31.0
The sun was kind today—soft and golden, stretching across the yard like it had nowhere else to be. Alina's laughter carried over the grass, high and light, followed by the dull whack of the frisbee landing somewhere it shouldn't.
I lay stretched across one of the lounge chairs, phone balanced to my ear, pretending to follow the conversation while my eyes stayed fixed on them—Brooks running after her, and Alina, quick and giggling, curls flying as she zigzagged out of reach.
"Mr. Lewis, you really didn't have to call," I said, smiling faintly. "We're fine, I promise."
"I just wanted to make sure, sweetheart. Those vans have been up and down the street all morning. Never thought I'd see our little cul-de-sac on TV."
I winced, glancing toward the fence line where the sound of a zoom lens sometimes hummed like a mosquito. "Yeah. We figured."
"Well, if you need anything, you just holler. I've been telling anyone who asks you're family friends from out of town."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Thank you, Mr. Lewis. Really."
He chuckled softly. "You take care of that little girl, now. She's got a good arm on her."
"Will do," I said, and ended the call.
When I lowered the phone, the world returned in color—the sound of Alina's laugh, Brooks calling her name, the faint click of a camera somewhere down the block.
Brooks straightened and tossed the frisbee back with exaggerated force. "Who was that?" he asked, voice carrying.
"Mr. Lewis," I said. "The neighbor. He's been calling to check in."
Brooks squinted toward the road. "Makes sense. News vans probably have been circling all week."
"Yeah." I exhaled. "Guess it's official now. The story broke last night—exactly like you said it would."
He came over, sun in his hair, frisbee in hand. "It was bound to. At least this way we control the story."
"Still feels like being watched," I murmured.
His hand brushed my shoulder, a grounding touch. "Nothing we can't handle."
I forced a nod, even if the word we felt heavier than it used to.
After a beat, I asked, "Any update on my car?"
"Monte said it should be here within the hour," Brooks said. "They'll drop it off out front."
I sat up a little. "You didn't have to have it delivered. I could've picked it up."
He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. "You've got enough on your plate. Jenna and the team will be here soon for the press conference—maybe once it comes, you and Alina can go out somewhere. Clear your heads."
His voice was casual, but I could tell he'd been thinking three steps ahead since sunrise.
"Do you really think that's smart?" I asked quietly. "I mean—shouldn't we be careful with money right now? Campaigns cost a lot. You're not talking to your parents. I'm not working. Maybe we should..."
He cut me off with a soft laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of my head. "Amira. Money is the last thing you need to worry about."
I gave him a look. "Brooks, you say that like we're not living off whatever savings either of us have."
He grinned. "Savings? Amira I haven't even touched my Senate checks yet and I probably won't ever have to."
I blinked. "You get checks for that?"
He laughed again, genuine this time. "Yes, babe it's still a job. But that's nothing compared to the investment portfolio. Trusts, dividends, compounding returns—"
I stared blankly. "You lost me after portfolio."
He chuckled, kneeling beside my chair, eyes soft. "It just means I'm fine. We're fine. Everything else can wait."
I wanted to believe him. And maybe, for a few quiet seconds, I did.
Alina shouted from across the yard, breaking the calm. "Mommy, look!" She spun in a full circle, frisbee wobbling through the air. Brooks whooped, diving theatrically to catch it, and I couldn't help laughing—real and full.
For a minute, the noise, the cameras, the headlines—all of it—faded behind the sound of my daughter's joy and the man who'd somehow found his way back into both of our lives.
The air smelled like wet earth and rosemary—the garden still damp from Alina's overenthusiastic watering earlier.
I was kneeling by the flowerbeds, dirt under my nails, when Brooks's phone buzzed against the patio table.
He glanced at the screen, said a quiet, "You're here?"
then, after a pause, "Okay. I'm coming."
When he hung up, he looked over at me. "Your car's here."
I blinked up at him, half-distracted, a streak of soil on my wrist. "Already?"
"Monte said they made good time." He offered his hand. "Come on."
Alina perked up immediately, dropping her frisbee. "Mommy's car?"
Brooks smiled at her, the kind of smile that made my heart tighten. "Yeah, kiddo. Come see."
We walked down the long gravel driveway together—Brooks's hand resting lightly against my back, Alina skipping between us.
Monte stood by the gate, the Cayenne gleaming like something out of a commercial—silver paint catching the afternoon light, tinted windows glinting black.
"Brooks," I whispered, my steps slowing. "You didn't."
He threw me a grin over his shoulder. "You needed something reliable."
"Reliable?" I repeated, half laughing, half breathless. "A honda would've been reliable and way cheaper."
Alina darted ahead, small sandals crunching over gravel. "Can I see inside?"
Monte opened the passenger door for her like she was royalty. "Of course, Miss Alina."
She climbed in, immediately pressing every button within reach. The car chimed and beeped in protest, and she gasped. "It talks!"
I just stood there, still stunned. The keys glinted in his palm, sleek and heavy. "Brooks, I can't—"
"You can," he said, pressing them into my hand. "You're going to need it."
My chest tightened. "You shouldn't be spending money like this right now. With everything going on—"
He cut me off with a quiet, "Amira," and that soft warning look that told me arguing was useless.
Before I could say anything else, Alina's delighted voice echoed from the backseat. "Mommy, it has a car seat with my name on it."
I was about to tease him when the low hum of tires on gravel drew all our attention. A black SUV pulled through the gate, followed by another—Jenna's convoy.
My stomach knotted instantly.
Jenna was the first out, tablet already in hand, sunglasses perched on her head. Two staffers followed with cameras and folding tables. They were polite—smiling, nodding—but there was that split-second flicker in their eyes when they saw me and Alina. Recognition. Calculation.
Jenna recovered first. "Senator," she greeted smoothly, then turned to me with a practiced smile. "Mrs. Hart, it's good to finally meet you."
"Amira," I corrected gently. My voice sounded smaller than I meant it to.
"Amira," she echoed. "And this must be Alina."
Alina peeked from the backseat, her curls a halo in the sunlight. "Hi," she said shyly, waving one tiny hand.
"She's adorable," one of the staffers said, smiling for real this time.
"Thank you," I murmured.
Brooks's arm brushed mine, subtle reassurance. "We were just checking out the new car," he told Jenna. "Monte just dropped it off."
Jenna nodded. "Perfect timing. We'll be setting up on the lawn for the livestream. I've got the statement queued up for review."
Brooks nodded, already sliding into work mode, but his hand lingered a second longer on my back. "You want to take it for a spin while we set up?"
I looked from him to the team, then back again. "Is it okay if we wait here? We can all go together later."
He studied me for a beat, then smiled, softer this time. "Of course."
I nodded, tucking the keys into my pocket. "Good luck," I said quietly.
He leaned down and kissed me—quick, but warm enough to ground me. "I don't need luck."
I smiled faintly. "Sure you don't."
He chuckled, stepping back as Jenna called his name. Then he was gone, striding toward the house with that composed energy that always seemed to fill a room before he even opened his mouth.
Monte and the team disappeared after him, leaving me and Alina standing in the glow of the new car.
Alina climbed out, running a hand along the shiny door like it was a pet. "Mommy, it smells like new shoes."
I laughed. "That's the new car smell, baby."
She squinted up at me. "Do you like it?"
I looked at the reflection of our faces in the tinted glass—hers round and smiling, mine still a little stunned. "Yeah," I whispered. "I think I do."
Inside, the house felt like a stage being built around me.
Cables snaked across the hardwood, soft boxes bloomed open like white flowers, and a collapsible podium appeared near the glass doors that looked out over the back lawn.
The property ran wide and quiet, trees hemming us in.
No neighbors. No zoom lenses peeking over fences.
Still, it felt like the world was crawling closer.
Alina was down for her midday nap, starfished and snoring in that soft, whistly way she did when she'd played too hard. I tucked her blanket over her shoulder, kissed her curls, and slipped back to the hallway where the house had gone hushed with purpose. Even whispers sounded like work.
Brooks stood on the patio, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms.
I'd never really watched him in "work mode" up close—command lived in the small things.
The tilt of his chin when he wanted a camera shifted two inches to the left.
The way he listened without interrupting, then changed a sentence with three quiet words and made it land cleaner. He wasn't loud. He didn't need to be.
Jenna tested levels. "Audio?"
A staffer with headphones gave a thumbs-up. "We're good."
"Two-minute warning," someone called.
I hovered by the kitchen island, out of frame but close enough to see his mouth, his eyes, the set of his shoulders. He found me through the glass and—just for a moment—his face softened.
They counted him in like a rocket launch. "Live in five... four... three..."
The red light blinked on. The stream was live.
Brooks stepped to the mic, the lawn bright behind him, sky a kind, empty blue.