Page 83 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“My entire existence has been inside conservative politics. When I ran for office, I ran on a more moderate platform—I never could have won New York’s senate seat otherwise. But the climate’s changed. What used to fly doesn’t anymore—we fall in line, or we’re voted out.”

“Change affiliations, then,” I say sharply. He’s bargaining now. I don’t need to hear him go through every stage of grief.

“It’s not that simple.”

“I have some candidates I’d like you to endorse in as much as you’re able this fall for local office. I’ll also need you to change your public stance on sex work. Non-negotiable,” I say, repeating Marianne’s exact words, and agreeing with at least that much, as it stands to benefit me, too. “For now, no one’s forcing you out of the closet, but in light of the divorce, no one’s forcing you to stay in it either.” Maybe he’ll see that as a silver lining.

“At any rate,” I add, “Your support of New York’s LGBTQ community needs to be front and center, which is only right, considering.”

“Or you’ll leak the video. That’s what you’re saying?”

“Like I said—I’m not the only one with the video.”

“Your wife is behind this?” he asks.

“My wife and I are on the same page, Senator. You reek of hypocrisy. You betrayed your wife. And what are you doing to this guy? Stringing him along, I’m guessing.”

“Are you deaf? I just told you I love him.”

“Then you must really hate yourself,” I say.

Color returns to Lawther’s face. Red hot splotches appear at the tops of his cheekbones. He blinks his eyes rapidly, but not before a tear falls. He swipes it away angrily and aims his glare at me. “You have no idea.”

In a sudden flash, it occurs to me that I might have just handed a desperate man a loaded gun. I swallow hard, scrambling for something to say that might make his situation less hopeless. But Marianne is being truly ruthless this time. “Just get through the divorce first. Consider what’s most important to you. What you aren’t willing to lose. You have options. They might not all seem like good ones, but they’re available to you.”

“Like what? Changing my name and leaving the state? Never speaking to my family again? Losing—” he chokes up, his eyes on my phone. Biting back what I assume was Silas’s name, he runs a hand through his thick, toffee-colored hair. He takes a long, shaky breath and moves to rise.

I grab his wrist before he can stand. “Graham. It isn’t wrong to love him.”

“Tell my father that. My brothers. My fuckingpriest.”

I was mistaken about having anything to worry about in terms of my life as far as Graham Lawther is concerned. The man he presents to the world is a façade. He’s weak, and he’s afraid. And I’m terrified he’s about to do something stupid, which will be my fault because I’m just as weak and afraid as he is.

“I’m telling you because you’re the one who needs to hear it.”

“Let go of me,” he says in a low, deadly voice.

I release his wrist. He stands, snapping his jacket around his shoulders and looking around like he’s trying to find his bearings. “If I do all these things—is that the end of it?” he asks.

It’s a question I’m not expecting, and I know what Marianne would say, but I say the opposite. “Yes.”

“I can’t do it all overnight,” he says. “But tell your wife shewins. And tell Avery she can go fuck herself for letting that snake into her life.”

With that, he walks away, passing the waiter on the way to the table with our drinks.

I finish mine in a single gulp and order another.

It’searly to be in a bar like the Downside Lounge, but I don’t feel like going home. Christian walks to the booth, and I devour the sight of him. He’s taken off his suit jacket and tie, but he’s still wearing the perfectly fitted gray slacks and the crisp white button-down. His hair is in an artful disarray, temporarily shoved off his forehead.

“Pretty dead in here,” he notes, sliding into the semi-circular booth with me.

“It’s two p.m.”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“Yes,” I say, desperate to talk about it. I need someone to tell me Graham isn’t about to go home and kill himself. I might not believe him, but I need to hear someone say it.

“Marianne has this friend Avery?—”

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