Page 139 of The Liar's Reckoning

And maybe he’s offering me that? But I’m beginning to question everything we said before I left. Was I just hearing what I wanted to hear? Because, I mean—what’s the plan? He finds another woman? Gets married again? Breeds a family? He wants that more than he wantsme?

I can’t believe it. It’s gotta be bullshit.

No. He’s gonna finish out his senate term—so—three years—and then we’ll be fine. He’ll come back to me.

And I wait?

No…that’s too long.

I text him the next morning.

Me

I’ll never understand. I know you. You won’t be able to stay away.

It takes two full days without a response for me to get it through my head that he might actually go through with this. When another few days pass with similar results, I pack up my shit at the hotel and make the trek to Queens. It no longer feels like home, but nowhere does. Not without him.

The commute is a pain in the ass for all my jobs, but it’s worth it not to live alone. To wait Graham out and distract myself with the tasks of keeping my mom comfortable, giving Trixie a hand around the house and forcing her to listen to me—one of the only people on earth who knows me inside and out.

She needs the distraction, too. My mom isn’t doing well. She’s sleeping a lot, and when she’s awake, she’s often so short of breath it feels like she could drop dead any second.

I can’t stay here forever, but staying for the summer feels like the right thing to do. Over the next several weeks without a word from Graham, I make my life as small as it was when I was living in Chelsea. I don’t go out unless I’m working. I don’t watch TV or read the news. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other and getting through the days.

I keep an eye out for apartments in Manhattan, but I’m not actively looking for anything. I’m in limbo. Part of me is still waiting for a response to my text. The other part of me is beginning to understand it’s never going to come.

I can’t believe I let myself believe this time would be different.

The nightthe sex tape hits the internet, I’m with a client at the Waldorf-Astoria. My limp dick flops back and forth as he takes my ass, powered by lust and Cialis. I work my muscles like I always do to make sure I’m a good ride and worth a stellar review, but the only time I get hard during any of these encounters anymore is when my dick is getting sucked. Those are the only times I can close my eyes and picture the senator from New York on his knees.

It takes more work and focus than I’ve ever had to put into this side hustle, but at least I feel like I’m earning my outrageous fee.

Most of the dudes give up sucking and start fucking me before I get anywhere close to coming, though, and that’s a depressing truth about men who pay by the hour.

I don’t check my phone until I’m walking through the lobby on my way out, planning to take a rideshare home to Queens.

Christian has called and texted, but there are far more calls and texts from Drew. One comes up as I’m sliding into the compact SUV and confirming my destination with the driver.

Drew

Please fucking call me, Sy.

I put a call through.

“Silas?” he barks when he picks up.

“Yeah?”

“Do you not know?”

I sigh. “You’re blowing up my phone after midnight. Did you get arrested or something?”

“There’s a video of you.”

I tense before a rolling wave of nausea forces me to slump forward. It’s been what—weeks? Months now? It’s not that I forgot. It’s just that I don’t think about the video every day anymore. “Where?”

“Everywhere. The news, the internet. Looks like it came outjust before midnight. I haven’t found anything where your name is mentioned, but I guess I figured you’d have seen it.”

“I’ve been busy,” I manage to say, my brain buzzing with pure noise. No coherent thoughts.

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