Chapter 12 #2
"And who's this?" Christopher holds out his hand as his eyes travel over James with unconcealed interest.
"James Hunter." His arm slides around my waist, returning the handshake, pulling me slightly back and away from Christopher. "The boyfriend." The words are polite. The body language is pure 'fuck off.'
Christopher's attempted handshake hangs in the air, ignored. He drops it with a tight smile. "Christopher Montgomery. Old family friend. I've known Caleb since he was a teenager."
"Fascinating." James’s tone is all kinds of flat and dismissive.
The exchange makes me feel ill. James subtly shifts in close to me, his arm tightening around my waist in a move that feels protective and real to me.
"Anyway," James continues smoothly, dismissing Christopher completely. "I'm afraid we need to speak with the Hendersons before they leave. You will excuse us?"
He navigates us away before Christopher can respond, steering me toward a quieter corner of the room.
"You okay?" he asks once we're out of earshot. "You went pale."
"I'm fine… Actually, no. I'm not. Who are the Hendersons?
“I don't know, but it sounded good.”
I stare at him for a second, then start laughing. The absurdity of James making up random people just to escape Christopher breaks through the tension.
"Seemed to work." James's half-smile fades quickly. "But you're still pale."
I glance over his shoulder and see Christopher watching us from across the room. "Christopher is... complicated."
James studies my face, concern evident in his expression. "Ex-boyfriend?"
"No. Nothing like that. It's a long story."
"I've got time," he says simply.
Before I can decide how much to reveal, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I check the display and feel a fresh wave of tension. "It's my father."
"Do you need privacy?"
I should say yes. This call will undoubtedly be uncomfortable, full of subtle interrogation about James and reminders of family expectations. But suddenly, I don't want to face it alone.
"No, not from you. But let's step outside."
We find a small balcony off the main hall, the cool night air a relief after the stuffiness inside. I answer the call, putting it on speaker so I don't have to press the phone to my ear.
"Father." My greeting is formal as usual when he calls. "How's Washington?"
"Productive," he replies, his voice as measured as always. "Your mother tells me the event is going well."
"Yes, good turnout. The Richardson Foundation pledged additional support."
"Excellent." There's a brief pause. "She also mentioned you brought a guest. Hunter, was it?"
Glancing at James, who stands a respectful distance away, giving me space while still being present. "Yes, James Hunter. He's here with me now."
"I see." My father's disapproval manages to travel through the phone without being explicitly expressed. "This is the same young man you mentioned to your mother? The computer student?"
"Computer science and security. Yes, same person."
"Hmm." Another weighted pause. "You understand he hasn't been vetted by staff yet. What exactly do you know about this young man's background?"
The question ignites a flare of anger deep inside me. "I know everything I need to know, Father."
"Don't be naive, Caleb," he says sharply. "You're the son of a Senate candidate. Anyone you associate with reflects on the campaign."
"James isn't a security risk." It's a struggle to keep my voice level. "He's in the last year of his degree before going on to a graduate program. James has a spotless record."
"According to whom? Our background check is still processing, but preliminary findings suggest some irregularities."
Freezing, I look at James, who has gone very still. "What kind of irregularities?" I ask, though I already suspect the answer.
"Foster care system. Multiple schools. Gaps in his history. These things raise questions."
The casual dismissal of James's entire life experience as "irregularities" sends a fresh wave of anger through me. "Those aren't irregularities, Father. They are circumstances that were beyond his control."
"Nevertheless, they present potential complications." My father's voice remains calm as it makes me see red. "Which is why your mother and I think it would be more appropriate for you to attend the Thompson gala next weekend with Christopher Montgomery instead."
The suggestion hits me like a physical blow. "Did I hear you right? No, seriously, did you just suggest I go anywhere near Christopher Fucking Montgomery! That's never going to happen." I hiss loudly into the phone.
My father blows right over my outburst like it never happened. "He's from a good family, Caleb. Well-connected, discreet, understands how these things work."
"I know exactly how Christopher works." There is no fucking way I will ever be alone with him again. "And I'm not going anywhere with him."
"You're being unreasonable," my father sighs. "What happened four years ago was unfortunate, but—"
"Unfortunate?" I cut him off when my control finally snaps. "Is that what we're calling it now? He was twenty-eight, I was barely eighteen, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. But sure, let's call it 'unfortunate' because his father writes big checks to your campaign."
James has moved even closer now, his expression darkening as he listens.
"You're exaggerating what happened," my father insists. "Christopher had too much to drink, made a pass that you rejected, end of story. The Montgomerys have been very understanding about the whole thing."
"Understanding? They have been understanding and I’ve been what…" I can’t believe what he is saying. I know my father doesn’t really care about my feelings, but this is beyond anything I could have imagined he would suggest.
"I had to push him off! He tried to—" I stop myself, too aware of James listening, of wounds I don't want to reopen. "I'm not discussing this further. I won't be attending any events with Christopher. Ever."
"This isn't about you, Caleb," my father says, his patience clearly wearing thin. "This is about the family, the campaign, the greater good we're trying to achieve."
“The greater good doesn't justify throwing your barely of age son to a person like—," my anger is so intense that I can't finish the sentence, and I realize I'm shaking when James pulls me into his arms.
There's a long silence on the other end. When my father speaks again, his voice has that dangerous quietness I've learned to dread.
"You've always been selfish, Caleb. Always putting your comfort above family obligations.
Your mother and I have supported your...
lifestyle choices... despite the political complications they create.
The least you could do is show some gratitude by making connections that benefit the campaign instead of indulging in these destructive rebellions. "
The words land like blows, each one finding its mark with practiced precision. I should be used to this by now, the manipulation, the guilt, the subtle reminders that my sexuality is something they "tolerate" for appearance's sake while using it as a political tool when convenient.
But it still hurts. Every. Single. Time.
"I have to go." My voice is hollow. "Guests to attend to."
"Caleb—" my father begins, but I end the call, slipping the phone back into my pocket with a hand that's not quite steady.
For a moment, no one speaks. I can't look at James, can't bear to see pity or, worse, disgust on his face after what he heard.