by May Archer
But Drew smiled warmly as he took a sip of brown liquid from his glass. “Yeah, they’re good. And I can’t seem to get away from them - I see them at work every day.”
Cain nodded. Right. Duh. Drew worked at Seaver Tech, the company Cam and Sebastian had inherited from their father. In fact, as the senator liked to remind Cain, Drew was head of the legal team already, despite only being thirty, because that’s what ambition looked like.
“Cam’s got Cort working at Seaver, too,” Drew continued, referring to Cam’s new boyfriend who, through some coincidence Cain didn’t totally understand, was Damon Fitzpatrick’s brother. Drew rolled his eyes, but there was no bitterness in them. “His asshole-good-humor’s growing on me. Like a fungus. But he makes Cam happy, so.” He shrugged.
“And Bas?” According to the senator, Bas Seaver, head of Seaver Tech, had been pretty much steamrolled by grief and depression after the crash, and had only recently emerged from his self-imposed exile. “Poor boy will never be the same,” the senator had told Cain’s mother sadly, and Cain remembered thinking that his jerk of a father couldn’t be all bad if he could feel so much compassion for his friends’ son.
Lying asshole.
“He’s fine, I—. Hey, you okay?” Drew asked. His dark eyes looked concerned and a frown marred the handsome face below his trademark-perfect brown hair.
“Yeah.” Cain swiped his water off the bar and nodded to the bartender before turning back around so that he and Drew could watch the party together. “Just, you know. I can’t stop thinking about shit.” He shook his head in frustration at all the things he couldn’t say.
How was he supposed to live with his father, knowing what the man had done?
How could he toe the line they’d laid out for him, when he hated himself more every day?
How could he do anything else after his father had threatened Jesse, whose only crime had been dating Cain, once-upon-a-time?
Christ, he hated being forced into this position. And while it shouldn’t matter what Drew or the Seavers thought of his decision not to come forward, it did.
“Nobody blames you for not going to the authorities about your father, you know.” Cain turned his head to Drew and found steady, knowing brown eyes watching him. “If it were my mother, or even my father, I don’t know if I’d be able to turn them in.”
Cain grimaced. Yeah. Right.
It was bitterly ironic that Drew thought filial love was what kept him from doing the right thing, but it wouldn’t change anything for Cain to tell them his real motivation - that the senator had the power to destroy the life of an innocent man, one Cain felt responsible for.
And anyway, why shouldn’t everyone be pissed at him? Cain was pissed at himself.
Sure, Cam and Damon had overheard Jack’s confession, too, and knew what the senator had done. But Damon was widely believed to be dead, like everyone else aboard the Seavers’ plane, and he couldn’t come forward without potentially facing charges. Cam, the grief-stricken son, accusing the senator on his own, with no proof, would be futile at best and downright dangerous at worst. They’d needed Cain to come forward, to get justice for Cam and Bas’s parents and Drew’s sister, to get Damon his life back.
And he simply couldn’t.
He knew for a fact that Cam and Bas were pissed, but Damon... Damon was the one Cain really didn’t like to think about, for more than one reason.
Damon was all tall, broad-shouldered, confident grace, complete with flashing hazel eyes and distinctively long, prematurely-gray hair that gleamed like silver silk. Gorgeous and proud, even with the scars and the limp he’d received as souvenirs from the Seavers’ plane crash. He was hot as hell, but there was more than that. Something about the man had called to Cain from their very first meeting. Maybe because Damon had been dealt a shitty hand too. Unlike Cain, though, he’d never backed down. He was still working to clear his name, still proud and determined to see the senator brought to justice.
Damon must hate his guts.
And still, he couldn’t stop himself from asking Drew, “And, um, Damon? What’s he up to?”
Drew shook his head and glanced away, his eyes roaming over the crowd. “I’m not sure. He fell off the fucking map again a couple days ago. He won’t answer Cort’s calls.” His voice hardened. “I don’t understand that guy. Bas wanted to give him money - kind of compensation for the fact that Bas had stirred shit up with the media after the crash and blackened Damon’s name, you know? Not that we accept any responsibility for defaming his character.” Drew’s lawyer-voice was smooth and polished.
“Uh huh.”
“Asshole wouldn’t take it,” Drew continued. “Not for himself anyway, though he did let Bas send a check to that sister of his - remember, the one he’d never known he had until the tabloids dug her up after the crash? He let Cam and Cort harass him into taking a job as an airplane mechanic at Seaver Tech, since he had no other way to get a job. And he moved into his brother’s old apartment, since Cam and Cort are joined at the hip now, and Cort spends most of his time at Cam’s place. Guy seemed happy enough the last few weeks from what Cam’s said. Then, three days ago, poof. He and Cort had barely been able to reconnect, and now he’s fallen off the radar again.”
Cain said nothing, but he was pretty sure he understood exactly where Damon was coming from.
Cam and Sebastian were stand-up guys, but who would want to live on someone else’s sufferance? Who’d want to spend every day walking on eggshells, hoping their benefactor wouldn’t decide that today was the day to take it all away? Who’d want to live under someone else’s thumb?
Cain looked over at his parents, who were still chatting eagerly with Billy Fassbender. They’d been joined by two women, the younger of whom was so pink and shiny, she could only be Bill’s progeny. From this distance, Emmett Shaw looked like a sweet, portly, middle-aged man, whose guiltiest secrets were dying his gray hair blond and eating a few too many Cheetos on football Sundays. Millions of voters had gone to the polls and said Yes. Trustworthy. And every one of them had been wrong.
So, yeah, Cain could understand why Damon would find it hard to trust Sebastian, who’d fucked up his life so well in the first place.
Drew shook his head and clapped Cain on the back. “Gotta get back to my mother. You have my number if you need me for anything?”
Anything, like being ready to confess to all he’d heard? Not gonna happen. But he nodded and smiled his goodbye, then turned back to the bar for another refill. “Double water this time. With ice.”
The reporter, Gary North, was standing just a few feet away, watching him again, and Cain’s heart beat faster. He mentally reviewed his conversation with Drew, trying to imagine what Gary might have overheard, or read on his lips. Nothing like an ill-timed comment to blow the entire charade of your life wide-fucking-open.
To his surprise, Gary stepped forward and offered Cain his hand.
“Mr. Shaw?”
Cain reluctantly extended his hand. Damn his ingrained manners.
The man smiled affably. “Gary North. Reporter for The Herald?”
Well, he didn’t lie. Cain would give him that much.
“I know who you are. I have no comment,” Cain said firmly, turning away.
To his shock, North laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. “I haven’t asked you for one yet.” He sounded reasonable, and also amused.
“But you will. So let me tell you upfront, I have no comment on anything.”
“So suspicious. Maybe I just want to buy you a drink,” Gary said, and holy cats, the man’s smile was flirtatious. He wasn’t Cain’s type - he preferred men who were taller and broader, but he still felt heat flood his face, even as he took a step back. Danger, danger. Was Gary the type to flirt with every man? Somehow Cain didn’t think so.
“I’m only drinking water. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Ah. I wondered if it might be vodka.”
Cain looked down at his glass, startled. “Oh?”
Gary shrugged. “Occupational hazard,” he said apologetically. “I’ve spent the last two years undercover chasing Russian criminals all over the country, and even to Moscow. I see vodka everywhere,” he said in a mock-whisper.
“Russian criminals? Jesus.” Cain took a literal step back from the man.
“A group named SILA, founded right here in Boston,” Gary agreed. At Cain’s blank look, he explained. “It’s Russian for power.”
“Oh-kay. So you write about Russian gangsters and now you’re chatting with me?” Cain forced himself to laugh. “I can’t tell if I’m supposed to be impressed or horrified.”
“I’d prefer you went with impressed,” Gary joked, though his hand hadn’t moved from Cain’s arm.
Cain forced himself to laugh it off, just like any straight guy would in that situation - wouldn’t they? - and take another step away. “I’m sure that’s true, Mr. North. Excuse me. I need to get back.” He nodded to where his father was holding court.
Gary’s eyes swung toward Senator Shaw, and then turned back to Cain, his gaze coy. “Your father seems to be having a great night. The rumors are swirling about a possible White House run.”
“I told you,” Cain repeated. “No—”
“Comment,” Gary recited, along with him. “Yes, I know. And I promise, I won’t ask about that. I’m confident that if and when, he makes a decision, we’ll all be well aware.” He flashed a hard smile. “No, I’m looking to write about things your father won’t be mentioning in a press conference. A piece on the real Emmett Shaw. The one the public never sees.”
Wow. There were so many things that could come under that heading. And Cain would not be talking about any of them. “I can’t-”
“Your father gave me permission to ask you for an interview.”
Cain’s eyes swung toward Gary’s, startled.
“Just a couple of hours ago,” Gary continued with a firm nod. “You can check with him.”
“He wants me to do an interview with you?” Cain sipped his water again, praying that any visible terror was blanketed by a heavy dose of skepticism.
What was worse than making small talk? A fucking interview with a man who saw too much.
“Hey, I’m a talented reporter.” The man’s smile widened and he winked.
“You’re a liberal mouthpiece,” Cain corrected, and Gary’s smile dimmed.
“We tend to draw in a lot of the younger voters. Just like having someone young, handsome, and relatable, like yourself, helps your father increase his visibility with that demographic.”
Shit. That was probably true. Still.
“I can’t imagine what I’d have to say that would interest anyone,” Cain said. He shrugged, as though amused. Drop it. Drop it, Gary.
“Oh, you let me worry about that,” Gary said. “I think you’re plenty interesting.”
“I assure you, I’m not. Just an average guy who likes to keep to himself, low-key and --”
“Lonely,” Gary interrupted.
Cain blinked. Not one person in a thousand would look at him, at Senator Shaw’s son, with his money, his pedigree, and his picture-perfect family, and see that he was lonely.
But Gary North somehow had.
And it was absolutely true, Cain realized. How long had it been since he’d had physical contact with anyone beyond a simple handshake or a pat on the shoulder? How long since he’d had a conversation with someone who had nothing to do with his family? How long since anyone had seen the real Cain?
God, even Cain himself hardly knew who the real Cain was anymore.
The fact that this reporter had recognized that loneliness made the idea of doing an interview immeasurably more dangerous. Gary North wanted a reaction, a soundbite, and Cain would be damned if he’d let someone else use him that way. Not when there was so much at stake.
Still, what the senator wanted, the senator fucking got.
“Contact my father’s office then,” Cain agreed finally. “Have them set something up.”
“Or you could give me your number.”
Now Cain didn’t have to feign amusement. He laughed out loud as he met the man’s eyes. “That’s not ever going to happen. My father’s office will want to approve the questions.”
“And you always do what your father tells you to do?”
Cain’s skin prickled, but outwardly he ignored the taunt. Or maybe it wasn’t a taunt at all. Maybe Gary could see what everyone else saw in Cain.
“Here’s my card,” Gary said, sliding the thin white paper into Cain’s breast pocket. “In case you change your mind.”
“Set up the damn appointment,” Cain said, meeting Gary’s eyes, then he walked away before the man could reply.
God, an interview. Awful. So many things to keep from saying and, more difficult still, implying. So many things to dodge and lie about. Too bad Cain’s concerns meant jack shit to his father, if his mind was really set on this thing.
Cain needed to get out of town, and not in the sense of going back to his parents’ house in Tennessee, or moving on to the next stop of the Senator Shaw Baby-kissing Tour, but going someplace where none of his family could reach him.
Maybe when he got there, he could forget how to be Senator Shaw’s kid, and remember how to be Cain.
As he bypassed the center of the room, where his father was standing, and attempted to make a getaway to the restroom, he saw a flash of red hair in his peripheral vision as his mother moved to intercept him.
He stifled a sigh. “Just water, Mother.” He handed her his glass, and she accepted it, taking a brief sniff of the liquid to confirm. So much trust.
“Excuse me, I need the men’s room,” he told her tightly, nodding towards the door.
“Just a minute. I saw you chatting over there,” she said, voice chilly with disapproval. "With that man, that Gary North. He's a reporter, Cain. For that revolting rag, The Herald."
Cain raised his eyebrows. "I know. Cady told me, and the man confirmed it, himself just now. What's wrong with The Herald?" He'd heard this tirade a million times, but he enjoyed watching the struggle play on her face, her need to remain relentlessly cheerful and photo-ready winning out over her absolute hatred of the media outlet that had blasted his father's political platform from the very beginning.
She gave him a sharp look. "You know very well what's wrong with them. Dirt-slingers. That's all they are."
Cain's eyebrows flew up. This was tough talk for Lucy Shaw.
"Funny, because Dad already gave him an interview, and now Gary tells me that I’m supposed do an interview with him, too."
Lucy's lips pinched together and she exhaled through her nose. "Your father mentioned it. He wants to appeal to a younger demographic. It's a ridiculous idea."
Cain’s chest loosened. "I agree. He's calling the senator’s office to set it up, so have Darla give the guy the brush-off."
His mother shook her head once, and a tiny line of frustration appeared in the middle of her forehead. “He's not going to back down. You're just going to have to handle things."
Right. Totally. Easy enough. He just had to remember not to mention anything important that had happened to him during the last six months.
"Mom..."
But Lucy merely nodded decisively, as though there was nothing more to be discussed. "You'll talk about school," she told him firmly. "Your studies. The girls you've dated." Her face brightened. "Oh, and Sebastian Seaver. Talk about him."
"Bas? What for?" Cain and Cam had dated briefly in high school, not that his mother knew that. But Cain and Bas had never been close, even before Bas had every reason to hate him.
"Because he's sympathetic. He lost his fiancée and both parents in that horrible plane crash. People will instantly sympathize with you, too."
"Cam Seaver lost his parents as well," Cain pointed out. "And I'm far better friends with him."
She raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I'm well aware that you and Camden were good friends, but that's not t
he image we're trying to cultivate for you, sweetheart."
Cain squinted down at her. Though he was no mighty giant himself, he was still far taller than his petite mother.
"What image? What's wrong with Cam?"
"Nothing's wrong, we just want to make sure you spend plenty of time with all your friends, " she hedged.
Oh. My. God.
"Is this because he's gay?" Cain demanded. His voice rose, and several people nearby turned to look at him, but he would not lower it. "He’s your godson!”
The hypocrisy was nauseating.
"Don't be so melodramatic." Her whisper was cold and furious, as were her eyes as she glanced around to make sure no one could hear them. "Nobody is suggesting that you don't talk to him. We occasionally travel in the same small circles, and it's only right to be polite. Just... don't seek out reasons to talk to him. Or to Andrew McMann, either." She scowled at the place where Cain had stood talking to Drew.
"To what end?" Cain drew a hand through his hair, heedless of the mess he knew he would cause, and his eyes pled with his mother. "Everyone knows we’ve been friendly with the Seavers and the McManns for years. Cutting them off now achieves nothing."
Her mouth twitched. "Who we’ve been friendly with doesn't matter, Cain. It's all about who can help us succeed in life, and who is setting us up for failure." She wrapped a hand around his neck and leaned in close. "You can be just as happy with friends who help you cultivate the image you want."
The image he wanted. A successful, conservative, straight asshole, just like dear old dad.
Right. His stomach clenched, the lies eating away at his insides like corrosive acid. He looked back at the senator, imagined the blood that stained the man’s successful, conservative hands.
Gary North was right - Cain was so fucking lonely. In this entire function room crowded with sycophants and yes-men, there was not one person who really saw him.
"I'm going to the restroom," he told his mother stiffly. Bile clogged his throat.
She nodded and stroked a comforting hand down the lapel of his jacket as though he were a skittish animal who might bolt. "Alright, darling. Alright. And when you get back, I'll tell you all about Mr. Fassbender. He's planning a little ski vacation next week for his daughter Penny and some of her friends. I was sure you'd want to go, so I gave him your number."