Chapter 25 Jamie
Six Months Later
I stand near the back of the room at Carter’s campaign headquarters, watching him work the crowd.
Volunteers cluster around tables covered in laptops and scattered papers, their conversations a low buzz punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or groan as early returns trickle in.
Someone has hung homemade banners across the exposed brick walls: CRANE FOR SENATE. NEW LEADERSHIP. REAL CHANGE.
Maria grabs at my collar, her chubby fingers finding the button and trying to work it into her mouth. At six months old, everything is a potential snack. Her dark hair has come in thick now, a wild halo that refuses to lie flat no matter what I do to it.
She has Carter's eyes but my nose, my stubborn chin. When she's frustrated, her face scrunches in a way that is pure Dean, and Carter always laughs and says he knows that expression intimately.
Carter moves from volunteer to volunteer, shaking hands, touching shoulders, saying something that makes each person smile. He's good at this. He actually cares about these people who have given up their evenings and their weekends to work for him.
"Polls just closed." Akari appears at my elbow, a mug of coffee in each hand. She offers me one. "You look like you need this."
"Thanks, you’re a lifesaver." I nod toward Maria. "She was up for hours last night."
"Damn, parenthood is brutal." She takes a sip herself. "How are you holding up?"
"Ask me again in an hour."
The polls have been favorable for weeks. People believe him. More importantly, I believe him. I think he’s going to win but I’m nervous anyway.
Maria makes a sound of displeasure, squirming in my arms. She's picked up on my tension. She always does. I bounce her gently, murmuring nonsense until she settles.
"She's getting so big." Kate materializes on my other side, reaching out to let Maria grab her finger. "Hard to believe she was ever that tiny little thing in the hospital."
"I know. Sometimes I look at photos from those first weeks and can't even remember her being that small." I pause. "Thank you for coming tonight. I know it's complicated."
Kate shrugs, but there's something fragile underneath the casual gesture. "He's my brother. Whatever happened with our father, that doesn't change."
Whatever happened. Such a mild way to describe the complete implosion of a political dynasty.
Senator Carter Crane II is currently awaiting trial on seventeen federal charges, everything from money laundering to bribery to obstruction of justice.
Warren is facing his own list of charges that includes witness intimidation and conspiracy.
The evidence Kate provided was devastating. It was the kind of paper trail that makes prosecutors weep with joy.
I never revealed her as my source. I never will.
"First results coming in!" someone shouts, and the room erupts.
On the big screen at the front of the room, a news anchor is reading numbers.
Carter's face appears in a small box in the corner—his official campaign photo, the one where he looks both serious and approachable, a difficult balance that took three photo shoots to achieve.
The chyron at the bottom reads: CRANE LEADING BY 12 POINTS IN EARLY RETURNS.
Carter catches my eye across the room. He's trying to look calm, professional, senatorial, but I can see the hope cracking through. I give him a small smile. Maria waves her arms like she knows something important is happening.
The next hour is a blur of climbing numbers and cautious optimism.
Elizabeth appears at some point, elegant in a cream-colored suit, her composure perfect even though I know she barely slept last night.
She doesn't speak to me—she rarely does—but she makes a beeline for Maria, and her face transforms when she takes her granddaughter from my arms.
"Hello, darling," she murmurs, and Maria reaches up to pat her grandmother's perfectly styled hair. Elizabeth doesn't flinch. "There's my beautiful girl."
It's the only time I see her fully relax—when she's holding Maria. The baby has given her something to focus on, something good in the wreckage of her marriage. She doesn't talk about her husband. I don't ask.
"Carter Crane wins!" The anchor's voice cuts through the noise, and for a moment, everything stops. Then the room explodes.
Cheering. Crying. People hugging each other, jumping up and down, champagne bottles popping like gunfire. Someone turns up the music and the volunteers who have spent months knocking on doors and making phone calls finally let themselves celebrate.
Carter pushes through the crowd toward me.
His face is split in a grin so wide it looks almost painful, and when he reaches me, he doesn't hesitate.
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me right there in front of everyone—deep and desperate and utterly unconcerned with the cameras that are definitely capturing this moment.
"We did it," he breathes against my lips.
"You did it."
"We." He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes bright with emotion. "I couldn't have done any of this without you. You know that, right? Everything—the campaign, the baby, all of it. It’s perfect."
He laughs and kisses me again.
The celebration continues around us, but I find myself drifting to the edge of the room, watching rather than participating.
Elizabeth is showing Maria off to some donors with grandmotherly pride.
Kate is deep in conversation with Akari, and I make a mental note to ask later what that's about.
Campaign staff are already talking about the transition, the staffing decisions, the thousand details that go into setting up a Senate office.
This is our life now. Public, visible, subject to scrutiny in ways I never imagined when I was just a tabloid journalist chasing stories about celebrities behaving badly.
I find a quiet corner and pull out my phone. There's a text from Laura, my editor: Congratulations. Get your ass back to work.
I smile. The paternity leave is officially over next week, but Laura has been sending me leads for months, keeping me in the loop, making it clear that there's a place for me whenever I'm ready. I'm ready.
I've been ready for a while now, if I'm honest. I love Maria more than I knew it was possible to love another person, but I'm not cut out to be a full-time parent. I need the work, the chase, the satisfaction of digging up things that powerful people want buried.
The celebration is winding down when Carter finally extracts himself from the last round of congratulations. He finds me in the corner where I've retreated, Maria asleep against my shoulder, and sinks into the chair beside me.
"Senator Crane," I say, trying the words out. "Has a nice ring to it."
"It doesn't feel real yet." He reaches over, adjusts the blanket around Maria. "Probably won't until I'm actually sitting in the chamber."
He's quiet for a moment, his hand finding mine in the space between us. "My father refused to see me again. He won't even put me on his approved visitors list."
I squeeze his hand. I know how much it hurts him, even though he pretends it doesn't. Senator Crane II has made it clear that as far as he's concerned, Carter no longer exists.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. He made his choices. I made mine." He looks down at Maria, sleeping peacefully against my chest. "I look at her, and I know I made the right one. She's never going to think that power matters more than integrity."
"She's also going to grow up with unprecedented media attention and a target on her back because of who her parents are." I keep my voice light, but it's a real concern. "We're going to have to work hard to give her anything resembling a normal childhood."
"We will." He sounds certain.
The car service arrives to take us home—not to the penthouse, not anymore.
Three months ago, we moved into a brownstone, the kind of place with a small backyard and a kitchen big enough to cook real meals and neighbors who wave when they see you coming. It's modest by Crane standards, extravagant by Dean standards, and exactly right for us.
I buckle Maria into her car seat, marveling as I always do at how she can sleep through literally anything. Carter slides in beside me, and as the car pulls away from the headquarters, I watch the celebration recede through the rear window.
The house is dark when we arrive, just the porch light glowing in welcome. Carter takes Maria from the car seat while I grab the diaper bag.
Maria stirs when Carter lays her in her crib, her eyes opening just enough to confirm that she's still safe, still loved, before fluttering closed again. We stand there together for a moment, watching her breathe.
"I love you." Carter's voice is quiet in the darkness of the nursery. "I don't think I say it enough. I love you, Jamie."
My throat tightens. We don't say it often—neither of us is particularly good at vulnerability—but when we do, it means something.
"I love you too." I lean into him, feeling his arm come around me.
We leave the nursery door cracked—Maria likes the light from the hallway—and make our way to our bedroom. It's late, and tomorrow will be chaos: press calls, transition meetings, the beginning of everything that comes next. But right now, in this quiet hour, there's just us.
Carter is already in bed when I emerge from the bathroom, the covers pulled up, his eyes half-closed. I slide in beside him, and his arm comes around me automatically, pulling me close.
"Hey," he murmurs.
"Hey yourself, Senator."
He laughs softly.
The room is dark, quiet except for the distant sound of city traffic and the soft hum of the baby monitor on the nightstand. I close my eyes, feeling Carter's heartbeat against my back, steady and sure.
Sometimes, against all odds, you end up exactly where you're supposed to be.
The End