24. Gibson

24

GIBSON

L awther must know something’s up because his expression is guarded and stiff when he shakes my hand, although he makes an attempt at a smile.

The video of him fucking that man plays on a loop in my mind because now he and I have something in common I didn’t see coming. We’re seated in relative privacy at a table near the window of the half-empty restaurant in Lenox Hill. Both tables on either side of us are empty for the moment, but at this hour, in this neighborhood, that won’t last.

“This may be unpleasant,” I tell him before we even get a chance to place our drink order. In fairness, if he wants alcohol, he should be forewarned.

His green eyes narrow. He’s a thinner man than I am, and a few inches shorter. He’s classically handsome. Younger. Probably late thirties like Avery.

“I’m going through a divorce. Nothing’s pleasant these days. I assume this has something to do with that. I know she and Marianne talk.”

I’ve met Graham a handful of times. Holiday parties, charity events. Anytime the movers and shakers of New York get together, I’m usually on the invite list, as I assume, is he. It was at an event for breast cancer two years ago that Marianne met Avery. I thought nothing of it at the time, but over the last year, Avery comes around more often than any of Marianne’s other guests, including people she calls her close friends. Whether they’re more than friends, I can’t even guess at. Knowing my wife the way I do, this might have been her endgame with Avery all along: get to the senator.

“They do,” I say evenly. “And my wife is quite a pit bull when it comes to her friends.”

Graham fidgets with his watch, twirling it around his wrist. “Shall we cut to the chase, then?”

“Man to man, and this goes nowhere, are you aware of the reason Avery’s filed for divorce?” I ask.

“She thinks I’m cheating on her. I kept my old apartment. Is that a fucking crime now? You of all people should know the value of real estate in this city. The market was terrible for sellers when she and I decided to move uptown. I was a county prosecutor. It wasn’t like I could afford to take the loss.”

“I understand you’re doing well for yourself now.” My effort to remain casually unbothered by this conversation results in a lean back that feels contrived and uncomfortable.

His mouth tightens. “I’ve made good investments.”

I’ll bet. Can’t hurt working in government, having an inside knowledge of when to buy and sell, not that he’d ever admit that. “Speaking of which…”

“Is this where you deliver a message to be generous to my wife in the divorce, or else?”

“More or less,” I tell him. Except that there’s so much more.

“I plan to be,” he says as the waiter appears. I order whiskey. Graham sticks with water, and I have a moment of uncertainty—whether ordering a drink makes me seem nervous or unsure of my position.

Really, I’d just like to settle my stomach, which is roiling with how sick this situation makes me. Once the waiter walks away, I lean in and lower my voice. “You have reason to be extremely generous. By that I mean, whatever she asks for, you’ll give her.”

His eyes widen slightly before they narrow in a way I read as forced bravado. “Is she planning to clean me out?”

I shrug, but if Marianne has anything to say about it, the answer will most certainly be yes. “Unfortunately, it’s not just that,” I go on, anxious to get this over with.

He leans away suddenly, taking a furtive glance around the restaurant. “What the fuck is this? You’re not asking for a favor, are you?”

“I have information, which, if it were to come out, could ruin your political career.”

“So—it’s bankruptcy and ruin?” His emerald eyes flash. “What kind of information?”

“A video taken by a private investigator from across the street from your other apartment.”

I’ve never seen color drain from anyone’s face so quickly. “Bullshit,” he whispers.

“This isn’t a bluff, Graham. If you want to see it, I’ll show it to you, but I’m not the only one who has access to it. I can protect the access, however, it’s going to require you to do some things that may be outside your comfort zone.”

“Let me see it.”

I close my eyes and feel the sag in my shoulders.

“It could be a fake,” he insists.

“It’s not fake,” I assure him. “And I doubt you want anyone questioning Silas about it either.”

Even his lips go pale at the mention of his lover’s name.

“Show me the fucking video.”

I do as he asks, sliding my phone to his side of the table. There’s no sound, of course, but by watching his face—the horror, when the shot zooms in on him—I feel bile rise in my throat .

Threats like this go completely against my nature. I’m a problem-solver. A numbers guy. I’m loyal to a fault—obviously—and I’m protective. Nothing about showing this man the mechanism of his doom hits any of my personal pleasure centers. I feel like shit.

His hand is shaking as he slides the phone back with the screen dark. “I’ve loved him for two years.”

I can’t care about that. I lay out the rest of the terms. “My wife is a political creature. Liberal, as I’m sure you know. You represent a lot of things that get under her skin.”

“My entire existence has been inside conservative politics. When I ran for office, I ran on a more moderate platform—I never could have won New York’s senate seat otherwise. But the climate’s changed. What used to fly doesn’t anymore—we fall in line, or we’re voted out.”

“Change affiliations, then,” I say sharply. He’s bargaining now. I don’t need to hear him go through every stage of grief.

“It’s not that simple.”

“I have some candidates I’d like you to endorse in as much as you’re able this fall for local office. I’ll also need you to change your public stance on sex work. Non-negotiable,” I say, repeating Marianne’s exact words, and agreeing with at least that much, as it stands to benefit me, too. “For now, no one’s forcing you out of the closet, but in light of the divorce, no one’s forcing you to stay in it either.” Maybe he’ll see that as a silver lining.

“At any rate,” I add, “Your support of New York’s LGBTQ community needs to be front and center, which is only right, considering.”

“Or you’ll leak the video. That’s what you’re saying?”

“Like I said—I’m not the only one with the video.”

“Your wife is behind this?” he asks.

“My wife and I are on the same page, Senator. You reek of hypocrisy. You betrayed your wife. And what are you doing to this guy? Stringing him along, I’m guessing. ”

“Are you deaf? I just told you I love him.”

“Then you must really hate yourself,” I say.

Color returns to Lawther’s face. Red hot splotches appear at the tops of his cheekbones. He blinks his eyes rapidly, but not before a tear falls. He swipes it away angrily and aims his glare at me. “You have no idea.”

In a sudden flash, it occurs to me that I might have just handed a desperate man a loaded gun. I swallow hard, scrambling for something to say that might make his situation less hopeless. But Marianne is being truly ruthless this time. “Just get through the divorce first. Consider what’s most important to you. What you aren’t willing to lose. You have options. They might not all seem like good ones, but they’re available to you.”

“Like what? Changing my name and leaving the state? Never speaking to my family again? Losing—” he chokes up, his eyes on my phone. Biting back what I assume was Silas’s name, he runs a hand through his thick, toffee-colored hair. He takes a long, shaky breath and moves to rise.

I grab his wrist before he can stand. “Graham. It isn’t wrong to love him.”

“Tell my father that. My brothers. My fucking priest .”

I was mistaken about having anything to worry about in terms of my life as far as Graham Lawther is concerned. The man he presents to the world is a facade. He’s weak, and he’s afraid. And I’m terrified he’s about to do something stupid, which will be my fault because I’m just as weak and afraid as he is.

“I’m telling you because you’re the one who needs to hear it.”

“Let go of me,” he says in a low, deadly voice.

I release his wrist. He stands, snapping his jacket around his shoulders and looking around like he’s trying to find his bearings. “If I do all these things—is that the end of it?” he asks.

It’s a question I’m not expecting, and I know what Marianne would say, but I say the opposite. “Yes.”

“I can’t do it all overnight,” he says. “But tell your wife she wins. And tell Avery she can go fuck herself for letting that snake into her life.”

With that, he walks away, passing the waiter on the way to the table with our drinks.

I finish mine in a single gulp and order another.

It’s early to be in a bar like the Downside Lounge, but I don’t feel like going home. Christian walks to the booth, and I devour the sight of him. He’s taken off his suit jacket and tie, but he’s still wearing the perfectly fitted gray slacks and the crisp white button-down. His hair is in an artful disarray, temporarily shoved off his forehead.

“Pretty dead in here,” he notes, sliding into the semi-circular booth with me.

“It’s two p.m.”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“Yes,” I say, desperate to talk about it. I need someone to tell me Graham isn’t about to go home and kill himself. I might not believe him, but I need to hear someone say it.

“Marianne has this friend Avery?—”

“Lawther, yeah. The senator’s wife.” He says this with some disdain that I’m not too drunk to pick up on.

But then again, there aren’t a lot of people in this town who are pleased with the senator’s record since he got into office. He really did sell New York a bill of goods about what he’d stand for in Washington. The likelihood of his keeping his seat in three more years is slim, regardless of what comes out about him. In all honestly, he’d be better off changing his party affiliation if he wants to keep serving in congress.

“Well, Avery’s divorcing him. She found out he’s been seeing someone else—that he has a secret apartment and everything where he keeps…” I shut the fuck up. The more people who kn ow about this, the more likely my new worst nightmare will come true.

“Wait,” Christian says, turning in his seat to face me. “Is this about Silas?”

My eyes widen. “You know him?” I ask, sick all over again.

“He’s one of my best friends. He was one of my roommates back when my whole roommate situation fell apart, and you offered me the basement.”

“No,” I whisper.

“So it is about him?”

I nod.

Christian backs up, like he suddenly needs to put distance between us. “What did you do?”

I wince. “What do you mean what did I do?”

He waves at my empty glass. “It’s barely afternoon and you’re already drunk. You walked out of your office like you were marching to a firing squad. I’m assuming something’s weighing heavily.”

“Will you let me explain? Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t trust me.”

“Should I?”

“Look, I don’t know Silas. I never heard of him until we were in Rome. Marianne found out that’s who Graham was having an affair with. To understand, you need to understand how my wife can sometimes operate. But yes, you should fucking trust me. When have I done something that proved you couldn’t?”

“If you hurt my friend?—”

“I didn’t know he was your friend!” I practically shout.

“Jesus, Gibson, chill. Do I need to get you home?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, reaching for him. My hand lands on his shoulder, and I spread my fingers to take hold of the back of his neck. “Will you please hear me out? I need to talk about this.”