Cock and Balls (Handcuffs and Lace) by Mia Watts (13 page)

“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.

“Monty!” Hank called to him.

Monty didn’t answer. Hank drew closer, climbing over the nearest boulder. He dropped a hand on Monty’s shoulder. Monty reacted, swinging out an arm that connected perfectly. Hank toppled to the side, barely managing to push out of the way of the stony shoreline, only to dump himself into the water.

Hank huffed, blowing water from his lips as he wiped a hand over his eyes. They stung with saltwater. He peered at Monty from his position in the water.

“You’re scaring the fish,” Monty snapped, popping a bud from his hear as he spoke.

“Felt like making a sandcastle.” Hank lifted a palm full of loose brown sand from under the water.

“Go home.”

“They don’t have quality sand in D.C.,” Hank informed him. “Just that sissy stuff from the home gardening center.”

“Did you bring your shutterbugs with you again?”

“Naw. They were a little overworked. I told them to take some time off.”

“How considerate of you,” Monty replied.

“I figured I owed you after last time,” Hank said, tiptoeing into the subject he knew he needed to address but felt sick about bringing up.

Monty reeled in his line as though he had all the time in the world. He cast it off again. Hank waited through it, dragging himself from the water and taking a seat on a rock near Monty.

Soaked to the bone, Hank unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off his body. Then he took off each shoe and sock. He considered removing his pants, but he needed to know where things stood with the sexy agent before he completely stripped down as literally as he was about to emotionally.

“What do you want, Junior?”

“You.”

Monty snorted. “What’s wrong? Did the White House kill the story already?”

“They’ve handled it.”

Monty made a point of looking around. “Where are they?”

“Who?”

“Your camera hounds,” Monty said.

“I left them in D.C.”

Monty nodded, seeming to accept that as an actual answer even though they both knew Monty had been picking a fight. Monty shifted on his rock. “Did you sort things with your dad?”

Hank lifted a shoulder. “As good as can be expected. We’re working on it, and that’s a start.”

“Good.”

Hank licked his lips, tasting salt. He probably looked pretty horrible. Like a drenched rat. With drippy gel. “I’d like to get things sorted with you, too.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I had a job. I did my job. We had fun. I got burned.” Monty reeled in and hooked his line to the rod. He stood and headed toward the cabin.

Hank followed after checking to see that the catch line was empty. How long had Monty been out there, casting and reeling? Thinking back, he realized he hadn’t seen Monty bait the hook, and Hank frowned.

“You cleaned my place?” Monty snarled when Hank walked in.

“Yeah.”

“So you’ve been here for a while?”

“About an hour before I said hello,” Hank admitted.

Monty glowered. “I didn’t need you to clean up my shit.”

“I wanted to.” Hank shrugged. “Felt like the least I could do to help out.”

Monty stalked to him. Hank backed up until his ass hit the back of the only couch. He had to bend back as Monty got in his face.

“What else do you have in store for me, Junior? A tell-all book?
Sex inside the White House
?
How to Fuck a Secret Agent
?”

“I’m sorry,” Hank snapped. “I’m sorry,” he said, catching himself and making his tone a little gentler the second time around.

Monty slipped an arm around Hank’s waist. “I hate that I’ve missed you.”

His warm lips covered Hank’s firmly, almost painfully punishing. Hank wrapped his arms around Monty’s shoulders, letting the other man keep his balance for him. When Monty stood, still holding Hank, they broke the kiss, and Hank couldn’t help but read the heavy conflict in the agent’s eyes.