Page 185 of The Liar's Reckoning

“Okay. So. Maybe one conversation with Silas won’t magically fix everything. Maybe you could start by talking to Dad.”

I shake my head. I can’t do that. Not before this bill passes. He needs me to be perfect right now, and I can do that. We’re almost there. Another month or two. Maybe.

“You can be a gay senator, Graham. You can still do all the things you’ve been doing?—”

“Gay people hate me,” I say, remembering the protest at The Pierre.

“So what? I don’t understand it, but thereareother gay Republicans in the world. I’m sure there’s an app for that.”

I’m so sick of hearing about all the other gay Republicans. Where are these unicorns, because I certainly haven’t met any. I shut my eyes, sighing. “I hate me, too,” I whisper.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” she responds softly.

“I still love him.”

“I know.”

Tears fill my eyes, born of exhaustion, frustration and memories of hurting Silas. “I miss him so much.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Her arms fold me against her, and I let the tears fall.

57

SILAS

I’m surprised to see him, but I’m shocked when the usual fight or flight response doesn’t immediately kick in. Graham is outside my apartment again at dusk. I just got off work, and he’s dressed like a regular person in a henley and jeans. The sunglasses are the only things out of place. But he looks good. At least his body does. It’s hard to tell how he’s really doing without seeing his eyes.

Before I head up the steps to the door, I stop in front of him and ask, “What’s this about?”

“I just wanted to see you.”

“That’s it?”

He nods.

“You’re not here to talk?” I ask.

“Not really.”

“You’re not gonna offer me money?”

“I might.”

My resolve breaks in half. “Do you want to come up?”

“Yes.”

The butterflies in my stomach are traitorous assholes. My cock I can forgive for showing a throb of interest—it’sabnormally fascinated with Graham. But my lack of adequate rage annoys me. Another sign I’ve given up—as if I needed one.

I take a look around at the street and sidewalk. “No security?”

“I slipped out the back,” he says.

I don’t ask the obvious question—the back of what? Because it doesn’t really matter. I’ve been thinking about him constantly, and it’d be a lie to say I haven’t wanted to see him. I just didn’t expect to, and I wasn’t going to reach out. There’s something validating about him being here now for no apparent reason except maybe he wanted to see me too, like he said.

Now that I’m leaving, his existence in the world hurts a little less. Closure is the name of this game, and God knows I could use it.

He follows me inside and up the stairs, then into my apartment. There are already a handful of boxes packed, mostly winter clothes and less frequently used things from the kitchen. I don’t have all that much stuff, and I’m not moving for a few weeks still, so I’m not in a rush. I tuck a few things into a box here and there, watch some TV, take a nap.

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