Page 77 of Darling Beasts

“Please,” he grumbled, rising to his feet. He passed Frosty a quick, confused look. “You’d be impressed how quickly I can apply a face. I’m a wiz with a makeup brush.”

I chuckled—obligatorily—but honestly, he did need makeup. He’d seemed so pale and lifeless lying stretched out on the couch. Mistaking him for a dead man wasn’t a joke.

As Dad staggered into the bathroom, it struck me this was the first time I’d been in any bedroom of his. In most homes we’d ever owned, my room was on one side, and his on the other, usually behind one if not two sets of double doors.

“Are you ready for the big convention?” I asked. “I lined up some interviews. The schedule is already in your inbox since you’re leaving tonight.”

“Thanks, Bags.” He turned on the water. I heard him splash his face.

“Two pretty big newspapers,” I said, proud of myself for the gets. “They appreciate how you’re being very specific about solutions to the housing crisis. I really have to hand it to Talia for going so hard on that stuff because it seems to be paying off.”

Dad poked his head through the door. “Listen, we’re done with all that. It’s pissing off too many people.” He ducked back inside the bathroom, and it was like he’d slammed the door in my face.

“Dad!” I said, heart booming in my ears. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? The housing stuff... people like that about you.” It was just about theonlything they liked, I hastened to add.

“We’re almost out of money, and a friend of mine said he’ll kick in two million if I stop shit-talking private equity.” Dad chortled. “For that I’m happy to oblige.”

“Two mil, huh?” I said, my voice as dry as a Santa Ana wind. “As long as you’re locking down such a vast sum.”Terrific, I thought,just what this campaign needs. A few more bucks to limp along for another week or two. Talia was going to be crushed and maybe it was good that Spencer rebuffed my surprise visit idea. We were due for enough drama this weekend.

“Don’t worry, Bagsy,” Dad said, misreading my silence. “We’ll find something new and fun to focus on.”

“Great. Can’t wait,” I said through my teeth. “I’ll let you finish freshening up.” I began to walk away.

“Hold on.” Dad peered out again, holding on to the doorjamb. He had a scab on the top of his hand, and it looked fresh. Why were old men always bleeding a little bit? “Your birthday is coming up. And. Well. There’s no easy way to say this, but I’ll need to use your twenty-five-year gift.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “But. That’s... for me.”

“Yeah, and I feel terrible, Bags. But I’ll make it up later, I promise.” He disappeared again. “Anyway. Good talk. Thanks for everything. I’ll see you tonight.”

***

Ivan stood at the bottom of the stairs, as though he’d been waiting for me all along. “Gabby? What’s wrong?” he said, registering in one glance that I was about to lose my damned mind.

“What’s not wrong?” I landed with a thump on the floor. “My brother. My dad. The fucking campaign. Have you heard? He’s backing down on the housing stuff.”And stealing a million-plus dollars from me. “Great timing, hours before he leaves for the convention.”

“Shit,” Ivan said, running a hand over his blue-black hair. “I was afraid of this. Whenever a candidate is suddenly stoked about his financial condition, they’re about to sell out.”

You don’t know the half of it, buddy.There was a reason I’d created a hundred-mile barrier between me and the rest of the Gunns. I should’ve kept my distance.

“Let’s not mention this to Talia, okay?” I said. Frosty whined, and I bent down to scratch his head. “Not yet anyway. She’s put so much into the party—into the whole campaign—and I don’t want to ruin her night.”

Ivan bit his bottom lip and nodded once. “As you know, I prefer to be transparent,” he said as we walked toward the back of the house, “but it’s your family.”

“Yeah. Lucky me. Sometimes I ask myself, what am I still doing here?”

No, but really. WhatwasI doing? I’d received my monthly disbursement two days ago, and there’d be no twenty-five-year gift. My dad was acting like a spineless weasel who stood for nothing, and I saw no reason to stick around.

“Quite a career you’ve chosen for yourself,” I said to Ivan as we stepped out onto the patio. Nearby hay bales and rotting pumpkins and fake fuzzy spiders were piled up—Halloween decorations collected but not yet discarded. In Ustenya’s country, they only decorated for non-religious holidays, and for these she went all-out.

“How do you stand it?” I asked. “How can you work for these people?”

We stopped and Ivan pondered the question, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his gray trousers. “When I first began in politics,” he said, “a mentor warned me I wouldn’t always be advocating for things I believed in. Any candidate I worked for would inevitably have positions I found less than ideal but it wasn’t my job to push my beliefs on anyone else. My job was to fight for my boss usingtheirplatform, not mine.”

“Bullshit job,” I mumbled. “Or horse dick, as Ustenya would say.”

Ivan snickered. “Yeah. It’s not for everyone. The pay is crap, and the hours are worse, and if you can do anything else, you probably should. But I love a challenge. It’s why I gravitate toward candidates like your dad.”

“He is a challenge,” I agreed. “Wish I’d talked to you before I moved to California.”

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