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I hadn't even given my father much thought. I still surveyed my surroundings when I went anywhere. I still planned out different routes to and from work. I just didn't let it consume my every thought.

Right after my concentration recalled where I'd left off with my code review, the phone rang again. The stupid, blissful grin spread across my face. I didn't even glace at the caller ID. I had the phone in my hand in a flash. “Did you change your mind on the ravioli?”

“Excuse me?”

I held my breath. That voice. Not Matthew's. It held more familiarity. Even if I hadn't heard it in years.

“Luke, is that you?”

I gulped in a mouthful of air and forced myself to take in another before speaking. “Yeah.”

“How are you, son?” His tone belied the concerned words.

“Fine.”

“Let's not bother with the small talk, shall we?”

“Why are you calling? I already know your men were in my apartment.”

“I'd like to see you. Today. For lunch.”

“Why?”

“Can you come or not? Believe me, I won't keep you long.”

Believe me, I won't stay long
. “Where? What time?”

I arrived at Seymour's Diner fifteen minutes early. My father wouldn't be there yet. The man never arrived anywhere before the arranged time— being early was for the insecure. He was never a minute late— being late was for the inept.

I gave my name to the hostess, and she seated me in the back. My father had chosen well. I counted nine patrons scattered about the retro metal tables and red vinyl booths. Most were elderly men and woman— divided into duos by fate or boredom or stupidity— who scrutinized their coffee cups and not much else. Perhaps they'd talked themselves out or covered every last possible topic years ago.

I ordered a cup of coffee and picked up a menu. Food wasn't an option, but my hands wanted something to do. I glanced over the choices and the diner lingo— items like
Zeppelins in a Fog
and
Dough Well Done with Cow to Cover
— amused me. Did people really order that way? Or was it all for show?

I tucked the menu behind the napkin dispenser, leaned back, and eyed the front of the diner.

My father strolled through the door at twelve-thirty. He skulked his way around tables and chairs and sat without a nod or word of hello. The scent of his cologne drifted across the table. Fifteen years and he still wore the same damn shit, the same style of suit, the same stupid look of arrogance.

But the man had aged. White hair— instead of the dark brown he sported when I'd last seen him— edged a pale, gaunt face. Visible lines surrounded his eyes. His legs didn't bend as they should with each step. The stiff walk gave him the look of a man who didn't trust the ground under his feet.

Did the old man sitting before me represent what I'd look like someday— hard and ragged, an empty shell of a man?

I opened my mouth, and he raised a hand to silence me. Two men in suits cleared a nearby table of an elderly couple. It took several minutes for the old man to help his wife slide across the booth and swing her legs out from under the table. Once she had her feet under her, my father's men shuffled them off to a booth farther away.

“Let's be frank, shall we?” he said.

“Fine by me.”

“I need to know what you've been up to. To be ready to deflect any negative press.”

He wasn't asking about my work or my voting record. He wanted to know about my sex life. I pressed my shoulder blades into the seat and folded my arms across my chest. My fingernails burrowed into the shirtsleeves covering my biceps. “Why now? You've been in Congress for how long? Why am I an issue now?”

“Answer the damn question. If the press was to investigate your life, what would it find?”

“Oh, Dad, the stories I could tell you. Well, this weekend, I was chained up in a basement and fucked by two guys.”

“Jesus, Luke.” He raked his fingers through his hair, and his face paled more. He glanced around the room. “I don't even want to know if that's true.”

I shrugged. “You asked. I thought you wanted to know what might cause negative press. Wouldn't me tied up, begging for sex from two guys I barely know give you cause for concern?”

“I can see there are things in your life I have to be worried about. Tell me, do you go to any clubs or other sex places? Where people might see you? Take pictures?”

“Wouldn't you love to see pictures? I could probably arrange something.”

“Don't be a shit.” He banged his fist on the table. The two sets of neatly arranged silverware momentarily took flight and clattered as they landed in disarray. The coffee in my cup sloshed and spilled over each side. “Tell me what I'm up against.”

“Well, you're the one who's having me followed. What have you learned?”

“I wouldn't have to have someone watch you if I thought you could be trusted to live a civilized life. I know about that disgusting place you go to. I know you haven't been home in several days. Do I even want to know where you've been staying?”

“Do you think I'm going to tell you? No, Dad. You couldn't understand my life if you tried. Don't worry. I'll stay off the radar. I won't talk to the press. I won't come to see you or Mom. Hell, I won't even vote in the next goddamn election.”

“I would expect nothing less. I'm more worried about something getting out you have no control over.”

“If I have no control over it, then you don't either.”

“We'll see. I warn you, son, do not mess with me. Or I'll make your life miserable.”

“How am I messing with you? I don't talk to you. I don't see you. I'm living my own life.”

“And the way you live is what will cause me problems. I know you all too well. You don't do anything you have to take too seriously. You're all about living in the moment and having your sick, perverted fun. You do not know how to commit to anything. How could you understand my dedication to serving this country?” He paused and made eye contact with me for the first time since he entered the diner. “Can't you leave the city? Live away from your mother and me? Try to live like a normal person? Try to have a goddamn normal relationship?”

My hands clenched around my biceps. “I'm not going anywhere.” My voice was loud enough for the customers at several tables past his circle of henchmen to hear. He shifted in his seat and scanned the room. “Look at me,” I said.

He glared at me.

“I have a life here. A life that isn't made up of any kind of filth, and I'm not going anywhere.”

He squinted. Deep lines formed at the corners of his eyes as if he'd made the same judgmental expression a million times before. “You have one shot to make this work. For you and me. You quit going to that club or you'll see what kind of monster the press can be. And it won't just be me they tear apart.” His palms slapped the table and he stood. “I won't be having you followed anymore for reasons that are my own business, but if I find out you're doing anything to make me look bad, you'll regret it.” He threw a twenty on the table and left the restaurant, followed out by his protectors.

I stared at the crumpled bill and felt like a whore who'd been paid for one of the worst fucks of his life.

I banged my fist on the edge of the table and didn't miss the fact that my father had just done the same thing. A jagged piece of trim framing the metal tabletop dug into the flesh. Blood seeped and streamed down my wrist.

I grabbed a napkin and swiped at the blood over the gash of torn skin. No stitches needed, but bad enough. I focused in on the bite of the pain. Only, the pain didn't irritate me or disturb me or make me angry. It was unavoidable. A physical reminder of the conversation with my father. A necessary token. And I accepted it. I could never let myself forget the man's hatred of me.

I stood and headed for the door. I wasn't going back to work. For once, I could go home and find what I needed.

I shook with rage and desperate need as I stepped inside the house. I set down my bag and keys and called out for Matthew.

From the time it took me to get to the subway, ride to my stop, and walk to the townhouse, I'd managed to work up to pissed off. I was done letting my father push me around. Done letting his game drive me into hiding and force me to move over and over.

I took a deep breath and waited for Matthew's response. I didn't mind being wound up with need, but I didn't want to bring any anger into a moment of pleasure with him. He didn't deserve that.

When he didn't answer me, I moved down the hall toward the kitchen and heard their voices.

“It sucks.” Richard. Strained. Angry. But not aiming it at Matthew.

“I can imagine. After all your hard work.” Matthew. Calm. Caring. He caught sight of me as I rounded the corner. “Hey, Luke. What ya doing home early?” The two were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table.

“I... uh, had a bad day. I thought I'd head home after lunch. Sorry about dinner. I can stop another night.”

Matthew gave me a smile. “That's okay.”

“Am I interrupting?” I asked.

“No,” Richard said. “Just telling Matthew about my shit day. Got out of a meeting and cancelled my afternoon, including the dinner for tonight. Then I reminded myself if I came home early, I wouldn't be alone.” He smiled at Matthew then grew serious again. “I lost the lakefront deal.”

“Sorry.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. Half-full cups of coffee sat in front of each man. I made a beeline for the pot.

Matthew's attention refocused on Richard. “Is there anything you can do to get them to change their minds? It sounds like a great area to invest in.”

I leaned back against the counter and swallowed slow sips.

“It was,” Richard said. “Man, I'd have made a mint. There are a ton of plans for the area. It's going to explode with condos and shopping centers. Fuck.” His hands wrenched into fists. “It's gone. I did everything I could. Sometimes someone comes in with a sweeter offer. I know the money shouldn't be an issue, but losing the deal irks me to no end.”

“I get that,” Matthew said. “You live well, but you aren't all about having money and stuff. It isn't you. You wanted the deal and you lost it. That's the part driving you crazy. I mean... you like to have control, yeah?” Matthew dropped his head and smiled, his eyes on the table.

Richard laughed. “I guess I do.” His hands unclenched. He lifted an open palm to caress Matthew's cheek.

“You'll get the next one.”

I pushed off the counter and went to them. “He's right. You're not the type to be kept down for long.”

“Thanks, Luke.” Richard stood and gave me a quick kiss. “You guys want to crash on the couch and watch some TV? We could order pizza later.”

“Sounds good.” Matthew stood and bounced off toward the living room.

Richard chuckled as he watched him leave. Not an ounce of tension remained in the big man's body or his laughter. Matthew was good for him. Hell, I was laughing too. He was good for both of us.

We relaxed against one another on the couch. I didn't tense or freak about what it meant to be close without an agenda in mind. I fought the instinct and let my hands wander, let myself enjoy Richard and Matthew for as long as I could.

I was getting used to not being alone. Getting used to them. To wanting. To needing. To the easy way we were together.
Shouldn't that scare me? Shouldn't I be leaving?

I tried to push away thoughts of my father and what the man had said. And the way I'd found the perfect distraction when I'd gotten home. Most importantly, I tried to avoid that I was referring to the place I'd just moved into as home. Wasn't it temporary?

It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

I had moved in with two men to whom I'd made promises, to whom I'd agreed to be faithful. It was more than I had allowed myself to do since I was nineteen years old.

It was a start.

For once, I was not letting myself or my father scare me away from a good thing.

Throughout the week, I became a part of an evening routine that had nothing to do with surveillance video feeds or time spent trolling the Haven for someone to spend a half hour with.

Matthew made dinner most nights. I helped finish the food or set the table when I could. After we ate, we'd watch TV, or Richard and I would get some work done on our laptops while Matthew read a book. The nights ended with sex— in the bedroom, the basement, or even on the couch if we couldn't keep our hands off one another before the show ended. We hadn't spent a night together all week that didn't include getting off in one way or another.

Matthew and I had also spent time setting up the spare rooms, unpacking, and rearranging furniture. Matthew even brought over a small television and an Xbox from his mom's place. Richard turned a deep shade of red when he saw it.

“Feeling old?” I asked when we were alone later.

“God, yes. Sometimes I look at him and I think I'm robbing the damn cradle.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Not enough to give a shit. Or to give him up.”

I couldn't argue with him. I'd never cared about the age difference between myself and any other man. Then again, I hadn't had a relationship with anyone since I was nineteen. When it came to casual fucks, as long as they were legal, I didn't care. And I wasn't about to let it start bothering me. Not when it might have meant Matthew was too young for me.

While he worked on his room, I fixed the other one up to serve as my office. I also wanted to include a bed, in case I needed to sleep alone at some point. I didn't want to mention anything to Richard, so I lived with the room as it was. Things were going well with the arrangement, and I didn't want to disrupt the flow we had going or anger or disappoint them in any way.

I'd taken to giving their feelings considerable amounts of thought. Which I guess made sense when so much of my usual life had vanished, and I was left with all sorts of free time.

It was easy to let go of my obsession with my stalkers. Not because my father said he wouldn't send his men. I didn't believe he'd tell the truth. It was more the diversion of Matthew and Richard and my unexpected enjoyment of our temporary living situation that had me relaxed.