Page 52 of Small Sacrifices

"I'm sorry. You have what?"

Clarice Coleman's face is blank in the way that Reid would expect from any veteran politician. But her voice carries the emotions her expression doesn't. Namely, utter shock and confusion.

"Evidence that Governor Mackenzie knew, at the very least, that the assessment that declared the former Agrifarm land safe for residential use was faked. We're still looking through the documents we have to see if there is anything worse," Marisol adds when Ms. Coleman just blinks at her.

By "we," she means Reid. By now, he's slogged through so many dreadful emails that he almost wishes his eyes were bleeding—at least then he'd have a good reason to stop.

He's encountered many of these emails before: the revolting flirtations with Mackenzie's mistress, the vile language he and Mr. Wright used to discuss new hires.

And then there are the nonchalant messages exchanged about the parcel of land now occupied by Lacrimosa Elementary School.

So far, Reid has found nothing new that would hold up as evidence in a court of law. But that doesn't mean that what he's read wasn't bad. They refer to the project as "the publicity stunt that could make the next election".

Apparently, it was a great tax write-off for Agrifarm.

There's even a debate about whether building a high school there would be more beneficial, with the top argument being that high schoolers don't lick things as often.

Given the context, Reid shouldn't have laughed, but he did.

It wasn't a convincing argument, though, far overshadowed by the statement, "the younger the kids, the better they sell.

" Everett wasn't exaggerating when he called his father and his associates ghouls.

Sadly, it sounds just jokey enough that there's plausible deniability there. Which is why Reid simply made a note of it and moved on.

"And you want to go public with this?" Coleman asks.

"Yes." Everett's voice doesn't broker any arguments. "We have some work left to do, but I expect we'll do it within the week."

Within the week? Reid has not been privy to this part of the plan so far. Marisol doesn't look surprised, but given her poker face, that doesn't say much.

Coleman's eyebrows shoot up, breaking free from her otherwise controlled demeanor. "As in, within the work week? Or by Sunday?"

Reid can see in the set of Everett's shoulders that he's never once in his life taken the concept of a work week into consideration. But he tries to not let that show, squares his shoulders and clears his throat. "Just the week," he says. "We'll see."

It's painfully transparent. Still, Coleman doesn't even smile. She gives no indication that she finds any of this funny. God, Reid really hopes they're right about her. For Everett's sake, if nothing else.

"And you want my help with this?" Coleman asks, eyeing Everett as though she can't believe he's involved. Reid would prefer she focus on Marisol, who's orchestrating this plan. The last thing Everett needs now is additional pressure to speak for them.

"Yes," Marisol says. "Your support in this would lend the accusations credibility. But it would also be good for you, because you can make sure you won't be tarred with the same brush as he is."

They had debated whether Marisol should bring this up.

It feels a bit like a threat, but it's a legitimate concern for Ms. Coleman.

If she's not cautious, she could be dragged down with Mackenzie even though she was elected separately.

The realization hits her quickly, face flashing with fury before she closes her eyes, as if to shut it out.

"I would need to view all these documents before it goes to press, and know how you got them." In an obvious attempt at retaining her equilibrium, she steeples her fingers in front of herself. "You are going to the press with this, right?"

Marisol nods eagerly. "We'd like to, but there are some factors that make that difficult. So we wanted to ask you if you knew someone trustworthy. We can't afford for someone to run to Mackenzie and just spill everything."

"What factors?"

Of course she would ask that. Reid feels a wave of anxiety wash over him.

Everett has made it clear he doesn't want to discuss it unless absolutely necessary—evidenced by Reid's lack of clarity about what exactly Everett plans to get his father to admit.

Everett freezes at Coleman's question, but Marisol is prepared.

"Everett doesn't want his involvement to be known. Surely, you can understand that." The look she gives Coleman is so deadpan that it's clear understanding and respecting it is the only option she has.

Later, it turns out that Ms. Coleman does indeed have a journalist that she trusts—an old friend from university who has by now written several think pieces on the implications of Governor Mackenzie accepting campaign funds from Agrifarm.

They argue about the timeline for going public—how much to reveal and when.

The older woman brings a politician's experience to their little scheme, emphasizing how important it is to make people feel.

She's the one to point out that they cannot be doing this piecemeal if they want to "get Mackenzie out of the way", as she puts it.

"You need to dump it on people all at once. If you drag this out, they won't care as much," she says.

After the lieutenant governor has left, what ensues is an awkward waiting game of who leaves first. The answer to that question is 'no one' because they are all way too stubborn. In the end, Everett cuts one last annoyed look in Marisol's direction before he drags Reid into a corner.

"Hey, can I come home with you?" he asks. "I'd like to stay the night, if possible. Just to sleep."

Huh. That… Even blinking several times and then squinting at Everett doesn't help Reid make sense of that one.

"My sofa is too small to sleep on," he says. Everett should know this, given that he sat on it just yesterday. But maybe he's forgotten.

A small grin flashes across Everett's face, there and then gone again. "Yeah, it is."

Oh .

He does know. Then what… His bed.

Oh God.

Immediately upon realizing, Reid flushes so violently that it feels like his face is burning.

Everett wants to sleep in his bed. And it's possible he doesn't just want to sleep.

Reid doesn't really know what to do with the fact that he just asked.

So far, everything between them has grown organically and in the moment.

The thought of planning for intimacy is overwhelming.

Unbidden, the thought comes to him that he should probably be thankful to Briana for insisting he get something bigger than a twin bed, just in case.

Until now, it's mainly been nice because he can starfish in his bed without his limbs hanging off too much and distracting him so that he can't fall asleep.

But this is a whole other ballgame. Which…

oh God, that is so not the phrase to use in this context, is it?

The mental images it evokes are quite vivid.

"Just for sleeping," Everett repeats. "I really don't want to be under the same roof with my father right now."

That just hurts to hear. And it's not like Reid doesn't like the idea, he just… still feels a little weird about it. But there are a few hours left in the day, he'll have time to get used to it. His heart is galloping and his palms are sweaty, but he sounds calm as he agrees.

"Great!" Everett says. "I just need to use the restroom real quick. I'll be right back."

As Everett walks away, Reid watches Marisol fidget out of the corner of his eye. She clearly has something to say, and it's probably not too good. So he lets her come to him. He's not about to seek out more stress in times like these.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" she asks almost as soon as Everett has turned a corner and is out of earshot.

It feels like he's missing a lot of context to that question. He has no idea what she means, and he says as much.

Marisol hums. "I know I was cheering you on at the beginning of this. But you barely just got together, and I know how you are with new things. Is he pressuring you?"

Oh, great. Just what he needed. Somewhere beyond the irritation, Reid realizes Marisol is just looking out for him. But really? After all that she's egged him on and talked about Everett's butt, this is the first thing she says now that she knows there's actually something between them?

"No," he says firmly. "We're just going to spend some more time together. He wouldn't do anything like that."

The way she purses her mouth makes it obvious that she's not as sure of this as he is. But she blinks her consternation away and relaxes her face into a smile.

"You're happy?" she asks.

Reid nods. He's not quite able to name all the feelings he's feeling right now because all of them are quite loud, and it's difficult to distinguish between them in the chaos. But happiness is definitely one of them.

"Good. Then I'm happy for you."

The expression on Marisol's face isn't quite happy, but it is determined, so Reid lets it count. She's trying to be nice. He can try as well.

He spends the afternoon sifting through the data he copied from Mackenzie's old laptop while Everett lounges around, scrolling on his phone.

It's a tedious task; neither the governor nor Everett practiced proper data management, so files are scattered and poorly labeled.

Amidst the clutter, he finds various images of Mackenzie at work—some press photos and others taken with rudimentary camera phones by colleagues.

Nothing he finds is incredibly useful or damning.

The highlight of his day is watching Everett blush over a folder of pictures of him goofing around with his friends.

Not that the rest is bad. Going through all that data is made much easier by the fact that Everett is always touching him.

Maybe it's just the body doubling, but the warm presence of another body against Reid's shoulder focuses him.

Everett is happy with sandwiches for dinner when Reid realizes, way too late, that he needs to eat something.

Afterwards, he’s happy to just go to bed instead of watching something on tv.

Just for sleeping, he emphasizes again. Reid believes him.

Still, he's full of nervous energy when they get to his room.

"Which side do you usually sleep on?" Everett asks, then shakes his head and smiles. "I didn't get to ask last time."

"In the middle," Reid says. Was this an oversight?

This bed is smaller than the one in the hotel.

Is he going to be able to sleep next to Everett when space is this tight?

The last time they did this, he was utterly exhausted.

He's tired now, but not extremely so. There's still plenty of capacity left to catastrophically overthink this.

In the end, it's not so bad. Everett snuggles into the side of the bed pressed against the wall. Though he's quite large, there's ample space for Reid to lie next to him and feel the warmth radiating from his body. Reid is wide awake, acutely aware of everything, even the rhythm of his own breath.

Over on his side, Everett shuffles under the sheets. "Thank you for letting me be here." His voice is hushed, not only quiet but also halfway swallowed by blankets and pillows and curtains.

Reid doesn't really know what to say to that, but it turns out that he doesn't have to say anything.

Everett just continues. "It probably sounds stupid, but it only just occurred to me how fucked up this is.

It's always been bad, but... Right now, we're both pretending to be someone we're not.

Me and my father, I mean. Only who I am is some guy who happens to be gay, and he's an abuser who’s responsible for at least one death. Those two things are not the same."

"That doesn't sound stupid," Reid says. Under the covers, he roots around for Everett's hand and threads their fingers together. "I'm sorry you have to deal with all of this."

"I wouldn't. Like, that's the thing. I'm only doing this for Max. If it was just me, I'd be long gone." He squeezes Reid's hand so tightly that the bones in it move against each other alarmingly. "And that's not fair to the kid. I know there's guilt there."

Reid barely suppresses a groan. He'd be happy to discuss it any other time. Half asleep like this, he's worried he could say the wrong thing.

"I'm sure that… when you're both older, you'll be able to talk about it better. But Max understands that you're still there because you want to be, right?"

It would probably be difficult to avoid using any pronouns for Max at all, even if Reid were completely awake. But under these circumstances, it's truly a miracle that it hasn't happened yet.

"I've said it a million times. But I don't think it's sinking in." There's a sound in the dark like Everett is dragging his other hand across his face. "It just sucks. I don't want Max to feel guilty."

"And I'm sure Max doesn't want to feel like you're sacrificing your happiness to stay. But you'll work it out. Max seems like a smart one."

The one time he'd met Max, he'd been shutting down. But he's pretty sure he remembers the kid trying to empathize, maybe even provide moral support.

"I hope so," Everett whispers. He's squeezing Reid's hand again. This time, Reid squeezes back. Neither of them makes any attempt to get closer. But they hold hands until they're both asleep.