14. FOURTEEN
FOURTEEN
Of all the things I could’ve said, I said that .
I berate myself the entire drive to my parents’ house, knowing my mood will only worsen once I get there.
The unrelenting need to be honest with Gray is the only thing that loosened my lips, or else I would’ve just taken the denial route like I do with most people in my life.
It’s been easier for me to pretend—easier to get a few moments of reprieve from strangers than to allow everything around me to implode.
My parents don’t know about any of it.
I’ve kept up appearances over the years, asking friends from college to be a ‘date’ for an event or two. When I’m asked about my love life—which is rare—I smile through it and say I’m waiting for the right woman.
Woman , being the word my parents cling to, none the wiser.
If they knew the number of men I’ve had relations with in the dark corners of their bright world, fuck , I don’t know what would happen. It wouldn’t be good.
As progressive as my dad’s policies are, his inner circle says otherwise. Hell, his words say otherwise.
My whole life, I’ve carefully sculpted this picture-perfect mask that keeps me safe and blending in, another straight white man in the crowd, another son doing what his folks want.
But with Gray? That lie felt like hot iron on the tip of my tongue, and if I didn’t come clean, it’d melt the muscle right out of my mouth.
That wasn’t the right move, though. I know it wasn’t because he wouldn’t look at me after.
Not when I helped him out of the car, not when I tried to tell him where the essentials were, and not when I helped prop up his leg.
All I want is to show him through my actions that I’m not some pervert looking to snare him while he’s vulnerable.
I know that’s been done to him already. Not that I haven’t noticed his eloquent beauty underneath the grime and elaborate body art, but that isn’t what this is.
If I keep telling myself that, maybe he’ll see it—realize that I’m not a threat.
Saying I’m gay isn’t the way to go about it, though.
Scratching my neck, I pull into the private gated community my parents live in, feeling sick to my stomach.
I don’t want to deal with this right now.
I have other priorities and things to focus on, like getting Gray to Perry’s clinic and trying to convince him to stay at the summer house so he can heal and be safe.
“Ah, Mr. Kade,” Brent, the security guard, greets me at the gate. “You haven’t been home for a few days.”
Yeah, I live here too.
“I’m home now,” I offer a smile, feeling his eyes snag on my lips.
“Are you free later?”
Swallowing hard and running a hand through my hair, I flick my eyes over to the empty passenger seat. “Afraid not. I have to be somewhere later.”
“Oh,” he says, disappointed. Leaning down so his face is level with mine, he reaches inside my car to touch my bicep. “It’s been a while.”
“Not here,” I hiss, and he reels back. “Sorry. I haven’t slept much lately.”
“They don’t have access to the footage, you know. And they don’t have a reason to ask.”
“Brent, please. I’m tired, and I’m late. I’ll call you, alright?”
Hurt flashes across his face, but he nods. “Have a good night, Mr. Kade.” And then he presses the button to open the gate.
As I enter the house, I pass by my parents’ security detail, who live on site.
When we all moved to Seattle, I think they were under the impression I’d be married with kids by now because their six-bedroom home was bought with the expectation of filling it—maybe not permanently, but occasionally.
With the way my life has gone, though, I don’t have the time to entertain the idea of kids, let alone wonder if I ever want any.
Inside, I hear the gruff tone of my dad’s voice as he comments on something. My mom sighs as I drop my keys in the bowl by the door. The loud click of my loafers over the tile echoes off the foyer walls, sounding the alarm that I’m here. Still, though, I make sure to say hello.
“Mom? Dad?”
“In here!” Mom calls.
After cooking all day, you’d think the smell of roasted meat and veggies would hit my nose, but it doesn’t.
She can’t cook to save her life, so just as expected, when I enter the dining room, my dad is sipping his bourbon, eyes focused on his laptop resting on the table.
It stings somewhere deep inside me when he doesn't look up.
“Hi sweetie,” she coos and kisses my cheek.
I take off my coat, hang it over the back of the chair and sit. “Sorry, I’m late. Hit a bit of traffic.”
“It’s alright—”
“It isn’t. Don’t coddle him, Candy.”
Her name isn’t Candy—Candice Lauren, actually, but my dad has called her Candy my entire life.
She gives me a look that says ignore him and starts dishing me out. It makes her happy to feel like a doting parent, even if she left me, but I don’t stop her. This is how she makes up for those five years she didn’t live with us when I was a teen.
While I wait for her to finish, I glance at my dad.
We look nothing alike. My hair is dark brown like my mom's, and his is almost platinum blond. Those silver streaks are practically unnoticeable. His nose is long and prominent, and mine isn’t.
He has brown eyes, and mine are hazel. Whereas he's more lanky, I’m broad.
When I was little, I wondered if he wasn't my dad.
What if I was adopted, and my real one was somewhere out there, unaware that I even existed?
But then my mom left, and he was all I had. I realized what a stupid kid I was.
“Are you not eating, Ed?”
“I will later,” he promises, but he never does.
Mom clicks her tongue before making her plate and delicately starts eating.
Like a bird, she plucks a single sliced carrot and pops it in her mouth.
I follow suit, cutting into the tough, overcooked meat.
Clearing his throat, my dad shuts his laptop, leveling me with his stare.
I know I shouldn't, but having his eyes on me sends a small flutter of hope. He isn't too upset with me.
I haven’t fucked it all up…yet.
“How is the community?” he asks casually, but there is an edge to the question.
My thoughts immediately turn to the man I’m hiding in our summer house.
“Unexpected,” I say easily, but my skin crawls.
“It’s a real eye-opener seeing how many are without, how many struggle.
” I stab at my roast, refraining from itching my skin.
Lying always has this effect on me, but I can't stop now—not when so much is at stake.
“Poverty doesn’t make up the whole of the state, Hunter.”
“But most of it,” I counter before taking a bite. God, it’s like leather.
“Is that right?” A sip of his drink.
“It is. We could be doing more— should be doing more.”
My mom glances between the two of us. “Wasn’t that the point of this little experiment, Ed?”
“Experiment?” I ask, confused. I'm too hung up on the fact my dad is experimenting with me to consider my mom technically spoke up when she shouldn't have.
Sighing, he leans back in his chair, brown eyes on me.
“I’m not sure this part of our legacy is meant for you.
You are weak boned, and soft. Sitting behind a desk, running numbers, and dealing with things other than the law suits you better.
But I’m being pushed to make a decision.
You have the pedigree and schooling to put you in my seat once I take over as senator.
However , I sent you out to learn about the community, and you didn't. Instead, I discovered that not only have you strayed away from the very people who would be voting for you, but you decided to go shopping at a Walmart two hours away. That story almost floated right through, Hunter. I had to cash in several favors to get it pulled.”
I’m still chewing, still confused.
“What were you doing?”
“You want me to run for governor?” I ask once I swallow, shocked. “Dad, I'm twenty-nine! That’s never happened—won’t happen.” Being a politician was always endgame in his eyes. It's what he's built me to be, and I don't want to disappoint him, but I'm under immense pressure.
Being honest is the right move here. I'll never get elected, at least not legally.
“I can make it happen.” He is deathly calm. “The question is, do I want to.”
My hands start to sweat, so I discreetly take the napkin on my lap and wipe them. “ I don’t want that,” I insist. “I’ve told you.”
Aside from knowing we are bound by blood, my dad’s silent rage would be a glaringly obvious indicator we are related. It's a trait I inherited directly from him. So, while he fumes over my honesty, I fume over not being good enough for him to respect it.
Seeing where this conversation is going, my mom asks, “Can we leave work out of the dining room, please?”
He ignores her completely. “I’d rather have you in my seat than that prick O’Connell. Between the two of us, we could make changes.”
“And if you make me run, he will get elected. To the public, I’m an infant in comparison. There would be no competition. They’d wash the floor with me and no doubt drag up every little fucking thing trying to smear me.”
“Watch your mouth,” he scolds me. “We are at the table.”
I shovel another bite of meat into my mouth so I don’t say anything else.
“We’ll talk later.” The scrape of his chair over the floor makes me flinch. Grabbing his laptop and now empty glass, he leaves the dining room.
“You don’t have to,” my mom whispers. “He’s just stressed because that…well, he doesn’t want someone to come in and change things.”
“Like what?”
Shrugging, she cups my hand and squeezes. “You know how your dad feels about our state. O’Connell wants to take it up a notch. He just doesn't see things the way he should…”
Grant O’Connell is openly gay and far left. He’s as liberal as they come, and my dad has hated him ever since he started gunning for his job.
Oh, the goddamn irony.
“Then maybe he shouldn’t be such a bigot,” I snap.
I regret it the moment I say it. We both know it's the truth, but much like me, my mom still grovels for his approval. She might agree with me, but she'll never say It.
So when she drops her hand while I rake mine through my hair, I count down the seconds until I can leave, hoping like hell I didn't make a huge mistake.