Chapter 9 Family Shadows
Investigation
I knew something was wrong the moment my father called before eight in the morning.
Senator Thomas Reed did not make casual phone calls.
Every conversation had a purpose.
Every question led somewhere.
Every word carried weight.
It had been that way for as long as I could remember.
So when his name appeared on my phone screen while I sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee with Jaxon, my stomach immediately tightened.
Across from me, Jaxon noticed the change in my expression.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Concern appearing instantly.
I forced a smile.
It fooled neither of us.
"You don't have to answer."
The suggestion sounded tempting.
Very tempting.
Unfortunately, ignoring my father only made things worse.
Always.
I sighed.
"I know."
Then I accepted the call.
"Morning, Dad."
"Elliot."
The formal tone instantly confirmed my fears.
No greeting.
No small talk.
Straight to business.
The familiar knot in my stomach tightened further.
"Everything okay?"
A short pause followed.
Too short.
Too deliberate.
"Where are you?"
There it was.
The question.
Simple on the surface.
Dangerous underneath.
I looked toward the window.
Avoiding Jaxon's gaze.
Because I already knew where this conversation was heading.
"At breakfast."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"With who?"
My pulse quickened.
"Dad—"
"With who, Elliot?"
The interruption carried enough authority to make most people immediately comply.
Most people.
Not me.
Not anymore.
The silence stretched between us.
Then my father sighed.
Disappointed.
The sound hit exactly where he intended.
"I don't understand why this needs to be difficult."
Because control disguised as concern was still control.
The thought remained trapped inside my head.
Unspoken.
Dangerous.
"I have class soon."
The subject change was obvious.
My father ignored it.
"Do you know a man named Jaxon Kane?"
The coffee mug nearly slipped from my fingers.
Across the table, Jaxon's expression changed immediately.
He couldn't hear my father's words.
He didn't need to.
My reaction told him enough.
Ice flooded my chest.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't breathe.
The outside world had finally caught up with us.
And it had arrived much sooner than expected.
"Elliot."
My father's voice sharpened.
"Answer the question."
I swallowed hard.
"How do you know that name?"
Silence.
Then:
"I asked first."
The confirmation hit like a punch.
He knew.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
Far too much.
I slowly lowered my coffee cup.
The kitchen suddenly felt too small.
Too quiet.
Across from me, Jaxon sat perfectly still.
Watching me.
Waiting.
"I know him."
The admission came quietly.
My father didn't respond immediately.
When he finally spoke, his voice sounded colder than before.
"Interesting."
The single word terrified me.
Because I knew what it meant.
Investigation.
Questions.
Background checks.
Digging.
My father never accepted uncertainty.
He eliminated it.
"What exactly is going on?"
I laughed softly.
A humorless sound.
The irony almost hurt.
He was asking me questions while clearly already conducting his own investigation.
"I could ask you the same thing."
The silence that followed felt dangerous.
For one brief moment, I thought he might actually tell me the truth.
Instead, he returned to familiar territory.
Control.
Authority.
Distance.
"We'll discuss this later."
Then he hung up.
Just like that.
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
My reflection stared back.
Pale.
Anxious.
Afraid.
"Dad?"
Jaxon's voice cut through the silence.
I looked up.
Concern filled his expression.
Real concern.
Not the political version.
Not the performative version.
The real thing.
The sight almost made things worse.
Because I knew exactly what was coming.
"He knows about you."
The words sounded fragile.
Like glass.
Jaxon's jaw tightened immediately.
"How?"
"I don't know."
Lie.
I did know.
Or at least I suspected.
The realization settled heavily inside my chest.
Campaign staff.
Questions.
Unexpected phone calls.
The man outside campus.
The pieces suddenly fit together perfectly.
And I hated the picture they created.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
Classes felt meaningless.
Conversations sounded distant.
Even writing couldn't distract me.
Every few minutes I caught myself checking my phone.
Waiting.
Expecting.
Dreading.
Nothing happened.
Which somehow felt worse.
Because silence meant preparation.
My father wasn't impulsive.
He was strategic.
And strategic people moved carefully.
The confirmation arrived later that afternoon.
I was leaving the library when a familiar voice called my name.
"Elliot."
I stopped.
Turned.
And immediately wished I hadn't.
Michael Grant approached from across the sidewalk.
The same campaign staff member I'd seen on campus days earlier.
The same man who'd watched me climb onto Jaxon's motorcycle.
The same man I'd hoped was irrelevant.
Apparently not.
Michael offered a polite smile.
The kind politicians and campaign workers perfected.
Friendly.
Professional.
Completely fake.
"Michael."
His smile widened slightly.
"How are you?"
The question wasn't genuine.
Neither of us pretended otherwise.
I crossed my arms.
"What do you want?"
His expression barely changed.
Interesting.
The man had experience.
"A conversation."
"No."
"Elliot."
The use of my first name irritated me instantly.
Especially because it sounded rehearsed.
Like he'd practiced this interaction beforehand.
"What did my father tell you to say?"
That finally caught him off guard.
Only briefly.
But enough.
Michael sighed.
"Your father is concerned."
There it was.
The official narrative.
Concern.
Always concern.
Never control.
Never surveillance.
Never manipulation.
Concern.
I laughed.
The sound wasn't pleasant.
"Right."
His expression hardened slightly.
"He hired someone."
The words landed heavily between us.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Neither of us spoke.
Then I felt my stomach drop.
Because the confirmation hurt more than the suspicion.
"A private investigator."
Michael looked uncomfortable now.
Good.
He should.
"He wanted information."
My hands clenched at my sides.
Humiliation mixed with anger.
A familiar combination.
The kind my father specialized in creating.
"Information about me?"
Michael hesitated.
Too long.
The answer became obvious.
Not me.
Someone else.
Someone far more dangerous from my father's perspective.
Someone named Jaxon Kane.
The realization hit immediately.
"What did they find?"
Michael looked away.
That alone told me enough.
My pulse quickened.
"What did they find?"
His silence lasted another second.
Then:
"Everything."
The word settled like lead inside my chest.
Everything.
Criminal records.
Arrests.
Club history.
Prison time.
Every mistake.
Every scar.
Every piece of Jaxon's past.
The investigator had found it all.
And now my father had it too.
I felt sick.
Not because of what they'd discovered.
Because of what would happen next.
People like my father didn't collect information without using it.
The realization arrived with brutal clarity.
This wasn't over.
It hadn't even started.
Across town, inside a private office lined with campaign memorabilia and framed photographs, Senator Thomas Reed sat behind a large desk reviewing a thick investigative report.
Page after page detailed Jaxon Kane's history.
Former motorcycle club enforcer.
Assault charges.
Arrests.
Probation.
A prison sentence years earlier.
Every mistake preserved in black ink.
Every failure documented.
The senator turned another page.
Then another.
His expression remained unreadable.
Cold.
Calculating.
The expression I knew better than anyone.
The expression he wore before making difficult decisions.
And for the first time since meeting Jaxon, a terrifying certainty settled inside me.
My father now knew exactly who Jaxon Kane was.
Which meant he was already deciding how to remove him from my life.
Push Him Away
I knew something was wrong before Elliot even walked through the garage door.
The kid had become easy to read.
Not because he was predictable.
Because he felt everything so openly.
When he was happy, the entire room seemed brighter.
When he was nervous, he chewed the inside of his cheek.
When something bothered him, his eyes became distant.
And today?
Today he looked devastated.
The sight immediately put me on edge.
I was halfway through rebuilding an engine when he entered the garage. Usually he'd smile when he saw me.
Today he didn't.
That alone told me enough.
I set the wrench down.
"Elliot."
He stopped.
For a second, I thought he might tell me everything.
Instead, he forced a smile.
A terrible one.
"I'm okay."
The lie irritated me instantly.
Mostly because I knew where he'd learned it.
People raised by politicians became experts at pretending.
Unfortunately, I knew him too well now.
"Come here."
The request came out softer than intended.
Elliot obeyed immediately.
That trust hit me right in the chest.
As it always did.
I reached for his hand.
His fingers tightened around mine.
A small gesture.
One that somehow revealed everything.
Fear.
Stress.
Uncertainty.
The emotions practically vibrated through him.
"What happened?"
For a moment, he looked away.
Then he told me.
Not everything.
Just enough.
The phone call.
The campaign staff member.
The private investigator.
The report.
With every sentence, a cold weight settled deeper inside my stomach.
By the time he finished, I already knew how this story ended.
Badly.
Very badly.
I pulled him closer automatically.
Instinct.
Protection.
The urge to shield him from things neither of us could control.
Elliot rested his forehead briefly against my shoulder.
The simple contact nearly destroyed my resolve.