Let go of whatever happened in the past?
My jaw twitched involuntarily, probably from how hard I was gritting my teeth. I had moved on to the new, as he put it. What the fuck did he think that was five years ago when I severed ties with this law firm and started my own? James R. Blakney & Associates, P.C. was something pretty fucking new. I shrugged and shook my head slowly. “So what, you’re running for public office now?”
“I’ve been approached by the party, yes.” He unclasped his hands and placed both palms down onto his desk. “I will accept their invitation to throw my hat into the proverbial ring. I have every intention of representing Massachusetts in the US Senate one year from now.”
Of course you do.
I figured this day would come in time. My father’s ego pretty much predestined a political career at some point. “Congratulations,” I managed to grind out.
“The senate is just the first step in the overarching plan though.”
“Overarching plan?” I loathed when he spoke in riddles like he was doing right now. So arrogantly smug in his passive aggressiveness it grated on my already stretched patience.
“Yes. The senate campaign announcement will come early January when everyone is breathing a collective sigh of relief the presidential race debacle has finally been put to bed—try to deflect some of the negative into a positive. Four years isn’t a horribly long time to have to wait for a candidate they can really get behind and safely propel into the White House.”
Whoa. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? “You’re serious.”
“Deadly serious.”
“You’re going to run for President of the United States.” I didn’t pose it as a question. I blinked at him, hoping to wake up from a really bad fucking dream—unable to accept the idea, grasping at straws of denial instead. “But aren’t you getting ahead of things? The White House is a long way from a judgeship on the First Circuit.”
He stone-faced me, taking me straight back to when I was a kid and about to get served my punishment for some irrationally perceived infraction. There were a lot of those moments in my childhood to draw from. A flicker of fear crept inside my heart.
“I-I m-mean, you have to w-win the senate seat before you can declare a run for P-President in four years.” I wanted to cut out my tongue for stammering and showing my weakness in front of him.
“The senate race won’t be even a small problem. It’s already done. All I need to make it stick is the cooperation of my beloved family.” His lip curled up on one side in a definite tell of distaste as he spoke the last word. Jesus Christ, he must hate us all.
“How so?” I wouldn’t have anything to do with his campaign. No fucking way. I held my palms up. “This has nothing to do with me. Your campaign is yours—as in not mine.”
“Oh, but it is in a way, son. You’ll have to do your part to help present the right image to the voting public. Every aspect of our lives will be scrutinized—every predilection . . . ” He folded his hands and focused his dark eyes on mine, finally getting to the crux of the issue.
“Even I can’t change who I am . . . Dad. You might think you can clean me up for your precious campaign, but you can’t. You are responsible for my transformation after all.”
Maybe he was responsible.
But maybe not.
The darkness had always been there from as long as I could remember, just not acted on until rather recently in my life. Now? I needed it to survive. The control was essential for me. The fact my father had knowledge of my sexual proclivities was a far worse burden to bear on my part. The fact I liked to tie up women and spank them while fucking was gonna be his.
“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s a simple solution. Your sister is already on the right path. She understands her duty to her family. The only loose end in my equation is you.” He did that lip-curl thing again. “You will also do your duty to this family, and you will do it quickly.”
I shook my head at him. Denying what I knew he was asking of me. “I’m not hearing this.”
“You are hearing this. I can’t run a campaign for the highest office in the land with a thirty-something son unmarried and frequenting an underground sex club. Discreet you may be, but this upcoming level of scrutiny isn’t what you’ve been used to thus far. I might be able to get the past whitewashed somewhat but my powers aren’t infinite here. A pretty wife and a young family will do a much more convincing job than a cover-up could ever manage. The Internet makes things very goddamn complicated for all of us.”
Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth.
“Married doesn’t work for me. I mean, just look at what happened the last time I tried to put a ring on it. You orchestrated that catastrophe like a pro, I might add.”