of lawsuits against Styles Pharma but has stated he is committed to quote,‘help clean up the mess we made.’ He’s been touring some of the communities, talking to bereaved parents of overdose victims, and working with local doctors and law enforcement to build rehab centers and bring awareness about this sweeping epidemic that his own father’s company helped to create.”

The screen switched again to Harry Styles at the podium, looking devastating in a light gray suit with a pale blue tie.

“Good lord, your man is hot,” Louis said. “You could get lost in the dimple in his cheeks.”

“Addicts need help, not jail,” Harry was saying on the TV.

“They need better, longer rehabilitation stays and access to the medicine that helps curb the addictive morphine molecule. Fighting drugs with more drugs might seem counterintuitive, but the addicted person’s brain is battling a disease, and addiction of this magnitude needs to be treated as such. And it is my intention to help fight this epidemic using every resource available.”

The screen cut back to the reporter. “That was the scene two days ago—”

Louis shut off the TV.

“Wow. He’s really making a stand. And he could’ve walked away.” Louis gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Gorgeous, rich, ethical. You’re one lucky bastard.”

I smiled faintly and Louis mistook my expression for apprehension about the dinner I was about to walk into.

“You’ll be fine. Your brother and sister will be there, yes? They’ll have your back.”

He put his arm around me. “You sure you don’t want me as your date? I can take out my eyebrow piercing. . . ?”

“You have your own family dinner. And I wouldn’t let you change a thing anyway. That’s the whole point. I have to keep reminding myself that my dad’s the one that has to take the next step.”