James has moved even closer now, his expression darkening as he listens.
"You're exaggerating what happened," my father insists. "Christopher had too much to drink, made a pass that you rejected, end of story. The Montgomerys have been very understanding about the whole thing."
"Understanding? They have been understanding and I’ve been what…" I can’t believe what he is saying. I know my father doesn’t really care about my feelings, but this is beyond anything I could have imagined he would suggest.
"I had to push him off! He tried to—" I stop myself, too aware of James listening, of wounds I don't want to reopen. "I'm not discussing this further. I won't be attending any events with Christopher. Ever."
"This isn't about you, Caleb," my father says, his patience clearly wearing thin. "This is about the family, the campaign, the greater good we're trying to achieve."
“The greater good doesn't justify throwing your barely of age son to a person like—," my anger is so intense that I can't finish the sentence, and I realize I'm shaking when James pulls me into his arms.
There's a long silence on the other end. When my father speaks again, his voice has that dangerous quietness I've learned to dread.
"You've always been selfish, Caleb. Always putting your comfort above family obligations. Your mother and I have supported your... lifestyle choices... despite the political complications they create. The least you could do is show some gratitude by making connections that benefit the campaign instead of indulging in these destructive rebellions."
The words land like blows, each one finding its mark with practiced precision. I should be used to this by now, the manipulation, the guilt, the subtle reminders that my sexuality is something they "tolerate" for appearance's sake while using it as a political tool when convenient.
But it still hurts. Every. Single. Time.
"I have to go." My voice is hollow. "Guests to attend to."
"Caleb—" my father begins, but I end the call, slipping the phone back into my pocket with a hand that's not quite steady.
For a moment, no one speaks. I can't look at James, can't bear to see pity or, worse, disgust on his face after what he heard.
Chapter 13
Walk away
CALEB
"Your father sounds like a real fucking piece of work," he says finally.
A strangled laugh escapes me. "That's one way to put it."
"And Christopher..." James continues, his voice carefully neutral. "He tried something when you were eighteen?"
Shutting my eyes, the memories are coming back even though I'm trying hard to keep them down. "It was at a campaign fundraiser barbecue. Everyone was mingling very casually. Christopher kept bringing me drinks and being overly friendly. I didn't think much of it at first; he was always around at those events."
James waits, silent, giving me space to continue at my own pace.
"I realized too late he'd been giving me stronger drinks than I thought. I wasn't drunk, but I was... impaired. He suggested we take a walk, get some air. Led me to a guest house on the property."
My voice tightens. "He tried to kiss me, and I pushed him away. He said I was a tease, that everyone knew I was gay.” I wasn't out publicly yet, but he said, “It would be good for me to fuck someone experienced."
James's expression darkens, but he doesn't interrupt.
"When I tried to leave, he grabbed me and pushed me against the wall. Said no one would believe me anyway, that his father owned mine." My throat works; I can swallow past the tightness. "I had to knee him in the groin and fight him off. Ran back to the main house and told my parents. My father was angry at me for making a scene. Said I must have misunderstood Christopher's intentions."
"Fuck that," James snarls.
"The official story became that I had too much to drink and misinterpreted a friendly gesture. The Montgomerys made a significant donation the following week. Case closed.
"Even after all this time, it makes me sick that my family blew off what happened. And now, four years later, my parents think it would be 'appropriate' for me to date him. For the campaign's sake, of course."
Finally, I look up, ready for whatever might be on James's face: pity, awkwardness, or wanting to get away from this drama he never asked to be part of. Instead, I find barely contained fury. I realize his hands are clenched at my sides, and his jaw is tight.
"That's fucked up," he says simply. "All of it. Your parents, that Christopher guy, the whole situation."
