11. Spencer

CHAPTER 11

SPENCER

I seethed the whole ride back from Blacksburg, and Vanessa decided it was a great time to rapid-fire questions at me for which I had no answers. By the time we got home, my head was pounding, and I saw no way I'd fall asleep anytime soon.

After helping Vani get her suitcase up to the master bedroom, I went to my room and changed into running clothes. I'd heard the weather report for the rest of the week, and it was supposed to rain the next day and freeze overnight. I grabbed my reflective vest so I didn't get run down, and I took off down the driveway, heading toward the trail.

Talking to Jay had been a salve. He told me about Caleb picking up Cole, his roommate, that morning to take him home early. He was going to attend virtual classes until the Thanksgiving break, and Jay was coming home. I was relieved I didn't have to beg to get him to come back for the holiday.

Jay said he could get a ride with another friend as far as Stafford, and I said I'd come pick him up. We made plans to get him a new car since his was totaled, and the police had electronically sent the insurance report to our insurer. The insurance company would fight the other driver to recoup the cost of Jay's vehicle, and our family was on better footing, for which I was grateful.

My mind kept circling around to Frank Turner, whose wife turned out to be Nash's pimp... Madame? I wasn't sure of the proper terminology, but I didn't like it.

I wished to hell he didn't have that job, but it wasn't my place to say anything about it. Just like it wasn't my place to stop him from going off with that motorcycle gang member with the tattoos on his neck.

I'd wanted to push for the story of how they knew each other, but there was no time to say anything when it was announced, unceremoniously, that Nash wasn't returning to Northern Virginia with us. I was fuming because it didn't appear as if Nash was in the know, either. I wasn't sure what the guy's play was, but I didn't like it at all.

I ran for an hour, and I went in through the mudroom because my shoes were dirty, and I stripped off my sweats, tossing them into the washer. I kept a clean pair of lounge pants in a drawer under the folding counter, so I pulled them on and walked into the kitchen to find Mario sitting at the table, drinking my Scotch.

"Vani's been trying to call you. Where've you been?" He was pissed off, and the alcohol wouldn't help.

From the cabinet, I pulled down a glass, dropping a large ice ball inside—which reminded me of Blaire. After I poured three fingers into my glass, I walked to the table and sat down. "I went for a run. My phone's on the charger upstairs. What's could you possibly want?"

The simmering anger seeped out through my cold voice. I wasn't convinced Mario didn't have a hand in the shitstorm that started after I made a very poor decision to go away with a fuck buddy. I decided it was time to ask some questions.

I studied Mario, seeing his scowl, so I pressed him. "What's wrong? Have there been any developments?"

Mario cleared his throat and glanced at me. "Could you put a shirt on?"

I looked down, remembering mine had been wet, so I'd tossed it into the laundry basket. I nodded before running upstairs to my room to grab an old UVA T-shirt from my dresser.

Vani was on the phone in her room, so I headed downstairs to grill my friend—or my former friend. It remained to be seen where he landed at the end of our talk.

"Okay, so, I'm adequately covered. What's going on?"

"Well, uh, Vani was partially right when we talked after Blaire was outed. I did have feelings for you, and I couldn't understand why you didn't see me." His admission was quiet as if he wasn't comfortable admitting it.

"So, you had me followed to Antigua and had someone take those pictures?" I prayed I was wrong. He'd been my best friend for more than twenty years, and it would rip out my heart if he'd been a vindictive dick about it.

Mario held up his hands in surrender. "No, Spence. No, I would never do that. I was content to be by your side and support you in any way I could, and that would never include me hurting you like that. I've been going to counseling, and I see things a lot clearer now. I know you love me, just not the way I wanted you to love me. I took the attention you gave me as your friend for the affection I've been looking for all my life."

God, this is going to be brutal.

"Your being in the closet allowed me to stay in the closet as well. I guess, in some way, I thought we could just live in the closet together, and I was fine with Vani being in our lives, but I see that was unrealistic."

I nodded because he was at least being honest. I knew the man. If he'd been lying, I'd have been able to tell.

"Spence, I don't want to live in the closet anymore. Fuck, Spence, I'm forty-five, and I've never been in a relationship—a real one—because I was content to believe what we had was enough. It's not. I realize that now, but I swear on my mother's life, I would never out you." Based on the look on Mario's face, I believed him.

I stood and pulled him up, offering a heartfelt hug. I was happy and relieved to know I still had my partner in crime by my side. We patted each other on the back and took our seats again. "So, I learned something. Caroline Bering-Turner runs an escort service."

Mario laughed. "Yes, and your sexy bartender friend is one of her studs. I recognized him from a party he worked at a few months back. Good taste, Spence, but it's not new news."

My eyes had to be wide as saucers. "Bullshit! You mean you knew it and didn't tell me? I suspect Frank Turner had me followed in retaliation. You can't tell me he's not a vindictive son of a bitch."

Mario took a sip of his drink. "Yes, he is, but his bill wasn't going to pass whether you voted with him or not. Seems he's got himself a situation, Spence."

"Oh, and what's that?" I quickly took a drink and swallowed it so I didn't spit liquor everywhere if it was shocking.

"A love child. I've heard rumors about a guy showing up at his home in the Palisades. Apparently, the guy came to work for Caroline as an escort, and he was able to find out the logistics of when Turner would have impregnated his mother. The kid's threatening to file a lawsuit against Turner for back child support." Color me shocked!

"The GOP is scrambling behind the scenes to keep it quiet, but Frank has a few disgruntled staffers who found out about his son, and they're giving interviews to the Post. You'll be off the front page within a matter of days, but I don't think Frank Turner was the one who had someone follow you. There's gotta be someone else."

"When in the fuck did you find out about this, and when were you going to tell me?" A weight had been lifted from my shoulders for an entire minute at hearing Frank Turner had his dick in a ringer, but then I remembered, if he wasn't the bastard who outed me, then who was?

Friday morning, I woke up before daylight. I checked my messages on my work phone—which I needed to turn in soon—and my personal phone, sad to see nothing from Nash. I wondered what he was doing, and who he was doing it with. Vani hadn't heard from him either—as far as she was telling me—and I was starting to worry.

Had a crazy biker gang kidnapped Nash, and if so, for what purpose? How in the hell did Nash even know a biker gang? Was he a member who'd left without permission?

God, would they hurt him? Did he have a tattoo of the club logo on his body somewhere, and they planned to cut it out or burn it off like I'd seen in a show on television? My mind had nothing to occupy it, so it wandered, and it wandered in dark directions.

I really, really , liked Nash Lincoln. He had sparkling eyes, brown hair that looked inviting to my fingers, and lush lips I'd longed to kiss. I cursed myself for not pressing things with him on Tuesday night when we shared a room. Something about the encounter seemed seedy, me paying him for sex. I didn't want it to go that way. I wanted Nash to want me because of me. Was that a stupid pipe dream?

Finally, deciding I'd never go back to sleep, I went downstairs to make coffee and toast. I turned on the television in the kitchen, catching the local news station. "Breaking news this morning. In a statement released overnight, Senator Frank Turner has been hospitalized. The statement reads…" The newscaster continued, but all I could do was smile.

I didn't think the mean old bastard would die, but I could smell a crisis diversion tactic like the next politician. Maybe I would go into the office and finish cleaning out my things. It could be fun to find out the gossip regarding recent events.

The Thanksgiving break would start on the following Monday, so why not go into the office? I'd been removed from all committees I'd sat on during my terms in office. I wanted to show them, all the naysayers, that I wasn't down for the count. I wasn't sure what the next chapter held from me, but I was going to face it with eyes wide open and a big fucking smile.

I called a car service to take me to the Hill that Friday morning. Vani had agreed to come meet me for lunch, and as I read the Congressional newspaper on my phone, I wasn't surprised to see anything more than a brief statement that Frank Turner was in the hospital, not disclosing any diagnosis or possible reason for his sudden illness.

The driver let me out at the members' entrance, and I thanked him and dropped a hundred over the seat, hurrying through the side entrance of the Hart Office Building where most of the Senate offices were located. I scanned my card, surprised when the door opened, and went through security, happy the guards greeted me kindly. I'd always tried to be respectful of them, and I was grateful they returned the sentiment when I needed it most.

I took the stairs to the seventh floor, sometimes my only exercise for the day, and when I came out of the stairwell, I was surprised to see Mario standing with Mitch Flora, both seeming to wait for me.

"What?"

"The guard called like usual. You forget we have protocols for these things, Senator. Here's your schedule." Mitch handed me the familiar typed index card. I glanced down the list, surprised to see so many people wanting to speak with me.

"Why are there so many meetings?"

Mario placed a hand on my shoulder and ushered me into the office, which erupted in shouts and applause upon my entrance. The cheer was shocking. There were still loyal people on my staff, and I was grateful for them. "I took the liberty of telling the staff today would be your last day in the office. They wanted to have a party, but I told them not until after three. Make the rounds and then meet me in your office." I nodded to my chief of staff and handed him my briefcase.

Once I was safely tucked into my office with coffee and the morning's news blurbs on my desk, I looked to Mario for information and was relieved when he smiled and sat in his regular spot.

"Okay, so all the meetings?"

"Seems Sean Fitzpatrick has leaked that he wants to hire you as soon as your cooling-off period expires in six months. These people want to get in your good graces before you leave. You didn't mention you'd discussed anything of the sort with Fitzpatrick." Mario seemed a little put out, which reminded me of something Fitzpatrick had said recently.

"Yes, well, you didn't tell me you were cruising Cock of the Walk and ran into him, telling him I was in Antigua with Blaire, now, did you?"

I saw the blood drain from his face, but I kept my mouth shut. "I'm sorry, Spence. I was hurting, and Sean seemed like a nice guy. He asked where you were, and I just blurted it out. I called him the next day, and he promised he wouldn't mention it to anyone. Do you think he told someone who isn't a friend?" He appeared to be terrified.

I chuckled and put my feet on the desk, loafers and all. "Why do you think I went to his birthday party? He invited me so I could confront you. What's going on with you?" God help me, I was skeptical of his involvement in the scandal. Maybe he vented to someone he trusted, and they betrayed him?

"This has been difficult for me as well, Spence. Everything isn't about you." Mario stood and stormed out, slamming the door.

Clearly, something was going on with him, though I had no idea if I'd figure him out. Besides, I had other worries on my mind. Where the fuck was Nash Lincoln, and why wasn't he returning my texts? I'd sent several, basically begging to hear from him, but I'd received no responses. It was driving me insane.