53. FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-THREE
Go after him!
Fucking stop him!
I can’t move.
Keenly aware that if I follow him, he’ll make a bigger scene, and the Kleins’ house is right down the road, I stay put. I hold the top of my head, watching his figure get smaller and smaller.
Get in your car.
Make him get in it.
What the fuck have I done?
Everything he said plays on repeat in my head.
The way I explained what needed to happen sounded good when I rehearsed it on the way here.
It was civil, to the point, and I even reassured him throughout.
Nothing was changing except where he’d be.
The whole point was to keep him safe, to make sure he could still achieve all that he wanted while having a roof over his head…
I take a step forward, like there’s an invisible rope wrapped around my middle, and the farther he gets, the more it tugs, demanding I follow. The sky gets darker, the chill in the air bites at my exposed skin, and freezes the tears on my cheeks.
My whole life, I have tried to be a good person.
I’ve been upfront and honest with the people I sleep with.
I make sure to donate to charity.
I’m not prejudiced or intentionally cruel.
So why do I feel like a monster?
Why do I feel like this is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made?
We weren’t supposed to fight. I wasn’t supposed to make him fall apart and cry.
Fuck, I…I triggered him.
Blind, that’s what I was.
I take another step forward, hating that I can’t just run after him. Why can’t I? What’s stopping me?
Earlier, I was so certain that hearing those three words from my dad reaffirmed that I was doing the right thing. Keeping the mask, living a lie, proving to him that I was worth those years he spent raising me and taking care of me.
My dad’s sacrifices were worth it because I’m a son he can be proud of.
I think about my mom, about how she left us.
Our conversation pushes through the fog of heartache, reminding me she left for her.
At the time, it felt selfish. It felt like the worst thing a mother could do.
In some ways, it still feels like it. How can you just walk away from someone you’re supposed to love unconditionally?
Even if it hurts to stay—even if things aren’t ideal…
Grab a mirror.
No. No, this isn’t the same thing.
She is my mother, and Gray is… Gray is… Fuck, what is he?
Obviously, he isn’t unconditional, because from the very beginning, conditions have been placed, despite insisting there weren’t.
The first time he sought out my comfort, I pushed him away.
I made him afraid—made him think it wasn’t okay.
I flat-out told him we couldn’t become intimate, but I was the one who couldn’t stop crossing the line.
And now…all those promises I made—the ones I firmly believed to be true in the moment—mean fuck all.
I broke them.
I promised it was real.
I promised I wasn’t pacifying him while knowing it wasn’t possible.
I promised that I wouldn’t abandon him and I can’t fucking move. There’s nothing for miles out here—and even if he manages to find someone to take him back to his hometown, how safe is that? Both hitchhiking and the streets?
Could I have worded things differently? Better? I’m positive I could have.
When he started to panic, freak out, and curse me, could I have stopped and given him more? Of course, I could have.
But why didn’t I? Why did I let it spiral so far out of control that Gray is gone and I’m still unable to do anything about it?
You’re a coward.
I told Gray as much back when we first met. I’ve never been brave.
A braver man would chase him down, drop to his knees, and beg for forgiveness.
He’d swear to make things right, and he’d do it.
I’ve hidden behind careful words for too long, all the while knowing their true meaning.
After all, I am a politician’s son. I’ve been trained to maintain an image, to shape a story into whatever it needs to be to suit my best interests, and how to get rid of any obstacle interfering with either.
I hope you’re proud of me, Dad. It worked. I really am a politician.
I have said it so many times, but it took hearing it from Gray’s lips to truly believe it.
He deserves better.
“Someone better be dead,” Alex grumbles by way of answering.
I’m back in the house, smoking a cigarette on the couch, staring at the sketchbook on the bay window seat. “I need you to do something for me.”
Coward. Coward. Coward.
He yawns dramatically before smacking his lips. “I’m off the clock, sir. Or is this you finally returning my seven calls and twelve texts?”
“Alex,” I bark before taking a drag. “I’ll deal with Xavier tomorrow. I need you to get dressed.”
“Fuck that.”
“Alex, for fuck’s sake,” my voice cracks, “ please. I need one person to listen to me tonight.”
He’s quiet for a few beats. “Let me guess, your dad insisted you get rid of Gray, and knowing you, you tried to do just that while still pretending you and Gray have any hope of a relationship?”
How does he know that?
Before I can ask, he continues, “You do realize when I call and text nonstop for hours on end, it is usually for a good reason.”
I straighten, balling my fist. “What happened?”
“I didn’t want to leave a digital footprint…just in case…but Xavier got permission to buy OAT. He went right over our heads, to Mr. Davidson, and your dad. They already signed the contracts. Any guesses as to how a random mobster got that to happen?”
My mind races with possibilities. “I’ll wait.”
“Fucking hell, Alex, please .”
“Blackmail. Mr. Davidson came running into the office today, demanding to know where you were. I suspected something was off since the man does literally nothing , so I hacked into his emails. Did you know his password is password? What an idiot.” When I growl, he gets to the point.
“Xavier sent a file to your lovely bigoted dad and Mr. Davidson. I got overwhelmed looking at it all, but it’s basically every bad thing that your dad and Mr. Davidson have done, along with some very risque photos of Gray on his knees in the backyard of your house. ”
I nearly drop the phone. “When was this email sent?”
“This morning. 8 am sharp.”
All the blood rushes out of my face.
That is why my dad was so angry.
That is why he didn’t give me a chance to speak and that is why he fucking hit me.
“The good news is, congrats! You’re out of the closet.” And in the most sarcastic voice ever, he coos, “yay!”
“Fuck! FUCK!”
“Stop that.”
“Alex, my dad knows …he knows and he…and he…”
“By then, he was focused on our reputation, not wanting the media to know his wife had an abortion, even though it was medically necessary. We argued whenever you were at school. We argued at night and…I couldn’t take it.”
“It was the stipulation. I left without you or stayed and became a better wife.”
My dad’s demands from early crash into me.
“Get. Rid. Of. Him.”
“Nothing is going to come between me and winning this election. Nothing. Not your drunk of a mother and not my idiot son. Get rid of that man or so help me god, Hunter.”
“It’s only a matter of time before we’re both out of a job.”
“But it’s illegal! He can’t do this!”
“He did, Hunter. He did, and now we have to move forward. I planned on sleeping in tomorrow since, oh, you know, I don’t have a job.”
No. No, no, no.
“Alex. I need you to find Gray.”
I hear him suck in a breath. “Does this count towards my unemployment? The kid doesn’t like me…”
“I need you to find him and get him somewhere safe.”
“And where would I find him?”
It’s been over an hour…but he’s on foot, so he can’t have gone that far. “Start at Old Barrel.”
“The diner you love?”
“Yeah. Start there.”