She raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I'm well aware that you and Camden were good friends, but that's not the image we're trying to cultivate for you, sweetheart."
Cain squinted down at her. Though he was no mighty giant himself, he was still far taller than his petite mother.
"What image? What's wrong with Cam?"
"Nothing'swrong, we just want to make sure you spend plenty of time withallyour friends, " she hedged.
Oh. My. God.
"Is this because he'sgay?" Cain demanded. His voice rose, and several people nearby turned to look at him, but he would not lower it. "He’s your godson!”
The hypocrisy was nauseating.
"Don't be so melodramatic." Her whisper was cold and furious, as were her eyes as she glanced around to make sure no one could hear them. "Nobody is suggesting that you don't talk to him. We occasionally travel in the same small circles, and it's only right to be polite. Just... don't seek out reasons to talk to him. Or to Andrew McMann, either." She scowled at the place where Cain had stood talking to Drew.
"To what end?" Cain drew a hand through his hair, heedless of the mess he knew he would cause, and his eyes pled with his mother. "Everyone knows we’ve been friendly with the Seavers and the McManns for years. Cutting them off now achieves nothing."
Her mouth twitched. "Who we’ve beenfriendly withdoesn't matter, Cain. It's all about who can help ussucceedin life, and who is setting us up for failure." She wrapped a hand around his neck and leaned in close. "You can be just as happy with friends who help you cultivate the image you want."
The imagehewanted. A successful, conservative,straightasshole, just like dear old dad.
Right. His stomach clenched, the lies eating away at his insides like corrosive acid. He looked back at the senator, imagined the blood that stained the man’s successful, conservative hands.
Gary North was right - Cain was so fucking lonely. In this entire function room crowded with sycophants and yes-men, there was not one person who really saw him.
"I'm going to the restroom," he told his mother stiffly. Bile clogged his throat.
She nodded and stroked a comforting hand down the lapel of his jacket as though he were a skittish animal who might bolt. "Alright, darling. Alright. And when you get back, I'll tell you all about Mr. Fassbender. He's planning a little ski vacation next week for his daughter Penny and some of her friends. I was sure you'd want to go, so I gave him your number."
Skiing? He hadn't been skiing in years, but apparently he needed to cultivate the image of a man who skied. And never mind that Thanksgiving, the general time of family togetherness, was next week.
"Sure," he said hollowly. "You can tell me all about it."
Honestly, it might be better than sitting at his parents' DC house, or wherever they planned to spend Thanksgiving. If he had to listen to more conversations like this while trying to cough down dry turkey, he might actually shoot himself.
The worst part was, he suspected that his mother honestly believed what she was telling him was true - that he’d have a happier life if he cut out any friends who could cause a potential scandal.It was almost amusing, because as far as he knew,hewas the greatest potential for scandal in his mother’s life, and rather than cutting him out, she was determined to rein him in.
He reached out, squeezed her forearms, then stepped away. "Be right back," he told her, and she nodded.
Even though he knew she was watching again, he practically sprinted from the room.
******
Tonight’s event was held in a large and spacious function hall, one he knew for a fact looked like a thousand other function halls in other cities around the country. A large crystal chandelier that had to weigh a ton dominated the foyer outside, but the furniture was Spartan, probably to discourage parties from spilling out into the lobby. There were a few leather benches off to one side, not far from the hallway to the restrooms… and not far from the main exit.
One of the two black-suited security guards he’d been introduced to earlier nodded at him from the doorway, watching as he sank down onto the leather bench and shifted forward, cradling his head in his hands.
God, escape was tempting. What would it be like to walk out the door and just keep on walking?
But then, of course, there was Jesse.
Blond-haired, blue eyed, with a cocky smile that had peeked out whenever he’d caught Cain saying something stupid or outrageous, which was pretty regularly, Jesse Porter had been his childhood sweetheart. For one spring, Jesse had been a living, breathing dream - someone who’d only wanted to love Cain, and let Cain love him in return. Someone who’d understood the life Cain led and the restrictions therein.
Come kiss me, Jesse.
But… dude, someone’s gonna see.
Shut up. Everyone’s busy swimming. No one’s gonna notice if we head behind the pool house.
