I am bone-tired. My disgust seeps down, right into the marrow, right into the core of me.

Nothing can shake it loose except the truth.

My mother is under house arrest at this moment because of men who lied, men who had power and used it against her, and if it weren’t for the way I feel about Graham I’d be under house arrest, too. A different kind, but it would be a prison nonetheless.

I’m going to free all of us.

Graham hustles me into the car and presses close, taking my face in his hands. “What do you mean, just my brother? Bellamy, talk to me.”

It’s been all of two minutes since I fell silent but it could be hours, the way understanding washes over his face like a waterfall, spilling down in waves.

“Don’t play stupid.” I take a deep breath. It’s warm in the car—the driver kept it running—but the air seems sharp and cool.

Clarity.

Accuracy.

When I’m finished, the entire country will know the truth. They’ll know where I stand, they’ll know where Graham stands, they’ll know where his family stands.

It’s only then that we’ll be able to move on.

Graham’s hands go still. “I’m not playing stupid. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking that all of this can be ended in one fell swoop.”

He shakes his head. “You’re talking about a coup.”

“Jesus, Graham, I’m not talking about ending his presidency.” The line from deed to a kind of salvation is thin and bright, and I can see how it’s supposed to play out. This is the way I can salvage all of this—the burned-out husks of lies our marriage was born from. “I’m talking about telling the truth, so that all the rumors can stop. Your brother won’t be under pressure from your parents to keep their secrets anymore.”

Graham takes my hands in his. “Sweetness, you’re not seeing clearly.”

“I’m seeing more clearly than I’ve ever seen in my life. This—” I drop one of his hands to wave mine in the air. “All of this, meeting you...it took me away from the plan I had. I was going to—” I laugh out loud. “I was going to fight for women like my mom. Women who don’t have the means to stand up for themselves. You and Andrew were only children when all of this started, I’m sure. I’m sure of it.”

“You don’t know—”

“Men like your father are men like my father.” I look him in those green eyes, flashing with every streetlight we pass. “They’re only concerned with their own power. That didn’t start ten years ago. It started a long, long time ago. How could you have fought against that? How could Andrew?”

He sneers. “Andrew’s a grown man. He could have made his own decisions—”

“Not if he wanted his father to love him.”

Graham’s shoulders slump.

The silence grows heavy.

He straightens up.

“I don’t want you to do this.”

“You don’t have much of a choice. That’s the thing.” I follow the path of one of the streetlights until it melts into the distance. “I’m part of this now, too. I’m part of it even though I never wanted to get wrapped up in this kind of power struggle, this kind of prison, ever again.”

“This is how it goes, Bellamy. We fight. And then we all play our parts. We back away until there’s another problem. Why can’t you understand that?”

“Because it’s stupid. And wrong. And I’m done with it.”

“Then why the hell are you sitting here?” Graham’s voice is rough, gravelly. “Why did you go through with this? Why did you want it to be so real?”

“Because it is real. The only real part of this is how I feel about you.” That thin silvery line moves inward, all the way to my heart, all the way between my legs. “I love you.” I slip my hands around the hard lines of Graham’s jaw and pull him close. “I want you.”

He pauses for the space of one breath. Pain crackles in his eyes. “I want to shout sense into you,” he whispers.

“Impossible.” I plant a kiss on the side of his neck and turn, straddling him. His length is steely beneath his pants and I rock myself against it, pleasure blooming with every movement.

His hands are hard on my hips—it’s the last of his resistance—and when I reach down and undo his pants, full of the fire and fury of truth, he grits his teeth. “Don’t you dare tempt me like this.”

I bend my head close and lick his bottom lip.

It ignites him.

He tears my pants down, lifting me, somehow—and my panties are the next thing to go. They land in tatters on the floor of the car. Then he lifts me, spreads me, pulls me down with all the force in his body, right onto his thickness.

“Fuck,” I say to the ceiling of the car, reveling in the stretch, in the work it takes to let him in. It doesn’t register as pain, only a desperate pressure, a desperate wanting. It’s reflected in his eyes, in the grip around my hips, and I’ve taken him all in.

“Show me.”

My body responds to the words even while my mind wants a sort of clarification. Swirling my hips, rising up and down, slickness coating all of him. Every downward stroke makes contact with that rough, secret spot inside of me, a glowing warmth that blazes out of control.

“Look at me.”

I do.

“You look so fucking gorgeous when you come.”

I do.