Page 3 of Go Deep

Dad’s running for president, and he’s made it clear that I need to play the role of the respectable, straightlaced son, the son who supports his positions and platform. The primaries are in full swing, but by some miracle, I’ve been lucky to escape scrutiny so far. I’ve taken every out-of-town meeting possible, gone from New York to Los Angeles and back…anything to keep me far away from this state and everything it represents.

But I can’t keep running away from the campaign. My father has expectations, pretty reasonable ones, all things considered. I mean, why shouldn’t his only son, the one he’s given so much to over the years, stand by his side and rally on his behalf at a time when he needs the support most?

I don’t see so much as a sliver of light at the end of this tunnel. There’s no exit, no chance for an escape. And the faster I run, the sooner I’ll crash into a wall.

Like I said, my fate is sealed. Just like the damn tunnel.

The only way for me to maintain any bit of control over my life is to play the game and lie about who I really am.

Somewhere in the depths of my conscious, I hear my phone ping. New client meeting this morning. A rush of anticipation mixed with carnal need floods my insides. A deep sigh shudders through me as Katarina’s lips clamp hard around my throbbing cock.

My eyes squeeze shut, picturing my new client’s mouth eagerly sucking and tugging and stroking, and desire surges through me. God, I want to really live, to feel this alive withouthaving to pretend. I take in a sharp breath, clutching the sides of the bed sheet.

But I only have control over one thing in my life, and that’s my business.

I can’t risk that, too.

Chapter 2

Gabe

Can this city be any hotter? It’s not even ten o’clock yet, and my sweat glands already need a backup generator because they’re so overworked from this sprint to my appointment. Racing through the streets of Cincinnati, Ohio, in the blazing hot August sun, my once-dry button-down now clinging to me like Saran Wrap…this day is starting out as crappy as I feel.

I grab my phone to check the address again. A quick glance at the screen confirms I haven’t missed any calls this morning, specifically the one currently making my stomach contort like those Cirque du Soleil dancers in Vegas.

It’s only a matter of time before Dr. Andrews, my father’s neurologist, calls me again to come in for testing. Sometimes I suspect my mom puts him up to it since she knows asking me herself will go absolutely nowhere.

And why should it?

She watched our family crumble and never once stepped in to put the pieces back together after Dad severed ties with me when I finally worked up the nerveto come out.

I tried to make things better and failed. She didn’t even try. So I really don’t understand why my health is a priority now.

I’d thought the possibility of coming out and being rejected by the world would have been the most daunting thing I’d have ever faced, but it hadn’t been anywhere nearly as soul-crushing as the reality of being shunned and cut off by my own family. It may have been Dad who said the words, but my mom and brother Austin didn’t make an effort to stop him.

I clench and unclench my fingers, staring down at the cracks in the concrete sidewalk. I should probably be avoiding them because of the stupid superstition about them bringing bad luck. Instead, I stomp on each one in defiance of the universe.

Screw you, universe. I’m not afraid of you.

But that’s just a big fucking lie.

The air is so thick, it feels like I’m wading through soup. My leg muscles tense with each step. I stop at a crosswalk and swipe at the sweat drizzling down the side of my face when a black Labrador Retriever darts toward me.

Holy crap, she looks just like Beanie. I take a quick look around, but there isn’t anyone else on the street. Dropping to my knees, I scratch the underside of her chin, just the way Beanie used to love.

“Hey, girl. What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

She barks in response, and I grin. “Do you have a name?”

The dog jumps onto my knee, resting her paws on my leg. A metal nametag jingles against her collar. I hold it out in front of me.

Daisy.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” She licks my hand, lapping at my skin like I’m a meat-flavored Popsicle. A smile lifts my lips, and my mind trips back about five years, when everything at home pretty much fell apart.

Dad had just been diagnosed with Huntington’s disease, basically, a death sentence from the prognosis he’d been given.

I’d just gathered the courage to tell them that I’m gay, and that I wasn’t going to marry Julia, my college girlfriend, when that bomb was dropped.

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