five.2 （Bonus） #2
"Brooks," he said, voice as even as the starched lines of his suit. "We need to talk."
I stepped into the room, shutting the door behind me. "What's going on?"
His gaze was steady, almost too steady. "It's time you announced your Senate run."
I stared at him, searching for a hint this was a conversation. It wasn't. His tone told me he'd already decided.
"You've been circling this long enough," he continued. "The governor's on board. The party's ready. All that's left is you standing in front of a podium and doing your part."
"I didn't realize I'd agreed to-"
He cut me off with a small shake of his head, the kind that said I was wasting his time.
"Do you know any twenty-six-year-old working hand-in-hand with the governor who isn't fetching coffee or shuffling paper?"
He didn't wait for my answer. "Do you know any under thirty who gets a legitimate shot at a Senate seat?"
"No," I said, because there was no point lying.
"Exactly." His eyes didn't soften. "You can't. Because there aren't any. That's what I've done for you, Brooks. That's the opportunity you have because of the work I've put in-because of the name you carry. Don't waste it."
It was the same mix of pride and pressure I'd grown up with, except it always leaned heavier on the pressure. The room felt smaller. My jaw tightened, but I didn't give him the satisfaction of looking away.
His words hung there, heavy. I'd heard variations of that speech my whole life, but somehow it always found a way to dig in. The tone wasn't new-half challenge, half reminder that everything I had was on loan from him, and loans came with interest.
I could feel the old reflex kicking in-keep your shoulders square, don't flinch, don't give him anything to read. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate what he'd built, the doors he'd cracked open for me. I just hated how it always came packaged with the unspoken you owe me.
Part of me wanted to say I hadn't asked for the job, the connections, the weight of his last name.
That I might've gotten here another way if he'd let me.
But I knew how that would land. He'd hear it as disrespect, weakness, maybe even ingratitude.
And once he had that read on you, the conversation was over.
So I did what I always did-kept my voice even. "Understood."
His eyes lingered on me for a second too long, like he was trying to decide if I meant it. Then he nodded once, sharp. "Good. We'll have comms draft a statement. You'll review it by tomorrow."
That was it. Dismissed without saying the word.
I turned to leave, my jaw tight, footsteps echoing down the hall. The Capitol was the same as always-grand, polished, full of people with too much to say and not enough to mean it. But right then, it felt like every step was just me walking deeper into a mold he'd been carving for me since birth.
I pulled my phone out before I even hit the end of the hall, thumb tapping Monte's name.
Head out. I'll find my own way home.
No point in sitting in traffic just to stew on what my father had said. If I was already here, I might as well put the time to use.
My office was a few floors up, quiet when I stepped in.
Papers stacked on my desk, the faint hum of the AC, and the skyline pressing in through the glass.
I shrugged out of my polo and slacks, changing into the spare suit hanging on the back of the door.
Tie optional. No reason to look like I'd been on a golf course all afternoon if someone decided to stop by.
Once I sat down, the hours slipped. Calls returned, emails cleared, notes drafted. The sun dipped low, shadows stretched long, and by the time I looked up again, the building was almost empty.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. The smart move would've been to call Monte, head home, and get some rest. Instead, I found myself walking out the front doors into the night air, no real plan except the one forming in the back of my mind.
The Capitol was only a few blocks from where I wanted to go. My shoes hit the sidewalk in a steady rhythm, suit jacket buttoned, collar open. City noise filled in the spaces-traffic, laughter from a rooftop bar, the low hum of streetlights.
When the club came into view, that familiar flicker of nerves hit me. Not the kind you admit to anyone. More like walking into a room you don't belong in and convincing yourself you do anyway.
Inside, the lighting was low and the air heavy with perfume and something sweeter. I let my memory lead me through the crowd, past the bar, toward the hall I remembered from last week. Same older Asian guy stood there, watching the flow of people like he owned the place-which I figured he did.
He clocked me as soon as I got close. "How long?"
I shrugged. "Not sure."
"All night's three," he said, like he was testing me.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a banded stack, handed it over without counting. Pretty sure it was five. Didn't matter.
"I want Dream," I told him.
His face didn't change, just a short nod before he turned to lead me down the hall.
The hallway was quiet, the bass from the main floor just a dull thump in the distance. The older man's shoes barely made a sound on the carpet as he led me down the stretch, stopping at a door I half-remembered from last week.
He opened it and stepped aside, letting me walk in first.
Low light. Plush couch. Small table in the corner. A single flickering candle throwing soft shadows against the walls. It smelled faintly of perfume, but not the heavy cloud from the floor-this was lighter, almost clean.
I stood there for a second, letting my eyes adjust. This wasn't my usual scene. I'd been in places like this before, sure, but always as a guest of someone else, a face in the crowd. Walking in on my own felt different.
My jacket felt too stiff, my tie suddenly too tight. I tugged it loose, dropped into the couch, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees.
No phone in my hand. No distraction. Just me, the hum of the AC, and the slow creep of anticipation.
Some part of me hated that I'd even come. Hated that I'd gone out of my way, just to see her again.
I drummed my fingers against my knee, glanced at the door. Any second now.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, thinking I had a little more time-then the door handle shifted.
The hush of the room thickened.
She stepped in.
Not in a rush, not timid either. Like she'd already taken the temperature of the room before crossing the threshold.
Her eyes found me, and for half a second, I saw it-the surprise. But it disappeared so fast I could've imagined it.
She closed the door without looking back, and just like that, she was Dream again. Controlled. Unreadable.
"Hey," she said softly, like we'd both been here before. "You came back."
I sat back, watching her move like the room belonged to her more than it did to me.
"I did," I said.
"Couldn't stay away?" she asked.
I let the faintest corner of my mouth lift. Not a smirk-just enough to make her wonder. "Something like that."
She moved across the room, every step measured, heels clicking on the tile. I didn't take my eyes off her. She twisted open a water bottle, and I watched her lips touch the cap.