Page 189 of The Liar's Reckoning

I pull out, a flood of semen coming with me. Silas makes a noise that sounds like a purr, but then he clears his throat, shutting off the involuntary tell.

“Get me a towel?” he asks quietly.

If I can walk. Silently, I move off him, find my footing, and bring a damp hand towel back from the bathroom. I go to wipe him up like I ordinarily would, but he takes the towel from me to do it himself. When he’s done, he turns over, displaying his perfect backside. He runs his hands over his face before resting his head on the pillow and staring at me. I don’t know whether to get back into bed or grab my pants off the floor.

“Where do you want me?” I ask.

“Where do you think?”

Not helpful. I glance at the space next to him, and he gives me a subtle nod, which is an amazing surprise. And then the second I sit, he says, “I’m moving to Florida.”

I frown, not sure I heard him right. When I replay it, though, it sounds and feels the same. Horrible. “Why are you telling me that now?”

“Why am I tellingyouor why now?”

“Either. Both.”

“Because if you come looking for a booty call in a few weeks, I won’t be here. Or on the Upper East Side. I’ll be gone.”

“I didn’t come here to have sex with you. If you turned me away on the sidewalk, I’d have understood. I really just wanted to see you.”

“Why?”

“I think I wanted to have a semi-pleasant interaction with you.”

“What made you think you might get one of those?” Silas asks.

“I didn’t, but I thought it’d be worth a try.”

“You must have heard about the lawsuit. Was Avery worried about me? She looked like she was.”

“She was, but that’s not why I came, either.”

“Why then?”

“I miss you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

“I get that,” he says, an exact echo of my response earlier. I hope it sounded nicer when I said it. “It feels a little unfair, I guess.”

“What feels unfair?”

“You left me, Graham.”

“I miss the house I lived in when I was a kid, too. Am I not allowed to miss it just because I was the one who left?”

“I guess you are. Do you like your new house?”

I stare at him, reading the question behind the question. “No,” I answer honestly. “I wish I could have stayed.”

“Are you still sad?”

Are we talking about the house? Or are we talking about us? I ask myself this because I know we’re talking about us, but the answer either way would be the same.It was my father’s decision. I didn’t get a say, so I have to get over it.

What’s fucked up about that is that I was in second grade when I moved. When I broke up with Silas, I was a prosecutor and a United States senator. Arguably one of the most powerful people in the country, and I say arguably because it’s all kind of a joke, isn’t it? Politicians are like remote control cars, going wherever the guy with the remote—the money—wants us to. Why? So we can wear a patriotic pin and spew bullshit on the evening news.

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