by May Archer
Cain snorted. “What about Chelsea and Molly?”
Damon’s brow furrowed for a moment. “I need to talk to Eli and to Chelsea. If we can figure out a way to access the money Bas sent them without tipping anyone off, Chelsea will be covered for a good long while. She can stay with Eli, or we can relocate her somewhere more permanent if she wants. Maybe we can head back there tomorrow for a belated Thanksgiving and figure stuff out.”
Cain’s stomach flipped. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Be nice to spend it with loved ones for a change. You in?”
Cain swallowed hard, trying not to read too much into loved ones. Danger, danger. “Totally. Eli and I forged a deep bond while I was there. We’re besties now.” When he’s not putting his fucking hands all over you.
“I could tell,” Damon said dryly. “So. Documents. Then email. Then head back to Eli’s. But before we go…”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe we could take an hour to use the hot tub again,” Damon suggested, one eyebrow raised like this was a question or a suggestion, when there was no question in Cain’s mind that this was a perfect idea. “It is Thanksgiving, after all. That hot tub makes me very thankful.”
“This time I’ll bring some towels,” Cain said.
“This time I’ll bring the condoms and lube.”
Cain laughed, because he couldn’t help it. Even though nothing had been settled, things felt so positive and hopeful.
And maybe Damon was right - maybe he didn’t need to decide everything today. Maybe he had time to figure things out.
“You make great suggestions,” Cain told him, and when he lifted on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Damon’s lips, Damon bent his head and met him halfway.
As their kiss turned hotter, Cain’s hands went around Damon’s waist beneath his t-shirt. The warm strength of him was the dictionary definition of reassuring, and Cain surrendered himself to the magical pull of the kiss. It went on for a long while, no hurrying and no demands, just all-consuming pleasure strong as gravity, unfightable and unstoppable by…
“Cain Edward! What is the meaning of this?”
Cain sprang backward like he’d been electrocuted, pressing the back of his hand to his kiss-swollen lips. There in the doorway stood his mother, his father, and his sister, all staring at him with identical expressions of shock and horror.
And just like that, his time had expired.
Chapter 19
Oh, shit. Damon’s head swiveled to the doorway to find three pairs of eyes locked on Cain.
Cain’s sister - a blonde, tanned, negative image of her brother - seemed surprised more than anything, her jaw dropped open like she’d never seen Cain before. Cain’s mother looked ready to explode, whether in anger or in tears, Damon wasn’t sure. And Cain’s father, the powerful, evil Senator Shaw who by all rights should have been twirling his mustache like some cartoon villain, just seemed befuddled and a little overwhelmed. His sandy hair was thinning, his stomach was paunchy beneath his Tennessee Volunteers t-shirt and neatly-pressed khakis, and he blinked slowly, not like he was calculating the next step in his plan for world domination, but like a dad who’d just seen incontrovertible evidence that his son was still very much gay, despite his attempts to coerce him into being otherwise.
Cain, meanwhile, was doing a good impression of a concrete wall. His milk-white face had flushed beet red, but he stood tall and said absolutely nothing to break the fraught silence that descended on the room.
Damon surreptitiously lifted a finger to touch Cain’s hand, a subtle reminder that he was here if Cain needed him, but Cain jerked his hand away and straightened his spine, clutching Damon’s phone so tightly in his far hand that Damon wondered if it might crack. The man was an island, cutting himself off from the censure he knew he was about to receive, desperately trying to wall himself off from everyone in the room, including Damon. It broke Damon’s heart just a little to witness it, and it made him angry, not at Cain, but at the circumstances.
Cain had been outed to his family twice - once to his father in high school, and now again to his whole family. He hadn’t gotten the option of when or where or how to come out, or whether he wanted to come out in the first place.
“You’re gay?” Cain’s sister — Cady, Damon remembered — spoke two words that shattered the silence like a grenade, and suddenly the suspended animation of the moment squealed into fast-forward, everyone talking and moving at once.
“Cain, my God, what are you thinking?” his mother cried, while his sister demanded, “How did I not know this? Cain, why didn’t you tell me?” His father raised a hand to his face and rubbed his forehead.
Meanwhile, Cain stood like a statue, calm and composed, though from this distance Damon could see the tiny shudders that wracked him, like miniature earthquakes beneath the surface of his skin. But Cain was courageous, and Cain was strong. The hands at his side flexed for a moment, like he was unconsciously reaching for Damon, and Damon stood upright bringing himself closer, lending Cain his support.
“There’s nothing to discuss, Mom. I’m gay. I think you and Dad have known for quite a while.”
Damon sucked in a sharp breath. Those words carried such power, and they came at such a cost, whether you were saying them to yourself for the first time, or saying them to someone you cared about, or even when you were saying them to someone who had just caught you mid-kiss. Maybe especially then. Cain was claiming his identity, stating it clearly, making it so it was no longer a shameful secret.
“No. I did not know any such thing, and I don’t know it now either! This nonsense was supposed to be over in high school, Cain,” she informed him. “Your father took care of it. Moved us away from that boy who’d been leading you in the wrong direction.”
Now all eyes darted to Damon, and he resisted the urge to wave. Bad influence, right here.
The senator’s eyes flared with recognition, and then confusion. He glanced around the room and noticed the papers and files spread all over the desk and coffee table, then looked back at Damon. His jaw hardened, and Damon’s blood went cold.
Until that second, he’d almost forgotten the stakes here were even higher than Cain coming out to his family. Now the senator knew exactly where Damon was, and soon he’d know just how much they’d figured out about his involvement with SILA. And still, Damon couldn’t force himself to grab the folder of invoices and make a dash for it. In fact, he couldn’t take a single step away from Cain, who was standing so close Damon could practically hear the cogs turning in his man’s head as he absorbed this new blow.
Was it worse that his mother hated Cain being gay? Or that she denied he was gay at all?
Both, Damon decided.
“I cannot understand why you would do this now, when you know that your father is on the brink of announcing his candidacy!” Lucy continued her tirade, and Damon couldn’t keep from rolling his eyes even though no one was paying attention to him.
“Wait, what happened in high school?” Cady demanded. Like an animal with no sense of self-preservation, she stepped further into the thick tension of the room, stopping halfway between her parents and Cain and looking back and forth between them like the chair umpire in a tennis match. “Cain?”
“Dad caught me kissing Jesse Porter.” Cain’s voice was tight and high, a combination of hurt and anger threading through the simple statement. He stared at his father without flinching, and the senator didn’t move or speak.
“The kid you used to tutor?”
“He was my boyfriend.” No hesitation, no equivocation, though Damon knew Cain was ready to snap.
Lucy Shaw’s mouth was a tight line, her cheeks flushed and eyes burning as the carefully constructed lie she’d tried to make a reality crumbled to dust before her. “I can see you were lying about being ill to avoid the ski trip,” she said petulantly, as though this was really the thing she was most upset about.
“Not a lie,” Cain said. “I was injured.” His eyes were locked on his fa
ther, and remained there as he lifted his arm to show the fresh white bandage they’d taped to his arm after showering this morning.
Cain’s mother gasped, eyes wide, and her hands reached out as she came forward to inspect his damaged arm. Damon was pleased to see she had a normal, motherly reaction to this, at least.
“Dear God. When the hell did you put all this… this… trash all over yourself?” she moaned, stepping between Cain and Damon, reaching for Cain’s arm.
For the first time since his family had walked in, Cain’s eyes met Damon’s. His expression was bleak - both sad and unsurprised. The woman was horrified at his ink, not his injury. Jesus. Damon shook his head minutely.
The senator stepped forward. “Enough, Lucy. Get out, both of you.” He pointed at his wife and daughter. “I’m going to handle this. You two wait downstairs.”
“But Daddy!”
“Emmett, he is my son! I will have my say.”
“You’ve already had it, Lucy,” Emmett said firmly. He didn’t raise his voice, nor did he turn to look at her. His eyes seemed to be transfixed by the papers on the desk, and he stared at them as though they might suddenly burst into flames if he focused hard enough. “Go. Now.”
Lucy set her jaw, and her fingers tightened on Cain’s arm - Damon could see dimples forming beneath each of her red-tipped fingernails. But finally, surprising no one, she relented, pushing Cain’s arm away. “There are tattoo removal services,” she informed no one in particular. “Come with me, Arcadia. We need to put the groceries away and start dinner. Dinner for four,” she clarified, in case Damon thought he was invited.
Cady clearly didn’t want to budge, but her mother snagged her around the elbow without breaking stride and all but dragged her from the room, shutting the door behind them.
When they were gone, silence reigned again, but this time, it wasn’t simply oppressively heavy, but charged with tension. Damon could feel Cain vibrating like a tuning fork, but he resisted the urge to touch him. A demonstration of affection in front of Cain’s father would have to come from Cain himself.
The senator heaved a sigh and walked to the leather desk chair where Cain had been sitting, the desk like a tiny mahogany neutral zone separating him from Cain and Damon. Or maybe, strewn with evidence as it was, it was more like a battlefield. Shaw picked up one of the receipts from the desk. He read it, then tossed it back down dismissively.
The leather chair creaked as he sat down, eyes pinging back and forth between them, and Damon instinctively shifted his weight, blocking Cain slightly from view, like that would do anything at all to protect him from what his father might say.
After a minute that lasted a century, the senator turned his gaze out the window. “I’ve always loved this view,” he mused. “When I bought this property years ago, I had the idea this would be our family home, the place where you and Arcadia would bring the grandchildren to visit us, maybe a place where your mother and I would retire. Which was silly of me,” he said, giving Cain an off-handed smile, “since your mother would never be happy living in an out-of-the-way place like this. Born to rule society, that one.”
He sighed again, drummed his fingers on the desktop in a careless rhythm, and issued his opening salvo. “I debated whether to pretend not to know who you are,” he told Damon. “But I won’t insult anyone’s intelligence.”
Damon raised his chin, but otherwise said nothing.
“I would like to know what you’re doing with my son, though.”
Once again, Damon remained silent. Emmett Shaw could demand an explanation all day long, but Damon wouldn’t dignify it with a response. He owed the senator nothing. But behind him, he could hear a subtle change in Cain’s breathing. He had no idea what it meant.
The senator shifted his attention to Cain. “You’ve always been a good son, Cain. A little rebellious, perhaps,” he allowed with a smile, “but that’s a good thing in a man. Gotta have a spark that lets people know you’ll stand up for yourself. I’m proud of you, son.”
Jesus.
“Are you?” Cain whispered. His voice was strangled, choked with disgust and sadness and disbelief.
“I am,” the senator said heartily. It was as though he couldn’t hear any of those notes in Cain’s voice. Maybe, like Cain’s mother, he only heard what he wanted to hear.
“I will say, though, I’m a little disappointed in what I walked in on here today. Oh, not the kissing,” he waved his hand dismissively. “No, I knew it would only be a matter of time before something like this came up. I don’t bury my head in the sand about these things the way your mother does, and I knew you couldn’t just turn it on and off.” He shook his head indulgently, as though his wife amused him. “But I really thought you had better judgment than to get involved with the likes of him.” He nodded his head at Damon. “Don’t you see what’s happening here?”
“I think what’s happening here,” Cain said. “Is that we found all sorts of suspicious invoices in your files.”
Shaw gave Cain the same indulgent smile he’d worn when talking about his wife. “These invoices? For the house renovation?”
“They weren’t for the house renovation,” Cain said.
“Oh, Cain. Prove it. In case you haven’t researched far enough yet, each of these companies is a very real, very well-known local entity. Many of them have clients in local law enforcement.”
“Of course they do.” Damon ground his teeth together. The bastard was all but admitting the companies were fake, but of course they had all kinds of local politicians and police on their payroll who’d swear up and down to their legitimacy. Hell, they probably all filed taxes. Of course they did.
Shaw shrugged and his smile widened. “I enjoy using local contractors whenever possible. Keeping the community alive.”
“You used our family,” Cain accused stepping forward. Christ, Cain looked wounded, like even though he’d been kicked a hundred times by the guy, metaphorically speaking, he’d still found a new capacity for hurt in hearing his father all but admit this new sin. “Dragged our family into this bullshit, for what? More money? Power? God.”
“No, I protected you! All of you. The only one using you here is him. Mister Damon Fitzpatrick.” The senator gave Damon a scathing once-over, and Damon fought to remain calm, not to display how absolutely furious he was in the clench of his fists or tightness in his shoulders. “How’s your brother, Mr. Fitzpatrick?”
“Cort’s fine. So are my sister and her daughter.”
Shaw blinked and tilted his head back, studying Damon’s face like a chessboard while a small smile played around his lips.
“Jack said you were a miserable bastard. I thought he was exaggerating.”
Cain gasped. Damon closed his eyes and shook his head.
“And what did Jack say about me, Dad?”
For a second, Shaw hesitated. “He said nothing about you. Why would he?” But it was too late, the moment of hesitation had given him away.
“Did you pay him to sleep with me?”
“Sleep with you? Christ, no. He befriended you, yes. But sleeping with you. No.” He looked so genuinely outraged, so close to anger, that Damon almost believed him. “Did he?”
Cain ignored this. “You wanted him to spy on me.”
“Not spy, Cain, but to keep you safe.”
“To make sure I wasn’t involved in any relationships that could damage your reputation.”
“Or yours! When your father is rich, is powerful, people come out of the woodwork to take advantage—" He glared at Damon again.
“You must have been so sorry to lose him,” Cain said bitterly. “Now that you don’t have anyone to keep tabs on me.”
Once again, the senator hesitated, and Cain recognized it immediately. “Oh, fuck. Who? Who’s spying on me now?”
“No one,” Shaw lied. “I was concerned for your safety, and Jack was in charge of security for our family. His job was to keep you safe, among other things.”
“Among
other things,” Cain repeated in disgust. “Other things like killing Levi and Charlotte Seaver.”
Shaw’s face paled. He took a deep breath and steepled his hands on his desk. “Levi Seaver was my best friend.” He slid open the top middle drawer of his desk and a second later, there was an audible click as he removed a panel from one side. He extracted a package of cigarettes, an ashtray, and a lighter.
“Levi was the one who gave me this desk,” he mused. “It’s an original Warren, with a hidden compartment. He said it reminded him of me - an antique with hidden secrets. Two years older than he was, and he never let me forget it.” He smiled sadly, like he was thinking of his old friend. The lighter cracked and flared as he lit the cigarette, taking a deep drag. “We won’t mention this to your mother,” he told Cain, exhaling the words in a plume of smoke. “She thinks I quit years ago.”
“God,” Cain said in disgust. “How do you live with yourself?”
The senator sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I didn’t kill Levi Seaver.”
“What happened to not insulting our intelligence?” Damon demanded. “Jack Peabody told us all about what he did… and why.”
“I didn’t kill Levi Seaver,” the senator repeated. “Levi killed himself.”
“Wow. That’s sick,” Damon accused. “You — “
“Do you know, when Levi and Jon McMann and I founded Seaver Tech, Levi didn’t have a pot to piss in? Mortgaged his house, pawned his guitar, pissed off Charlotte to no end, although she stuck by him, because that’s the kind of woman she was. Jon was this newly-minted lawyer, thousands of dollars in debt and saddled with a kid and a wife who’d grown up rich and accustomed to a certain standard of living. I was dating your mother, and determined to show your grandfather that I was good husband material. It was a different time then,” he added with a short laugh. Then he sighed. “Such a different time then.”