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“High school students. From Ohio, apparently.”

“At least a dozen of them got video. It’s everywhere.” She took a long sip. “The crawl on every channel: SENATOR ASSAULTS COLLEAGUE IN CAPITOL HALLWAY.”

Hank closed his eyes. “How bad?”

“You’ll face an ethics inquiry. Clancy’s making noises about reconsidering the charges, but he won’t follow through—too many questions he doesn’t want to answer.” Frannie ticked off points on her fingers. “Republican leadership is ‘deeply concerned.’ Democrats are pretending to be outraged while privately delighted. The usual.”

“And my campaign?”

“Too early to tell. You were down six. This could sink you.” She paused. “Or it could be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Hank opened his eyes. “How do you figure?”

“Everyone wants to know what Clancy said.” Frannie leaned forward. “His reputation isn’t exactly sterling. People are already speculating.” She held his gaze. “What did he say, Hank?”

Hank stared at the ice on his hand. The cold was numbing, but Clancy’s words still burned.

“He called Chad a pretty little bartender. Said young men like him are fragile. Easily broken.” His jaw tightened. “Then he said—” He stopped. Started again. “He implied that boys like Chad earned their keep on their knees.”

“Jesus.”

“I know it was stupid. I know I should have walked away.” Hank’s voice cracked. “But he was talking about Chad like he was nothing. Like he was disposable. And I just—I couldn’t let him.”

Frannie was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was gentler than he’d ever heard it.

“Clancy’s been low his whole life. Decades of it. And when he saw you find something real, he couldn’t stand it. So he went lower.”

Hank looked at her. “Same closet. Different choices.”

“Exactly.” Frannie stood. “Go home. Keep ice on that hand. Get some sleep if you can.” She paused at the door. “And Hank? Try calling him again.”

“Why would this change anything?”

“Because you just answered a question he’s been asking himself for nine days.”

The walk home took longer than usual.

It was raining again, and managing an umbrella and a shoulder bag with only one good hand was a challenge.

The swelling had continued despite the ice, the knuckles purpling into an impressive bruise. Every time Hank flexed his fingers, pain shot up his arm.

The October light was fading, the sky deepening from gray to indigo. He passed restaurants and bars spilling warmth onto the wet sidewalks, couples walking hand in hand, ordinary people living ordinary lives. None of them seemed to recognize him.

He thought about Clancy. The venom in his voice, the cruelty that came so easily. But also—underneath—something else. The jealousy of a man who’d convinced himself that happiness was impossible for people like them, and who couldn’t bear to watch someone prove him wrong.

Hank understood that, in a way. The fury of seeing someone else have what you’d told yourself you could never have.

It didn’t make him hate Clancy less. But it made the anger harder to carry.

“Mr. Senator.”

Hank stopped. He was at the CVS corner.

Clyde was there, bundled in his army jacket, a newspaper spread across his knees. His weathered face split into a slow grin.

“Saw you on TV earlier. The whole room was watching.”

“I imagine they were.”