I pause. “What?”
She's staring down at her phone, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. Cricket looks over at Harper. “Dad was asked by a reporter earlier today for a reaction to Ryan's post.”
Harper groans immediately. “Let me guess.” She rubs her forehead. “Total douchery ensued?”
Cricket doesn't answer. Instead, she hits play. The three of us huddle closer. A reporter appears on screen. The footage looks like it was taken outside the senate chambers. The reporter's voice crackles through the speakers:Senator Buterbaugh, your son put up a strongly worded post refuting your claims about his sexuality. Care to respond?
Senator Dickbag stops, turns, and faces the microphones. Then he opens his mouth:
I strongly denounce my son, his actions, and his lifestyle.My stomach twists. Until he decides to follow a righteous path, I do not have a son.
Harper makes a strangled noise.
Cricket's face goes white.
The senator continues:
Furthermore, while conversion therapy is still legal in North Carolina, Executive Order 97 removed state funding for therapy performed on minors.I stop breathing.I am working with state lawmakers to restore that funding. I have no further comments at this time.
The room remains completely silent.
The video ends. Cricket turns off the phone. Harper stares at the dark screen, then says, very calmly, “Mother. Fucker.”
Cricket looks seconds away from launching the phone through my television.
Me? I'm seeing red. Pure. Blinding. Rage.
“Excuse me.” I stand. Neither sister stops me. I walk directly into the kitchen, grab my phone, and make a call.
The line rings twice. Then a familiar voice answers. “Mr. Stark.”
I don't bother with pleasantries. “Carl. I know it’s only been three weeks…but tell me you have something.”
A pause. “Well, it was enough time, considering his pattern.”
I straighten. “What do you mean?”
“Turns out Monday night is a standing appointment.”
I begin pacing small circles. “Standing appointment?”
“Yep.” The PI sounds pleased with his crew. “Last night was the third Monday in a row stopping by the same home…and it’s not his. We did a little digging after the second visit. The home is owned by a well-known uh…service provider.”
I stop pacing. Every muscle in my body goes rigid as he continues, “My team had a nice little chat with her last night after he left.”
I blow out a heavy breath, fists clenched.
What a fucking hypocrite.
“And, Stark?”
“Yeah?” My voice comes out rough.
“She has video and pictures.”
Holy shit.
I run a hand through my hair. Start pacing again. Fast. “Would it effectively end his career if it got out?”
