Page 147 of The Liar's Reckoning

“Do we need to give you a guest list for a housewarming party?” Blake asks.

I start to speak, but a croak comes out. Clearing my throat, I try again. “It would be helpful, yes.”

“We’ll write one up, and I’ll bring it back down in a bit,” she says.

I nod, pressing the elevator button for them. Holden isstudying me like he’s trying to memorize me for a test. When I make the mistake of meeting his gaze, his eyes narrow. “How long have you been at The Eastmoor?” he asks.

Take a guess, asshole.

“Almost a year now.”

“Nice.”

“I’m only part-time,” I add.

“What are those hours like?”

“Honey…” Blake looks up at him, a mix of curiosity and embarrassment on her face.

“Just two days a week. Twelve hour shifts. Seven to seven.”

“You make a living on that?”

“Oh my God. I apologize for my husband?—”

“Among other things,” I tell the nosy fucker.

He smirks. “A hustler. I get it.”

The elevator opens. “I’ll have the list to you soon,” Blake says, trying to recover some dignity from the not-so-small talk.

“Perfect. Pleasure to meet you both. Welcome to the Eastmoor.”

Once they’re gone, the overwhelming urge to punch a wall surges up my chest, and my fists tremble with it. The rage finally shudders out of me leaving me lightheaded and needing to sit. The lobby traffic is light this early on a weekend, and I’m grateful.

I don’t like thinking about Graham or our time together. I especially despise thinking about the things I learned once we broke up. I went down a Senator Lawther rabbit hole, finding everything there was to find about him online. Every news clip, every mention.

While he never did use the words “thoughts and prayers,” and he never spoke out against the LGBTQ+ community, he certainly towed the party line. I had no idea how many interviews he’d done—how often he was on television. No clue about his abilityto turn a direct question on its head, making everything about party politics in an effort to vilify the left.

Christian might not have had all the facts when he called him anti-trans and anti-immigrant that one day years ago when he found out I was seeing him, but he wasn’t far off. Graham only has a way of framing things to make himself sound like he’s fightingforsomething, not against it. He’s for tougher immigration policies. He’s pro heteronormative families. Pro-life. Obviously.

It’s not like I’d expected him to be some congressional maverick, but there was so much he never told me. A whole side of him I never saw. Or he lied to keep me from seeing it.

I’d been sick when the truth settled in.

It was the icing on the shit cake after he released his statement about the video, denying everything.

I nearly ball up the guest list Blake Lawther gives me when I see his name at the top with the notation—earlywritten next to it.

Perfect.

I wonder if his brother who obviously recognized me will warn him.

I wonder if Graham will stay the fuck away or at least wait until my shift is over. I have all day to wait and wonder and pick apart the emotions coursing through me—the ones that want to be anywhere else, and the ones that are desperate for a glimpse of his face. A look into his eyes.

I have to keep it together. He can’t know how much I hate him. How much he hurts. How much damage he did. But I want him to. I want him to see me like this. Angry and alive and fucking fine without his stupid, useless lies.

He destroyed everything good I ever felt for him with one post, breaking my trust as easily as he broke my heart.

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