by Mia Watts
“I trusted you to look after my son.” Disappointment dripped from McClaren’s voice as he addressed Monty. “We set up the Plan B, and I put you on it because I knew that of all the Secret Service guys, you wouldn’t let me down.”
Monty winced, but he had no defense so he didn’t say a word. He could feel Hank’s eyes move between the president and Monty. If he looked up and saw a smug smile, Monty would kick his ass—after he kissed the damn grin off his face, so help him—so he didn’t glance at him. His attention fixed to McClaren, senior.
The president ran a hand through his hair, and Monty was reminded of how infrequently the man did that, which already showed how upset he was. Then the president sighed.
“You were technically off the clock. Technically, I can’t fire you even though your behavior should always represent my office, because you were on private property and off the radar.” The president’s eyes seemed sad. “Why my son, Montegue? Of all the men you could pick to mess around with, why did you choose my son when you were on an unofficial mission to protect the integrity of this office?”
“Sir, I have no excuse for my behavior.”
“You knew what Hank was like. You know the antics he pulls. Did you stop to think for one second that he was using you?”
Monty almost glanced at the younger man, who’d stiffened suddenly. “Yes, sir. I did briefly, but we were alone.” He paused to collect his embarrassment as he finished the confession. “And I believed his sincerity.”
McClaren shook his head. “He had your number, I’m guessing. It wouldn’t be the first time that he convinced someone to behave out of character, but it’s you, Montegue. I can’t fire you, but I won’t let this go.”
“Yes, sir.” Monty waited for his sentencing.
“You’ll be removed from my service.”
Monty winced. “Yes, sir. I understand, and I’m sorry for letting you down.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” McClaren cut him off from anything else he might have said. “If you manage to work your way back up into service of the president, it won’t be during my term. I don’t know all the ins and outs of the Secret Service, but I can promise you that.”
“Dad, they’ll fire him. You know they will,” Hank spoke up suddenly.
“No, I’ll make sure that won’t happen. I can’t say it’ll be an easy road for you, Montegue. It’ll set you back in your career, but it won’t blow it out of the water. That’s the only concession I’m willing to offer you.”
“Yes, sir,” Monty answered. “Thank you.”
“Leave now. I believe your supervisor wants a word with you.”
Monty nodded, rose and left. He took the corridors away from the private wing, escorted by another agent. God, this was going to suck, but it was no less than he deserved. If anything, McClaren had been lenient with him.
Monty had barely entered the security office when he was asked to turn over his I.D. badge.
* * * *
Hank heard the door to the private suite close.
“He didn’t know I’d called the paparazzi,” Hank said.
“He should know everything. Every contingency should’ve been accounted for and shot down,” McClaren told him quietly. “He may have been on an official leave of absence, but he’s not off the hook and neither are you.”
“He’s one man, Dad. How was he supposed to keep his eyes on me and do things like pick up supplies? You had to know there would be moments I’d be out of sight. If you were so worried about me acting out, you should’ve sent a second agent.”
A muscle in McClaren’s jaw ticked. “It’s everyone’s fault but your own, isn’t it? You take no responsibility for your actions even now when a man almost loses his job because of what you did to get back at me. I would’ve been within my rights to fire him off all service and see that he never takes a position in this city again.”
“You’re right,” Hank admitted quietly.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re right.”
McClaren eyed him uncertainly. “I’m waiting to hear you elaborate on this one. I can’t wait to see how you twist this around.”
Hank scooted to the edge of the couch. He rested his elbows on his thighs and folded his hands. “No twisting. I-I screwed up.”
McClaren held his silence seeming to expect the other shoe to drop. He didn’t look as if he believed Hank. Hank didn’t blame him. He’d spent the last couple years angry at his father for not giving him or Hank’s mother attention, letting them sort it out as a single parent unit, and the last few months making the president’s life hell after her death. Hank still wasn’t sure he could forgive his father, but he believed Monty too. He believed Monty had seen the Hank’s father fall apart, that the mighty President McClaren had cried when he heard that his wife had died.
It meant letting go of that splinter of hate he had for the man because in the back of his mind Hank knew his mother would’ve insisted his dad leave for Paris. It rang of truth, and besides that, Monty’s sincerity had been there. If Hank trusted nothing else, he trusted his memory of his mother and the truth he’d seen in Monty’s eyes.
“I’ve been angry at you for so long,” Hank said, finally breathing the words he’d kept pent up. Maybe if he said them out loud, his father would finally admit his errors too. Maybe. “You’d stand at the podium talking about family values—made that your running game for the presidency. I got so mad because Mom and I were living that family without you.”
“Who do you think encouraged me every step of the way? She knew when she got sick that it would take a toll, and she knew that some of the battle she had to take on would be without me beside her.” President McClaren closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, he seemed to have aged another ten years. “I miss her too. I love her too. Your mother knew what we were getting into.”
“I don’t think so. I think she was resolved to accept the cards she’d been dealt, but she missed you. We missed you,” Hank stressed. He wouldn’t have admitted that much, but his conversation with Monty about how badly his dad had been hurting entered his mind. It was for that reason alone he shared as much as he did about his feelings, the loneliness and pain. “I just let my resentment get out of control. I sank to a level I shouldn’t have.”
“Changing tactics to guilt?” McClaren asked.
“No, Dad. I’m just tired of living my life to spite you. I don’t know your motives now any better than I did back then. I just know that I can’t be this hate-filled person I’ve been for the last couple years. Especially how I got after Mom’s death.”
“I miss her.” McClaren’s face seemed to crumble. “She was the love of my life, and she’s gone.”
“You still left us at the end.”
“I didn’t want to. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to get on that plane and take off for Paris?”
“No, Dad. I don’t. It looked pretty easy from where I sat beside her bed, holding her hand as her life slipped away.” Hank winced. He’d grown so accustomed to getting in a dig at every opportunity that the last one had slipped out despite his best intentions.
McClaren dropped his face into his hands. His shoulders weakened, and there was a hitch to his breathing that Hank hadn’t heard before. A lump had formed in Hank’s throat as well.
“I’m sorry, Dad. That came out wrong.”
Whether or not he heard Hank, McClaren appeared lost in his thoughts. “Your mother and I—this was a dream for us. It wasn’t how we started off thinking life would be, but it’s what we found together. We rode the wave all the way to the presidency, and when the diagnosis came in, she still supported it. She loved our life together,” McClaren stressed, sitting upright. “It came with the cameras and media. She knew that, and she supported my run anyway.”
“Did you ever ask her what she wanted? What I wanted?” Hank asked gently.
“Neither of you lacked for anything. She was a fantastic mother to you and all your needs were met. You
left home before my first term in office, like any kid striking out on his own. Was your life here so bad?”
“I did have a great mother, and I used to have a great father. But he left me then he left his wife.”
McClaren sighed. He looked tired. “I thought you were fine. You never said you weren’t. I can’t read minds.”
The old anger flared up hearing his father’s empty defense. “But common sense is out of the realm of possibility for you?” Hank snapped. “Your wife was dying.” God, letting go was harder than he’d thought. He still had questions, maybe because Hank would’ve lived his choices differently.
“I explained that.” McClaren rose. “Settle on an argument. Is this about me being a neglectful dad or a neglectful husband? Because from the looks of things, I’ll never be let off the hook in your mind. You say you’re tired of being angry, but you’re still trying to pin me down with blame.”
“It’s about you being plain old neglectful then controlling me after I left home too. I don’t fit neatly into your political box.” Hank rose too. “I don’t want to fight you anymore. We’re never going to see eye-to-eye about Mom. But I also can’t just forget, Dad. I screwed up. So did you.”
This was the longest discussion they’d had in years. Normally, someone ushered McClaren off to an appointment. Not once had the president looked at his watch, and not once had he picked up the phone buzzing on the coffee table or answered the soft knock coming from the other room. For a second, Hank could remember him as the guy who’d played catch with him and helped him build a fort in the woods behind their Georgia home.
“So you want to party and be gay?” McClaren asked gruffly by way of subject change.
“I am gay. It’s not like I woke up one day and decided to go gay in order to spite you. If anything, I hid it from the media until last week. I may have stupidly wanted to hurt you, but I knew that would take it too far. And because that’s a part of my private life that I didn’t want the public to have a piece of too. But you kept pushing and pushing. I was tired of hiding from you and everyone else. Tired of worrying about the judgment.”
McClaren moved to stand in front of Hank. He placed his hands on Hank’s shoulders and gazed directly into Hank’s eyes. Hank couldn’t remember the last time his father had really looked at him. Years, probably.
“I love you. I loved your mother. I thought everything was going well between all of us until it wasn’t. That realization snuck up on me…one day we were fine and the next, I’m having you tailed by Secret Service—not for protection as much as for babysitting services.”
McClaren licked his lips as though gaining his courage before he continued. “No matter what you think of me, your mother insisted that I leave because of the state of negotiations taking place in France. It couldn’t be delayed, and when I suggested I stay behind, she refused to see me. She told me she had you to look after her, and she’d be here when I got back.”
McClaren’s face did crumble then as grief stole over his features. “She didn’t wait,” he whispered.
Pain stabbed Hank through the heart. “She couldn’t.”
“I never would’ve left if I’d thought that. So yes, Hank, I screwed up. I know I did what she asked me to, and I know I did what I thought I should at the time. Do I regret it? God, yes.”
Hank relented. He could see the truth in his father’s words. Whatever else Hank had believed, his father had loved his mother. He wouldn’t have left her to die alone. It knocked the bottom card out from under his pyramid of resentment. All the hate he’d built up and credited to her death and his father’s absence six months ago wasn’t actually about that. Not anymore.
“I’m sorry,” McClaren said finally.
He jerked Hank forward into a hug. Hank didn’t know what to do with his arms. He started to struggle, but McClaren held on tighter.
“I’m not letting go of you until you know how much I love you. How sorry I am for not being there for you,” his father told him. “I followed my dream and expected it to be yours too.”
“Would you have really stopped vying for the presidency if you’d known differently?” Hank asked skeptically.
“No,” McClaren admitted. “But I’d have made sure you were with me every step of the way instead of dragged along behind.”
Hank reluctantly hugged him back, with half-hearted pats on the back. “I’m sorry too, Dad. I’ve been acting like a spoiled brat. It didn’t even occur to me until Monty called me out about it.”
McClaren loosened his hold to look at Hank.
“I don’t suppose he’s happy with you right now,” McClaren agreed. “He just lost the position that all Secret Service strive for, and he won’t be getting it back any time soon.”
Hank winced. “It was my fault. All mine. I set up Monty to get what I wanted.”
“I think you set him up to lose what you wanted—him. Did I hurt you so badly that you try not to be in relationships that could mean something?”
“What are you talking about? I did everything I could to make you look bad, not him,” Hank countered.
“Are you sure? Son, I may have missed a lot about who you are that I can never make up for, but you didn’t come back from Alabama the same man. Something changed you down there. Someone. I’m pretty sure that someone just left my living room.” McClaren shook his head. “I know I don’t have the right to claim that I know you, but the man you are right here would never have had this conversation with me a week ago. If for no other reason, that alone is worth not firing him from service altogether.”
To his embarrassment, Hank felt his cheeks heat. “I’ve messed up enough lives.” He stuck his hands in his back pockets, uncomfortable with the turn of conversation. “I’m also not anywhere near ready to talk about my personal life with you.”
McClaren nodded. “I understand that. Maybe, one day, we’ll talk about it?”
“Maybe.” Conscious that his dad would be forced to leave the cocoon of the family living room soon, Hank was loath to delve any deeper. “So, how are your guys going to spin this?”
A funny look crossed his dad’s face. “I don’t know. Maybe, it’s time the president took a hands-off approach to his son.” He chuckled suddenly. “Don’t get me wrong, you know Hanson will jump on the media wagon as soon as I leave this room and send out a statement.”
“Yeah,” Hank agreed cynically.
“I can’t take the agent detail off you, but I can have it be lower key.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“So that’s where we start. Deal?” McClaren held out his hand to his son.
Hank took it. “Deal.”
“Good, we’ll keep working on us. Now, go track Agent Montegue down at the security office.”
“And if they won’t release the information?”
“Tell them the president backs your search.” McClaren clapped Hank on the shoulder. “I haven’t been very good at showing you how much I love you, but I promise to make a better effort.”
“I’ll lay off the public appearances,” Hank conceded.
McClaren winked then picked up his buzzing phone.
His father’s words settled around him. Self-destructive behavior? Yeah, Hank had done that, and it hadn’t benefitted anything he couldn’t have accomplished with a good old-fashioned chat with his dad. Losing the Monty on purpose? Had he? God, was Hank really that self-sabotaging?
There was only one humbling answer to that question. Hank swallowed hard and made for the door. He had some making up to do. He just hoped that destroying Monty’s life, publicly embarrassing him, degrading him and making a mockery of their brief but intense connection wasn’t enough to keep Monty from giving him another shot.
Chapter Eleven
Two weeks later…
Hank pulled up in front of the understated cabin along the Alabama waterfront. His GPS intoned that he should make the next available u-turn in a stuffy female voice and informed him she was recalculating. Well, no shit.
He was at the backend of nowhere, and Hank suddenly had a lot more respect for the enterprising paparazzi who’d found the same cabin fifteen days ago.
In the distance, Monty cocked back his rod and swung it long. Hank heard the distinct whizzing of the line leaving the reel. Monty’s bobber plopped into the water—soundless from where Hank stood but almost seeming to bounce on a gentle wave. It bobbed a little, and Monty settled in to wait.
He had to have heard Hank pull up, but there was no evidence of it. Hank shaded his eyes in the dropping sun, lifted his roller bag over the gravel drive and walked toward the cabin. He kept an eye on Monty, expecting him to turn at any time. Still, the man remained motionless, feet dangling over the side of a particularly large boulder he sat on.
Hank wanted to go to him and talk, but his nerves seemed to cinch is throat around all the things he had to say to the other man, all the things he needed to apologize for and hoped he got the opportunity. So he took his bag into the cabin, placed it just inside the door and took another long moment to steady himself.
After several attempts to reach Monty, Hank had finally found out from his landlord that Monty hadn’t been around. Since he was on leave, as long as he periodically checked in, they didn’t care where he was. Which left Hank groping at straws—and guesses.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darker interior of the cabin. The last time he’d been there, everything had a place and everything had been put away. Now, it looked like Monty was in serious need of maid services.
It could have been procrastination, but Hank felt the need to clean. He didn’t like seeing Monty like this. It was out of character, and Hank was the reason for it. Perhaps some small measure of apologizing was in helping Monty reorganize. Unfortunately, the cabin was small, and it barely took him an hour to clean up and wipe everything down.
The last item, a damp bath towel, he hung outside to dry. He watched Monty reel in and cast out again and decided waiting was no longer an option.
Hank worked his way out to the shoreline. Only as he drew nearer did he see the white cords coming from both ears. Music. Of course. No wonder Monty hadn’t heard him.
