Chapter 10

Arsen

The doorto the executive suite in the nicest hotel in Westbrook hadn’t even latched behind me when he started.

“What in the hell were you thinking?”

Click.The door latched firmly, and I sighed, moving into the open space to find my father standing beside a table with what looked like a full breakfast spread across the surface.

“Hi, Dad. I’m great. Thanks for asking. How’re you?”

“If you’d wanted pleasantries and bullshit, you shouldn’t have gotten yourself arrested.”

Okay, fair.

“Jesus, Arsen!” He went on. “Possession of narcotics!”

“I wasn’t charged,” I said, lifting one of the silver domes off a plate to see what was beneath.

Eggs benedict with hollandaise sauce. I’d been hoping for French toast.

Replacing the lid, I reached for a slice of bacon and chewed while my father continued to nearly bust a vein.

“That’s not the point!” He erupted, pacing away toward a large-framed window. He was good at public speaking. Had a lot of passion in his voice, a lot of presence to fill a room. Because of this, every lecture I ever received felt more like a performance than a true dressing down.

“You know what year it is! What season.”

I snatched another slice of bacon and shoved the whole thing into my mouth. “Yes, how dare I develop a drug habit during election year,” I said as I chewed.

My father, everyone. A Virginia state senator.

He shot me an unimpressed, impatient look. “I know they weren’t yours.”

I laid my palm against my chest. “Your faith in me warms my heart.”

“Maybe if I had less, you would be more contrite about dragging me across the state in the middle of the night.”

He acted like he had to fly commercial instead of in his private jet. I glanced around. “Where’s Mom?”

“She had a function she couldn’t get out of. You’ll need to call her later.”

Ah, yes, wouldn’t look good if both of them disappeared for some family scandal. Gotta keep up them appearances, you know.

Nodding, I lifted a crystal glass half full of orange juice.

Dad sighed and pulled a dome off another platter on the table. “Eat,” he said, gruff.

The sight of the French toast had me grabbing a fork and digging in before I even had the plate in front of me. I was starving.

Dad watched me for a few moments. “Did they mistreat you?”

“No,” I said, shoveling in another huge bite.

“You assaulted an officer, Arsen,” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

I paused midchew. “It couldn’t be helped.”

“Care to explain why?”

I said nothing and continued to plow through what was left of my breakfast.

“Did it have to do with the boy who was arrested with you?”

My fork clattered against the plate, and I looked up. “What?”

Finally managing to get some sort of reaction from me, he seemed almost serene. “Did you really think you could get arrested, call me in the middle of the night, drag me and Niles all the way here only to be told you were locked up until sunrise and me not demand an explanation?”

After wiping my mouth with a cloth napkin, I tossed it onto the table and folded my arms over my chest. I stared unblinking at my father, who even I couldn’t deny looked just like me. Or rather, I guess I looked like him. Both of us had blue-black hair, dark eyes, and square features. The difference was he was always clean-shaven, his hair combed into submission, and didn’t have a single piercing or tattoo. His eyebrows were shaped on the regular by the stylist he had on payroll, and his clothes, while obviously designer, were boring and formal.

Was one even a politician if he didn’t wear a suit and tie?

We both stood at nearly six feet, three with a broad build to support our height. He wore a size thirteen shoe, and I wore a thirteen and a half. I had no doubt that looking at him now was what looking in the mirror would be like in thirty-ish years.

‘Course, I probably wouldn’t have Botox. He says he doesn’t, but I know bullshit when I smell it.

Was one even a politician if he didn’t lie?

Yeah, I loved my parents, but I wasn’t an idiot.

“Were those drugs his?” Dad pressed when I stayed silent.

“No,” I said, a littler harsher than I intended.

“But he is the reason you punched a police officer.”

I shrugged.

Dad sighed. “I had to cancel three meetings to be here this morning, son. And I had to rearrange the rest of my day. They were going to let you go last night. Not enough evidence to charge you. But then you went and punched a cop. Something you only did after the boy brought in with you did.”

“So?”

“So they said he was wild. Erratic and unpredictable.”

“They also say they threatened him, made him trip and fall, and then shoved him so he almost fell again?”

Dad’s eyes narrowed. “Niles said nothing about that.”

“Of course not. Because the cops think they’re fucking saints.”

“What happened?”

I sighed. “The party I was DJing got raided. The place was a madhouse, and people were scattering everywhere. I went out the back with Eli, but the cops grabbed him, so I doubled back and went into a closet. Planned to just wait them out.”

“And this Matthew Prism was in the closet too?”

I wasn’t surprised Dad knew his name. I was sure Niles already gave him a full report. “They hauled us in, separated us. I refused to talk until I could make my call. They let me sit for a while, probably thinking I’d get scared and confess.”

“Just bad police work,” Dad muttered.

“When I saw Matthew again, he looked bad off, really stressed. Guess he had enough and threw a punch. So they tossed him in lockup.”

“And you followed him, why?”

“He looked pretty upset. Didn’t want to leave him there alone.” Just the thought of Matthew in that jail cell all night in the inky darkness made the French toast in my stomach churn. The vivid picture of him huddled against the metal as he rocked himself back and forth was grim.

It unsettled me too much. I started to reach for my phone so I could call him, hear his voice, and make sure he was doing okay.

But I didn’t have his number.

“I appreciate your empathy, son, but as I’ve said ad nauseum you can’t be doing these things. Especially with the election approaching. I want another term, and I won’t get the votes if my son is out being arrested for possession and assault. I’m in the public eye, so that means you are as well,”

“I know,” I said, voice tight. I didn’t need a reminder that I was supposed to be the shiny perfect son of a senator.

“If the press were to find out about this…”

I snorted. “Please. Like you haven’t already done damage control.”

“What else would you have me do? This is my career. Your legacy.”

His career was not my legacy, but I didn’t bother to waste my breath in telling him for the twelve thousandth time. My legacy would be my actions. I didn’t do hand-me-downs, something that probably made the parentals wish they had more than one kid.

Shoulda had a backup.

To their credit, though, they let me be me. Mostly. It took a few hellacious teenage years, but eventually, we settled into a grudging sort of stalemate where they let me pursue what I wanted as long as I did so at their fancy university. They pretended to be okay with my edgy style choices and tattoos as long as I kept the ink in places a suit would cover and the piercings could be removed for events.

A few years ago, I heard my mother tell my father that it was “just a phase,” and the more they fought against it, the more rebellious I’d become.

She was partially right. I would have continued to rebel, but my interests were not just a phase. Music—sound—is who I am. Politics seemed like a smokescreen for real life, and they could pry my plaid chinos, Metallica T-shirts, and chain wallet out of my cold, dead hands.

In exchange for their reluctant acceptance (aka hope that I would change), I stayed out of trouble, smiled at their dog and pony shows, and kept myself out of the spotlight so my father could be who he was.

When I was asked about my course of studies at the very prestigious Westbrook University, I said “the arts” instead of campus DJ with a side hustle of making ASMR videos online.

Funny how the arts were only impressive when it was something like orchestra or art history.

I considered it a small price to pay and motivation to prove people wrong.

But right now, this wasn’t about me. Or even my father. This was about Matthew and how I’d refused to leave him alone in a cage.

“I’m sorry you had to do damage control, but he needed me, and I made a choice.”

His face pinched as if he’d heard the words I didn’t speak. My choice wasn’t you.

“What kind of relationship do you have with this boy?”

He kept saying it… and I hated it. Sitting forward in the chair, I grabbed a sweating glass of water. “He’s not a boy.”

Well, he is. But he’s not your boy.

My father digested that for a moment. “Niles said you two looked awfully close.”

“Niles is a law textbook wearing a tie.”

Dad slapped his hand on the table, making the silverware rattle. “That textbook wearing a tie dragged his ass out of bed at three a.m. to fly across the state and get you out of jail!”

“Because God forbid my father, the senator, be seen inside a police station, bailing out his son.”

His voice went quiet. “Excuse me?”

I sighed. “Thank you for coming, Dad. And for using your resources to keep me from being charged.”

“And?” he pressed.

“And I don’t know what Niles told you, but last night was the first time I’ve ever even talked to Prism.”

Saying his last name felt weird and wrong, but saying his first name in this moment also seemed too intimate and personal. I wanted to keep Matthew to myself a little longer.

“I’ve seen him around. We go to the same university. He’s an Elite swimmer. We were both just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Dad was suddenly interested. “He’s Elite?”

Sometimes I forgot how prestigious it was to be Elite. I nodded. “Yes. Coach was there to get him out of jail. Half the team showed up to support him.”

“That’s good,” Dad murmured. “It would be hard to pin drug charges on an Elite athlete.”

“Our drug tests were negative,” I pointed out.

I’d submitted to one the minute they separated us. I didn’t have anything to hide, and refusing only made it look like I did. And after what Niles said at the station, I knew Matthew did too.

“Of course.” He agreed, but I knew what he was thinking. Image was almost more important than factual test results. And Westbrook Elite had an impressive image.

“This is a pivotal time for me. For this family.”

“I know,” I replied, irritation climbing my spine. “I didn’t get arrested on purpose.”

“I know music is your… passion.” He spoke as though that last word was stuck in his throat. “But I think it best that you refrain from hosting any parties until after the election.”

I burst up out of the chair. “You want me to quit DJ-ing?”

No. Hell no.

“Not quit,” he hurried to say. “Take a brief hiatus.”

I laughed. “Maybe you should take a brief hiatus. Don’t even worry about the election.”

It was so comical the way he looked, and I actually laughed. He continued to stare like a guppy, as if his brain couldn’t even process not being a politician.

“Exactly,” I said. “That’s how I feel about music.”

He shook off the stupor and stood. “No one is telling you to give up music, son. You can still DJ for the campus radio. You will still be involved in all your classes and extracurriculars.”

Extracurriculars = ASMR.

Do I even need to tell you my father does not get the tingles from such a thing?

Are you even a politician if you have *shudder* feelings?

Will I stop with the are you even a politician sayings? No.

“But DJ-ing these wild parties needs to stop.”

“It wasn’t a wild party.”

“You just came from jail,” he deadpanned. “There was over a million dollars’ worth of coke in that bag they found you with.”

“I wasn’t with that bag,” I reiterated. Then I choked. “A million dollars? I know Westbrook is monied, but even that seems excessive for a campus party.”

“Maybe. Unless a state senator’s son is found with the bag.”

I snorted. “You and Mom are generous, but even you know I don’t have a million dollars to buy drugs.”

“It’s the implication, son. The way it looks.”

Image. Blah. Blah. Blah.

I started to shake my head, but he held up his hand. “No more parties.”

“No.”

He raised his perfectly threaded brow. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Maybe.” I challenged.

“You can drop the parties for the rest of the semester, or you can come back home with me and finish all your classes remotely while helping me on the campaign trail.”

“Fine.”

“I appreciate that, son.”

See how he does that? Makes it out like I am doing him a favor instead of agreeing to an ultimatum.

“I have class,” I said, heading for the exit.

“You have an interview with the police tomorrow.” He reminded me.

“Niles told me in the car.” He also told me that Matthew needed to be there too.

“He will meet you at the station. Don’t say anything unless he’s there.”

“I know.”

“Stay out of trouble. The election depends on it.”

I wanted to point out that if his returning to the senate for another term depended on what I was doing, then maybe he wasn’t that great at his job. But he did just get me out of jail.

I stopped midstride and turned back. “Dad?”

“Yes, Arsen?”

“I told that cop not to touch Matthew,” I said.

Dad’s brow wrinkled a moment, and I realized I’d slipped and called him Matthew instead of Prism.

I forged on. “He didn’t seem to think I had the authority to back up my words.”

Dad pursed his lips. “That so?”

“Mm,” I mused. “I warned him.”

“Give me the name.”

I told him the name of the cop who’d pushed Matthew.

He nodded, and I turned to leave once more.

“Arsen.”

I stopped again.

“I had your SUV picked up and returned to your dorm.” He cleared his throat. “Your equipment too.”

If you’re wondering if that made me feel bad for basically agreeing not to DJ parties when I secretly planned to…? No.

But I did appreciate the gesture.

“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it. And thanks for coming.”

“I’ll always be here for you, son. Even if you are a pain in my ass.”

I smiled. “Tell Mom I said hi.”

“Call her and tell her yourself.”

I promised I would and then let myself out of the swanky suite. On my way down the hall, I passed Niles, who was no doubt heading to kiss my father’s ass.

“Don’t be late tomorrow,” he said.

“I won’t.”

“And make sure you bring the other one.”

“You mean the one you told my father I had a thing with?”

He stopped walking and sputtered. Unable to resist, I spun on my heel and strolled over in front of the lawyer. I was taller, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get a little pleasure out of looking down at him.

“If you think you can somehow ingratiate yourself to my father by whispering in his ear about things you think you see and my preferences, you’re wrong.”

His face reddened. “I did no such thing.”

“He already knows,” I said, watching surprise light his eyes. “So how about you keep your nose in your job and out of my business?”

I turned toward the elevator before he could reply. “See you in the morning, Niles,” I called over my shoulder. “And don’t you worry. I’ll make sure Matthew is there.”