Page 151 of The Liar's Reckoning

I need time to process this latest nightmare I’ve found myself in because of the unfortunate fact that I’m better at denying and pretending than telling the truth.

I send my sister a text from the elevator letting her know I’ll be staying the night at the hotel.

She replies saying she saw the protests on the news.

It made the news?

I’m tempted to turn it on when I get into the room to see ifthis judge is worse than I know about, but I stop myself.Just let yourself fucking think, Graham.

I take off all my clothes except my t-shirt and underwear before lying down on the bed. My phone remains in my hand, and I try to let go of it but can’t.

It knows where he is.

I close my eyes and see his face. Dark, angry eyes and sun-marked skin. Those perfect lips.Get the fuck away from me.

I can’t help but smile. Not because it’s funny or I’m happy. But because I deserved his hatred. I deserved the indifference, too.

I run my hand over my stomach, down my abs, then further. My palm comes to rest over the stainless steel cage locking and hiding away my cock. I’ve tried different devices over the months since I lost Silas, and this is the best by far. I’ve had it on for at least three weeks, taking it off only briefly when I shower and then putting it back on before I’m too tempted by something as mundane as my own touch. I don’t deserve it. I deserve pain and torment. Need and dissatisfaction.

My entire groin throbs with the vision of Silas fresh in my mind and a memory of his hands on my legs, holding me deep inside him—his voice—give me everything.

I groan, stroking my balls and letting myself suffer the pure indignity of not being able to get hard. It feels good. Blindingly. Painfully. My eyes roll back as my ass clenches on nothing.

Forcefully, I yank my hand back, driving it through my hair as I writhe. I end up on my side, unlocking my phone to see where he is. I blink rapidly as the map of his location zooms out and out and out to find him on the west coast of Florida.

A wave of panic rises, but I knock it back, reminding myself that’s where his aunt lives. He’s not gone, he’s only visiting. He’ll be back. And to me that means it’s not over.

Since we never said goodbye, it’s never felt over. I miss him with every breath.

Meanwhile, my father is trying to arrange another marriagefor me. Sounds ridiculous, but I couldn’t be more serious. What’s worse is I haven’t said a word to stop him. He’s probably still in the ballroom mining for potentials. Like I summoned him, my phone buzzes in my hand.

“Sorry, Dad. I had way too much to drink.” I intentionally slur my words for effect and stuff half my face into the pillow.

“You got a room?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I wish you’d splash some water on your face and get back down here. It’s boring without you and people are asking where you went.”

“Meaning what?” I ask, too sharply.

“You better be alone, Graham. There are too many eyes here.”

“Jesus.” I flop onto my back and fight the urge to yell. “You want to send someone up to watch me sleep?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll deal with this myself. But I expect you by my side in the Hamptons next week. We have a lot of ground to cover, and you know I don’t like mingling by myself.”

Because a vacation can’t just be a vacation anymore. Or were they ever? “Maybe you can stop pouring liquor down my throat.”

“I’ve gotta do something to loosen you up. All right, good night. I have more hands to shake.” He hangs up on me.

My evolving relationship with my father has been an odd side effect of the scandal that never quite was. Yes, he’s still tracking me, but it feels more overprotective than oppressive. And yes, he still puts massive demands on my time and is the brains behind every political maneuver I make, but it feels more like we’re in a partnership. This wingman thing? That started a few months ago when there were strippers at a party, and he and I both couldn’t stop laughing.

Him because he was embarrassed and me because he was embarrassed. It was probably the last time I laughed, and again—a lot of alcohol was involved. And just way more boobs than anyman should have to look at during a birthday party for a hedge fund manager.

We don’t fight anymore. We bicker but don’t argue. Maybe I’ve stopped resisting? Maybe I don’t care. But there’s also a tacit acknowledgement that we need each other to be successful. He may overstep, but the second my hackles rise, he backs off. I can’t even hate him. He saved my ass with Avery. If we hadn’t settled the divorce before that video came out, I don’t know what would have happened. That was all Dad.

The guilt over hurting Avery and Silas however—that’s all mine to manage. It’s also my job to pretend I’m fine with it. A lying liar who lies.

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