Page 128 of The Liar's Reckoning

“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 andMarianne—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 payyoualimony.”

“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.”

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