39. Graham
39
GRAHAM
“ W e found something on her.” My father pushes a manilla folder toward me on the coffee table. I’m on the couch in the gentleman’s den next to my brother Holden, whose smug look of satisfaction lets me know he’s had his hands all over this folder. His ruthless streak is showing, and it’s not my favorite side of him.
“She’s not gonna want this coming out,” Holden says.
Leaning forward, I flip open the nondescript file. The first page is a screen capture of Avery’s profile with Katia’s escort agency.
I shut my eyes and wrack my brain with what the appropriate reaction to this news I already knew should be. Denial? Anger? Shock? Disgust?
I know exactly who Avery is, or at least, I did. And now my family does, too.
“Whoa,” I say, but it comes out flat.
“Gives new meaning to the whole Madonna-whore thing doesn’t it?” Holden chuckles.
I glare at him. “Could you not?” I’m sweating through my undershirt already. I need to tell them about Gibson and Marianne—the video—which is far worse than Avery’s sketchy history, but they haven’t given me an opening—too excited to share what they dug up on my wife.
“Too soon? Anyway, I got in touch with Greg Simpson. We paid his retainer, so he’ll represent you in the divorce. Avery’ll probably end up having to sell herself again to pay you alimony.”
“Look, I need to tell you something,” I say, speaking to my father, wishing very hard that Holden weren’t here.
Dad nods to go ahead.
“Can we speak privately?”
I wasn’t going to say it, but it’s going to be hard enough to come out to this conservative old man. I have no idea how Holden will take it, but one landmine at a time.
Already, I’m shaking with shame. Sick with it. If I had the ability or means to do it, I would ruin the fuck out of Marianne Hayes. And maybe that’s where my father comes in.
Holden excuses himself without argument. He’s always been good about knowing his place in the family.
My father regards me with a curious stare, his head cocked to the side. “Did you know about this?” He gestures toward the folder.
I shake my head, but don’t speak the lie aloud. “Something’s come up. It’s bad.”
“How bad?” my father asks, his tone dark and foreboding.
“Avery has proof that I’ve been having an affair.”
There’s silence for a moment, and I don’t dare look at him.
“What sort of proof?”
He doesn’t sound at all surprised I’ve been sleeping around. I don’t know why I notice that in this moment of all moments, but for some reason, his lack of shock stands out.
“A video.”
“Of?”
“Me. Having sex.”
“Who’s the girl?” he asks. “Another prostitute? ”
My next breath is jagged. I accept what Silas does for a living, but hearing it stated with in a tone of derision offends me to my core. I know next to nothing about my father’s sex life, but he can’t be such a prude behind closed doors, can he?
“It’s um…” I clasp my hands together to keep them from shaking themselves free of my wrists. I stare at my bracelet. “A man,” I whisper.
His silence this time contains so much pressure I’m afraid my eardrums might burst.
“A man,” he says.
“I’m…gay.”
Sharply, he inhales through his nose—a gasp.
I make no effort to offer excuses or defenses or pleas for understanding. While the quiet expands infinitely, I let my thoughts drift to Silas. The way he looks with his neck arched back. The kiss he gave me at the sink last night. The pure bliss this morning of waking up to him hard behind me. How complete I felt when he sank inside me. The cry I let out when I came all over the sheets without anything touching my cock. His warm lips on the nape of my neck. His whispered good boy in my ear.
The broken I love you I managed.
“This video,” my father says after an eternity. “Who has it?”
“Gibson and Marianne Hayes.”
“Shit.” He sighs as if resigned to my horrific fate. “Who’s the man?”
There’s no point lying to him. If I want his help, he needs to know everything. “The doorman in my building. His name is Silas. I don’t want him involved.”
“Is he recognizable?”
The question makes me frown. “What do you mean?”
“Tattoos? Pink hair? Anything obvious?”
“No,” I say. “Nothing like that.”
“And have you seen the video? ”
I nod.
“Are you recognizable?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“How?”
“My mole. My pin.”
“You were wearing your congressional pin ?”
“I’d just come from the train station.” Jesus, he doesn’t need to know all this. If I have any luck left, he’ll never see that video.
“I need to know everything you can tell me about what’s on that tape.”
His levelheadedness and calm are a surprise, and I’m not sure how to take it. As acceptance? Or the calm before the storm.
I hazard a glance at him and he’s sitting back in his armchair, his eyes narrowed in thought or calculation.
“I’m not sure he showed me the whole thing. It was zoomed in. At the apartment in Chelsea.”
My father sighs heavily. “I assume there’s blackmail involved.”
I nod again.
“And what’s the demand?”
“I give Avery whatever she wants and be very generous.” I skip the political demands. Those are mine to try and figure out, and I can’t have my father thinking I would do anything to undermine his family’s values. I’ll get to that particular landmine when I get to it.
“Did they mention a number?”
“No, but I assume her attorney will be in touch.”
“Her attorney.” He scoffs. “You mean that bitch Marianne’s. We’re lucky Holden got in touch with Simpson. He’ll be able to negotiate down if she doesn’t want her past plastered all over Page Six. As to the video… If it comes out, you deny it.”
This causes me to look up at him. “How?”
“You say ‘that wasn’t me.’ You categorically deny it. You shift the focus back to your whore of a wife.”
“Dad—Jesus. ”
“ No one hurts you,” he growls. “If those people think they can come at me through you, they better think again. You are too important. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Frankly I don’t care what you say about that video, but the one thing you will not say is that it was you. No matter what, Graham.”
“It can’t come out,” I tell him. Not that I don’t trust my ability to lie through my teeth, but Silas… I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to publicly deny being with him. It’s spitting in the face of everything we have, and it cannot come to that. I’ll do anything to keep it from coming to that.
If I can’t satisfy Gibson and Marianne’s demands, then it’ll be up to my father to make sure they back off and keep the video from circulating. He’s rich enough. Influential and powerful enough. And I can tell by the way he sounds that he’s motivated. I’m utterly at his mercy.
I can’t believe it’s come to this.
“I agree,” he says. “No video is the ideal scenario. And we’ll be very generous with Avery to make that happen, but if it doesn’t work, if it ever comes out, you’ll deny it. As for the doorman—you need to stay as far away from him as possible or I won’t be able to guarantee…” He trails off and gives me a weighted look.
My heart thuds—a fear response. Is he threatening Silas?
“Dad, I?—”
“Graham,” he snaps, no longer calm and calculating, but at the end of his patience. “Stay the hell away from him. They are still watching you. Don’t think for a single second they aren’t. Until the ink is signed on the divorce papers, you’re a target. If the two of you are seen entering the same door in the next year, you’re fucked. We all are. I don’t give a damn what you do once you’re out of the senate, but until that time comes, you will not be gay . And you can bet your ass that I will be watching, too.”
I sit up straight. It feels like my soul is dying. I picture it like a thin, ephemeral film inside me, once shiny and iridescent, now blackening at the edges and curling in, necrosing. Eventually it’ll dry up into dust and there won’t be anything. Ashes blowing in the air.
I have no money. I’m as defenseless against what’s happening as a dog left out in the cold, at the mercy of anyone who’ll take me in. It could be a kind, understanding home who accepts me with all my mangy spots, or it could be a kill shelter. I have no choice but to step inside and make this deal if I want to make it through one more day.
“I understand,” I say.
My father narrows his eyes at me, like he’s trying to read my mind. “I think I’m beginning to understand what I’m asking of you, and I’m sorry, Graham. You’re not gonna go and do something stupid are you?”
“Like what?” I ask, my lips numb.
He doesn’t say but continues to stare hard at me. I let him look. I let myself wonder what he’s thinking because it’s easier than having to reckon with everything else.
“We’ll have the housekeepers get your room ready. You’ll move your things back in tomorrow. No later,” he says. “Do I need to send Holden with you to make sure you get back here?”
Oh, I get it. He knows I can’t run away so he thinks I’m gonna kill myself. I almost laugh. Because why not? I’ve committed one mortal sin. Why not another? My soul is already doomed to hell, pending confession, of course, and fuck that.
It’s really too bad I fear death the way I do. It seems like a decent option—Gibson pointed out I do have options, and I’m probably worth more dead than alive.
It would save me and everyone else so much trouble.
I gulp at the thought because for the first time ever, it feels vaguely doable.
My fear of death somehow pales in comparison to the prospect of living my life without Silas. Of breaking his heart .
“No,” I somehow choke out. “I can do it myself.”
“Okay. You’ll spend the night in the guest room. After that, you have until tomorrow night to break things off. I’ll be checking in.”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone now.”
I rise on wobbly legs and leave the den. Holden is standing just outside the door, and he stares down at me, taller by three inches. “Want a drink?”
I shake my head, trying to pass him.
“Hold up.” He grabs my arm. “We need to talk about this.”
“Why?” I ask flatly, staring straight through him.
“Because if we’re gonna get you out of this mess, I need to know everything. Dad can only do so much, and after what happened with Theresa, he’s not gonna let me allow anything to happen to you.”
I blink at the sound of my sister’s name. I swear no one’s uttered it in this house in at least ten years.
“Besides—isn’t it easier talking to me?” he asks.
I find myself frowning at him. “Did you hear me say I was gay?”
His expression sours slightly, and he gulps. Then nods.
“And you just expect me to believe you’re fine with that?” I ask.
His eyes dart to the door of our father’s office, then he lowers his voice. “I’m fine with what you just agreed to,” he says. “That for as long as you’re in the senate you’ll put that lifestyle behind you.”
“ Lifestyle ?” I let out a harsh laugh. “Lifestyle. Right. Like yachting or golfing. Those are lifestyles, too, right?”
“You seemed happy with Avery. Especially when she was…”
Pregnant.
It’s the word no one says. Like gay. The baby is a whisper, but I’m a sin .
“I’m saying you don’t have to live like that,” he offers, like he’s giving me a great new option . “And I mean, it’s not like you have a choice.You need to think of the family now.”
“I’m going to my room.” I attempt to shoulder past him, but he grabs me again.
“Let’s have a drink. Please.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he says gently. “Dad’s right. You’ve got nothing to lose, and I’m worried about you. We’re gonna talk this out, and it’s gonna be okay.” He puts an arm around me and draws me close.
When I don’t return the hug, he gives me a couple of bro pats before pulling away.
“I’m not gonna kill myself,” I tell him. “I just want to go to bed.”
I can’t think of anything but seeing Silas tomorrow. What I want to say versus what I’ll have to say. It’s tearing me up not being with him now.
Holden finally gives up and lets me go to my room in peace. Silas has texted, and it’s another blow to my pummeled heart. I hit the button to call him.
“Hello?”
He sounds like I woke him.
“Hey, baby.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at my parents’ house. Gonna stay here tonight.”
“Is everything all right?”
Tears burst from my eyes, and I cover my face, breathing heavily into my hand.
“Graham?”
I sob, and I can’t make it less obvious. It’s impossible. I love him too fucking much.
“Baby, come home. ”
I sniff, trying to get my shit together. “I can’t tonight. I don’t feel good. I’m just gonna crash here.”
“Obviously you’re not good. Why are you crying?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I manage to choke out.
“You’re making me nervous,” he says.
“I love you, Silas. I love you so much.”
“Graham—"
I hang up and hope to fucking God I fall asleep and don’t wake up.