Forty-One

EVERETT

He leaked the blackmail story.

I’ve seen my father angry before, but right now, I’m not even sure I’m safe. He might genuinely try to murder me.

“You pay her?” he demands, and his face scrunches into a revolted frown. “Are you insane?”

I’m still straightening my clothes and righting myself, so it takes a beat for me to clarify, “I don’t pay her. I tip her when she does a good job.”

Of course, I don’t tell him she always does a good job.

My father begins shaking his head and he doesn’t stop. “What the hell is going on with you?”

I take in the borderline manic way he’s moving and glaring at me, and all the while, I’m turning Cora’s revelation over in my head. I have no clue how she knows what my father did, but I believe her.

The question is why . Why would my father leak a story that nearly upended my campaign and his in the process?

He’s too careful to admit anything outright. He’ll lie if he has to, which means I have to be strategic.

“It must bother you,” I finally say, choosing my words carefully. “I’m not what you wanted.”

“Stop, Everett. You’ve always been perfect.”

“Admit it,” I press, taking a step closer to him. “Admit I’m not what you wanted.”

“There’s no—”

“Any choice I’ve ever made for myself, you mocked. I wasn’t cruel enough for you. Not callous enough. Not enough of a man. ”

His sigh is labored. “Did she put these ideas in your head?”

“She loves me.” My eyes travel over him. “And I love her. So much, in fact, that I’ve fucked her across the District.”

My father inhales hard enough to make his button-down shirt strain over his chest.

“Before the debate. In Rock Creek Park. In the big house I bought from you with the money from my trust.” I step closer and whisper in his ear, “I even fucked her in your office.”

When he doesn’t react, I wave. Cora’s bite marks are visible on my palm—red and angry and so damn satisfying. “I’m probably going to marry her,” I continue. “No prenup. Generations of Logan wealth are going to be hers. The money. The houses. The jewelry. She’ll even get our last name.”

“I certainly hope you do,” my father replies, raising a shoulder, now the embodiment of nonchalance. “She’s a lovely girl, Everett. Pretty behind all the makeup and the vile metal in her face.”

I freeze. “The fuck did you just say?”

My father’s affect is charming as ever, starting with his pleasant smile all the way to the hands residing casually in his pockets. “Tell me, is it pleasant to fuck a pussy with so many pokey things around it?”

Patricide suddenly sounds like a brilliant idea. If he knows what Cora’s pussy looks like, he obviously watched one of her streams—

“Oh god no, you stupid boy. I would never go out of my way to watch her,” he clarifies before I can ask. “And as adorable as this little bitch fit has been, standing there and listing all the places where you took your whore is a waste of time because I know, Everett. I have videos of you with her.”

“ Liar .”

“I had you followed, you imbecile. I arranged for it day one after I saw you salivating over her. In a hospital . Do you realize how obvious you’ve been? It’s actually fortunate you came clean on your own. Someone would have figured it out otherwise.” He chuckles and looks me up and down as if I’m being weighed and measured. “The LBJ Memorial Grove? Really?”

My jaw clenches and I can feel the anger moving through my veins in real time, coursing through me until the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Frankly, I wasn’t surprised by what I saw. I always knew you were a pathetic, half of a man. Degrading yourself. Getting on your knees for her. I don’t know how you ever thought you’d get elected to office with that lurking in your kompromat.”

“Fuck you.”

“Say whatever you want. Your opinion means next to nothing at this point.” He sighs and checks his watch. “My, this is taking a long time,” he murmurs. “Yes, by the way: I did leak the blackmail story to 24N. That’s what you were going to ask, isn’t it? I did it. Easily.”

“Why?”

“I thought you’d finally come to your senses and dump her. I didn’t expect you to out yourself. Luckily, the reception has been fantastic. Couldn’t be more thrilled, personally.”

“If you think Cora and I are going to tag along on your campaign trail, you’re even more unhinged than I thought,” I counter, anticipating his next move.

He confirms my suspicions with another scoff before he says, “All I have to do is leak a video of the two of you, and your political career is done. Try me, Everett. I’ll send one to every major news outlet in the country. Hell, maybe I’ll put it on my own goddamn website. I have so many options…maybe the one in the alleyway . That’s a fun one.”

The alley behind Found House. Fuck .

“You would destroy your own reputation in the process.”

It’s like a switch flips. My father straightens his spine, raises his chin, and throws on his fake twang when he says, “My son’s personal life has no bearing on how I represent the people of Virginia. While I don’t support the creation of pornographic content, all I saw was a video of a man satiating his partner’s needs—however unsavory they may be. I wish my son the best.” As soon as he’s done speaking, he folds his arms and lets his shoulders relax. “I’ve had a statement ready since the day I got the video.”

“You’re blackmailing us.”

“I’m simply describing potential consequences.” He grins. “Let’s not worry ourselves with semantics when we should be talking about my campaign and your role in it—and hers too.”

Hearing him politic the words makes me sick to my stomach. I used to do the same thing as easily as breathing. “Absolutely fucking not. She despises you.”

“She should,” he replies, shrugging as if it’s a logical conclusion. “She’s a whore, but she’s not stupid. I hope she knows I’ll cut her loose the minute she’s no longer useful to us. But for now, she’s exceedingly useful. My comms team ran the numbers. People love her, for some mysterious reason. Something about her being a witty little Harvard-educated whore with a penchant for the color black. And apparently, they’re fascinated by the idea of two people with seemingly nothing in common…fucking or role playing or whatever the hell it is you two are doing that compelled you to copulate near the Jefferson Memorial. I don’t get it, but I’ll take it. Now, do you want to tell her, or should I make Beverly handle it?”

“It’s not happening.”

“Then it sounds like I’ll be cutting your campaign off at the knees.” He smirks. “No? Didn’t think so—not when the nomination is close enough to taste.” He steps forward. “Now, be a good boy, get out there, and make a toast, Everett.”

When he finishes speaking, he digs his thumb into my shoulder, and I grit an exhale through my teeth. Fucking fuck , he might have broken skin underneath my suit. He shoves me toward the door.

My ears are ringing. I hate him, I hate him, I fucking hate him , and I’ve always hated him. Even when I was eleven years old, crying at dinner while he slammed his hand on the tabletop and ordered me to eat whatever repulsive, meaty concoction he forced onto my plate, I hated him. Nobody knew. Nobody understood.

Your father is a people person, Everett. Everyone loves your father.

He’s a liar.

My heartbeat is skyrocketing when I return to the dining room. The crowd of my father’s friends and cronies is a blur of wealth and noise and repulsive, leering faces I’d like to paint with horror. If only they knew.

I don’t go to my seat. I take one look at Lander and cock my head to the side. He immediately vacates his spot next to Cora.

When I fall into the chair, she leans over, wearing a concerned expression. “What happened?”

Before I can respond, my father begins tapping his knife against a wine glass in the center of the dining room. His eyes find me, and for a moment, his stare is entirely menacing. He wipes it away immediately. “Thank you all for being here today. It’s been an interesting week, hasn’t it?”

The smattering of laughs come from his friends—not mine. Not my real family.

“Well, I’ll keep it short because I know we’re all looking forward to the dessert the team at the Cunningham has prepared for us, but I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge my son and his lovely girlfriend Cora Flores.” He faces us. “Weeks ago, when Everett and Cora came to me and told me they were in a relationship, I was delighted for them.” He dips his chin. “Cora, welcome to the Logan family.”

Cora is squeezing my hand under the table, making my fingers throb. I lean closer to her, trying to soothe her, but it doesn’t help. And at the end of the day, a moment’s respite from the wrath of Warren Logan will do nothing for the lifetime Cora and I might face.

She’s a whore, but she’s not stupid. I hope she knows I’ll cut her loose the minute she’s no longer useful.

I can’t ask her to lie for him. Lying for me was one thing—a thing I regret. Lying for my father would be a sacrifice of the very integrity that defines her. I won’t allow it.

“And I have to say how proud I am of my only son for upholding a Logan family tradition of honor and politics,” my father continues, gaze bearing a mere hint of malice only I can read.

All I have to do is leak a video of the two of you, and your political career is done. Try me, Everett. I’ll send one to every major news outlet in the country. Hell, maybe I’ll put it on my own goddamn website.

I face her. “Hey,” I whisper, “you know I love you, right?”

“I’ve heard the rumors,” she replies before tilting her head closer to me. “I love you too.”

“Good.” I squeeze her hand before I bring it to my lips and kiss it. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

There’s a gentle tremble of applause in the room. People are looking at me.

“Everett,” my father urges, stopping short of glaring.

“Right,” I mutter, letting out a sigh as I stand. “My toast. Time for my toast.” I clear my throat, rest a hand on the back of my chair, and raise a glass in the other. “Thank you to my father for that riveting introduction,” I begin, staring at him while I speak. “As you all know, my father is an important influence in my life—maybe the most important influence. I’m the product of Warren E. Logan. I’ve done everything he’s ever asked of me and everything he’s ever expected.”

I take a sip of the drink I’m holding: Cora’s gin and tonic. It’s the same drink she dumped on my head the night we met. That was the night I fought every base instinct in me—base instincts that have warred with Warren Logan’s expectations for the last twenty-eight years.

It’s been twenty-eight years and I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired.

Breathing out, I look directly into my father’s eyes when I say, “But I’m done. Tomorrow, I’m formally withdrawing my candidacy for congressional representative.”