Page 150 of The Liar's Reckoning

I smile up at him and wrap my lips around his thick length. He closes his eyes, and his head drops back, disappearing from my view.

46

GRAHAM

The crowd outside The Pierre is a motley crew. Colorful, diverse, the opposite of what I usually see on this side of town. When I notice a good number of them are holding posterboards, I wonder if this is why my father insisted on additional security tonight. But why so many, and why tonight? It’s a charity event for the fire department. Who’s mad about the fire department?

The driver’s voice crackles over the limo speaker. “Should I see if there’s a back entrance, Senator?”

“If you think there’s one you can get to.”

61stStreet is packed with even more people, making it impossible for the limo to make the turn.

“I’ll deal with it, Steve. You can let us out here.”

The first coherent phrase I hear as I cross the street to the hotel is, “There he is.”

The shouts begin. Signs wave and people scream. Curses are hurled my way, and each one feels like it’s being shot from a nail gun directly at my chest. I paste my smile on, the only defense I have in a crowd, and let my two private security guards push me through the jeering protestors.

My nerves jerk into high alert, pumping adrenaline as my body feels pressed, and the shouts get so loud I can’t make out the words. What I’m left with is the same feeling I had as a child when it felt like the entire school was ganging up on me. Hated. Alone. Helpless. It rattles me to my core. By the time we’re inside, I’m forced to excuse myself, making a beeline for the lobby bathroom to lock myself in a stall.

I sit on the toilet, put my face in my hands and hyperventilate. A few tears escape as the adrenaline finally fades and all that’s left is the shakes I can’t control. My phone starts to buzz once I’ve been here several minutes. Many other men have come and gone, but I’ve tried to keep quiet.

It’s likely my father wanting me to get my ass to the party. I have a speech to make and a judge I’m already very familiar with to meet. He went to college with my father, and his confirmation hearing is next week on the Hill.

I suppose I should have thought about exactly how unpopular his appointment would be in this city, but—as my colleagues in the senate these days love to gleefully say—elections have consequences. With a Republican finally back in the White House, the judicial appointments have been fast, furious and deeply conservative. This one is hardly the worst, and he’s more than qualified.

My father finds me the moment I step into the ballroom and claps a hand on my back as he leans in and whispers, “Don’t let them get to you. You’re doing good work.”

I tense at his touch and the smell of bourbon on his breath.

“When you get these people out hollering at you—you know you’re doing the Lord’s work,” he adds.

These people? Which people? The crowd at the entrance was mostly a blur, but it was colorful. A rainbow.

Queer people?

Would he really say that to me?

I scowl at him, and he takes a step away. “You know what Imean,” he says in a gruff voice. “Let’s get you a drink. Put some color back in those cheeks.”

Alcohol doesn’t help me calm down. Not on the inside. It helps my tongue move so my speech comes out smoothly, and my outsides seem to be working all right, but the dissociation is real. It’s so bad, that as the party winds down, I have one of my security detail check with the front desk to see about a room for the night. I refuse to leave the hotel and face the protestors again unless I absolutely have to.

When I get the text that there is a room, I slump with relief, excuse myself from the conversation I’m pretending to participate in, and make my way to the lobby.

As I book the suite, the young man taking my information gives me a scrutinizing look. He’s thin and pretty. Gay if I had to guess. I find myself glaring at him.

He smirks as he runs my card for incidentals. “Will it just be you, or will you be needing a second key?”

“Just me,” I say firmly.

“In that case, any guests only need to check in here. We’ll call up.”

“I won’t be having any guests.”

“Mmhmm.” He slides the room key across the counter. “Enjoy your stay, Senator.” And then he winks.

I swallow pure bile and duck my head as I walk toward the elevators. If I go back to the party, I don’t know what I’ll do or say. I need to be alone. I need to think.

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