Chapter 13 Exposure #2
Never a good sign.
"Not yet."
Not yet.
Two words.
Neither comforting.
"Campaign people got them first."
Of course they did.
The realization settled heavily inside my chest.
Senator Reed.
The campaign.
The advisors.
The investigators.
Everything suddenly connected.
Mason sighed.
"They're trying to contain it."
I laughed.
A short humorless sound.
Because that was exactly the problem.
People only contained things they considered dangerous.
And from the senator's perspective, I was extremely dangerous.
After the call ended, I stood alone in the garage.
Thinking.
Always thinking.
The photographs themselves didn't bother me.
Not really.
I wasn't ashamed of Elliot.
Never had been.
Never would be.
The problem was everything surrounding those photographs.
Politics.
Power.
Influence.
The kind of forces capable of destroying lives.
The kind of forces Senator Reed controlled.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was Elliot.
Hey. Dinner tonight?
The message made my chest ache.
Because the simplicity felt precious suddenly.
Fragile.
Like something standing directly in the path of a storm.
I stared at the screen for several seconds.
Then typed a response.
Always.
The answer came automatically.
Because no matter what happened next, that part remained true.
The rest of the afternoon dragged.
Work became impossible.
Every customer interaction felt distant.
Meaningless.
My attention remained trapped elsewhere.
Eventually, a black luxury SUV pulled into the parking lot.
The vehicle immediately caught my attention.
Not because it looked expensive.
Because it looked official.
Important.
The kind of vehicle politicians traveled in.
My stomach dropped.
Because deep down, I already knew.
The driver's door opened.
A man stepped out.
Gray suit.
Perfect posture.
Expression carved from stone.
Senator Thomas Reed.
The sight should have surprised me.
Instead, it felt inevitable.
Like watching a storm finally arrive after days of warnings.
The senator glanced toward the garage.
Our eyes met.
Neither of us smiled.
Neither of us pretended.
The battle lines appeared instantly.
Clear.
Unmistakable.
I walked toward the entrance.
Met him halfway.
The afternoon sunlight stretched between us.
Hot.
Relentless.
Neither man spoke immediately.
Finally, the senator broke the silence.
"Mr. Kane."
The greeting sounded formal.
Cold.
Controlled.
I nodded once.
"Senator."
His gaze swept briefly across the garage.
Taking everything in.
The motorcycles.
The tools.
The life I'd built.
Then his attention returned to me.
The judgment in his eyes remained impossible to miss.
I'd seen that look before.
Judges.
Police officers.
Reporters.
People deciding who I was based on the worst chapters of my life.
Usually they weren't entirely wrong.
"You know why I'm here."
Not a question.
A statement.
I folded my arms.
"Take a guess."
His expression didn't change.
Not even slightly.
Impressive.
Or disturbing.
Possibly both.
"My son."
There it was.
The real reason.
The only reason.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then the senator stepped closer.
Not aggressively.
Confidently.
Like a man accustomed to controlling conversations.
Controlling people.
Unfortunately, I wasn't one of his voters.
"You've put him in a difficult position."
The accusation arrived calmly.
Professionally.
As if we were discussing business rather than emotions.
The approach irritated me immediately.
"Elliot makes his own decisions."
His jaw tightened.
Barely.
Most people wouldn't have noticed.
I did.
The senator clearly disliked that answer.
Good.
I wasn't particularly fond of his either.
"He has a future."
The statement hung heavily between us.
I remained silent.
Listening.
Waiting.
Because I already knew where this was going.
"A career."
"A reputation."
"Opportunities."
The list continued.
Carefully prepared.
Deliberately chosen.
Everything Elliot stood to lose.
The senator looked directly at me.
"And you threaten all of them."
There it was.
The real accusation.
Not hidden.
Not softened.
Delivered with surgical precision.
For several seconds, I simply stared at him.
Because the worst part?
A small piece of me agreed.
The realization made anger impossible.
Instead, exhaustion settled into its place.
"You don't know me."
The answer sounded weaker than I intended.
Not because it was wrong.
Because it didn't matter.
The senator already knew enough.
The criminal record.
The club history.
The prison sentence.
The mistakes.
The report probably sat on his desk right now.
Every failure neatly organized.
Every regret carefully documented.
His expression hardened.
"I know exactly who you are."
The words landed like a hammer.
Because he believed them.
Absolutely.
Completely.
The certainty reminded me of every reason I'd once tried pushing Elliot away.
The senator continued.
"My son deserves better."
Silence followed.
Long.
Painful.
Because all I could think about was Elliot standing in the garage weeks earlier saying the exact opposite.
You don't get to decide that.
The memory hurt.
More than it should have.
The senator took another breath.
Then delivered the real purpose of the meeting.
The reason he'd driven here personally instead of sending lawyers or campaign staff.
"I want you to stay away from him."
The words felt inevitable.
Still.
Hearing them aloud hurt.
A lot.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
The garage behind me felt strangely distant.
The afternoon sun suddenly harsh.
The world narrowed to a single impossible demand.
Stay away from Elliot.
The idea felt absurd.
Unthinkable.
Yet the fear underneath it felt very real.
Because Senator Reed wasn't making a request.
He was issuing a warning.
One backed by money.
Influence.
Power.
The kind of power that changed lives.
His gaze remained fixed on mine.
Unwavering.
Cold.
Protective.
A father fighting for what he believed was best.
Unfortunately, what he believed and what Elliot wanted weren't the same thing.
Finally, the senator spoke one last time.
"If you care about him at all, you'll end this."
The sentence settled heavily between us.
Because unlike everything else he'd said, that part actually struck home.
Not as a threat.
As a wound.
The senator turned.
Walked back toward the SUV.
The conversation was over.
Apparently.
The decision now belonged to me.
A few seconds later, the vehicle disappeared down the road.
Leaving me standing alone outside the garage.
Watching dust settle across the empty parking lot.
And for the first time since meeting Elliot Reed, I found myself wondering whether loving someone sometimes meant becoming the thing standing in the way of their future.
The question stayed with me long after the senator vanished.
And deep down, I knew it wasn't finished with me yet.
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