your job was. What is it?”
He reached up and straightened his tie. Then gave me that blinding fake smile. “To look good and keep my mouth shut. They pay me and everything.”
I stood off to the side monitoring the crowd for anyone who looked suspicious, but I couldn’t get his parting shot out of my head. To look good and keep my mouth shut. That left me wondering what he would say if he was allowed to talk. I kept glancing over at Trey making sure he was okay, and the more I watched, the surer I became that he wasn’t. Not because of the threat of any stalker, but just not okay. More than once, he reached like he was going to straighten his tie but stopped himself. He still wore that very same smile and looked absolutely perfect to anyone who hadn’t seen the real Trey Coben.
As we neared the end of the rally, the people with the more hateful signs had managed to push themselves closer to the front. His eyes moved from sign to sign. He let out a breath and lost his battle with the need to straighten his tie. The Senator called for questions, which I hoped meant we would be done soon. This had been going on for over an hour. One of the reporters tossed a question to Trey asking about environmental regulation, and he very politely deferred it to his father, saying he was more of an expert on that. Another reporter asked Trey if he planned to run for office. He said that he didn’t have any plans to do so, and right there in front of everyone, his father contradicted him and assured them that when the time was right, his son was prepared to follow in his footsteps.
I watched Trey’s face closely, and he didn’t even flinch. To look good and keep my mouth shut. Got it. The Senator thanked all the wonderful patriots for showing up to his rally—because sure, that’s what all those hate groups were, patriots—and started off the stage, but Trey didn’t come to where I stood. Instead, he rushed off the stage on the other side. I pushed through the crowd, following him. He moved around a brick building with a restroom sign on the side, and I lost sight of him. I took a chance that he’d gone in the men’s room and headed in there. I didn’t see anyone, but I heard a retching sound coming from the far stall. “Trey, is that you?”
“Yeah,” a weak voice replied. “I’ll be out in a second.”
A man entered the door, and I glared at him. “It’s occupied,” I growled.
“But I just need—”
“Find another bathroom. I said it’s occupied.” He turned and left. I grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall and wet it, waiting.
There was a flush from the stall, and the door opened. I handed him the towel. “Thanks,” he said, wiping his face. Then he stepped to the sink. And using his hands to catch the water, he rinsed out his mouth. “Sorry about running off, but I didn’t want to puke on camera. I can just imagine that on the front page of the paper.”
“Do you do this often?” I asked, fairly sure I already had the answer.
“After every public appearance. That’s why I skipped breakfast. I hate dry heaves, but they’re less messy.”
“Do you—” I started, but he stopped me.
“No, I do not have an eating disorder. My doctor calls it conditioned anxiety nausea. Kind of like Pavlov’s dogs. I hate making public appearances for my father. I make myself do it. In response, I throw up.”
“So, why do you do it?” I asked, and the fact that he said he hated making appearances for his father, not that he hated making public appearances in general, didn’t escape my notice.
“Have you met my father? Anyway. I should’ve warned you, but each time I convince myself that this time it won’t happen. The doctor says that is part of the problem. I’m so focused on not throwing up, I make myself anxious and throw up. It’s stupid.”
“Does your father know?”
“No, and don’t you dare tell him. The campaign will be over soon enough, and I won’t have to do this anymore.”
Chapter 6
Trey
Apparently, I had a rare inability to keep my mouth shut today. I knew what it was. I was on edge because of the letters. Well, not really because of the letters, but because the letters