Chapter 14
Cole
Lydia slides into the passenger seat of my car, water dripping down off her wavy blonde hair and onto the leather. I started the car on our dash over here, and I’m thankful for the heat blasting at me now, since it gives me an excuse to be flushed that is unrelated to how pretty she looks sitting in my front seat, even dripping wet. I resist the urge to kiss her again, reminding myself that I am not into her. I shake my head, trying to stop this line of thinking in its tracks, and water shoots off me and onto her.
Lydia scowls at me. “Geez, wet dog much?” She flicks her own hair at me, and I can’t help but laugh, even as my face is pelted with cold drops. She freezes at the sound, but then, to my astonishment, she starts laughing too. We sit there, laughing for a minute, and the moment feels so good after the heaviness of the last few days. As our laughter fades, though, a soberness seems to come over her.
“So,” she says, “when’s the big day?”
“Oh right.” I run my hands over the steering wheel. “Basically whenever you’re ready. Tom pulled some strings and got our marriage license expedited. He wanted to call in a favor and get it backdated to when we were in Vegas, so that it looks like we were married before you got pregnant.”
“You told him no, right?” Lydia is instantly appalled. “Cole, that’s fraud.”
“Of course, I told him no,” I say quickly, not admitting that there was a brief second where I considered agreeing to it. Then I remembered that being convicted of a felony doesn’t pair well with getting elected to the Senate. “But then he just moved on to a different plan.” I don’t look at her as I say it. “He, uh, suggested that we move back your due date.”
Lydia is silent and I sneak a look at her. She’s chewing her lower lip and staring out at the parking lot. “He wants to move my due date by six weeks?” she eventually clarifies.
“Yes,” I clear my throat, “that’s what he thinks might be best.” I don’t mention that I asked Tom this morning if we could just tackle the problem head on, tell voters that, yes, I got someone pregnant out of wedlock, but now I’m owning up to my mistakes and taking responsibility for my actions. He used more than one expletive in his rejection of the idea.
I’m not sure why I’m even mentioning Tom’s ideas to Lydia. I don’t want to lie, and yet fear is telling me I should. Fear or possibly my dad’s voice, always demanding that we as a family always put our best foot forward, never show signs of weakness, always win, be perfect.
“I don’t know.” Lydia chews her lower lip. “I mean, my roommate already knows I’m pregnant.”
“Oh, you have a roommate. I didn’t realize. That does complicate things slightly.”
“Yeah, I mean, she wouldn’t tell anyone, but still. I don’t want to ask her to lie. She won’t want to.” Lydia takes a big breath. “I don’t think I want to either. It just feels so…wrong. I mean, I’m a Christian. I don’t want to just cover up one sin with another.” She rubs her hand across her face. “But I understand that might make things hard for you with your campaign. It might make things hard for me with the school too. I don’t know what to do.”
She looks so forlorn that I can’t stop myself from reaching across the center console and taking her hand. I’m relieved she doesn’t pull it away.
“We’ll just figure it out later,” I say vaguely. “One step at a time.”
She nods. “One step at a time.” Her eyes raise to meet mine. “I suppose we should get married then.”
I give her a half-smile. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Well, since you did just tell my entire track team we were already married, I guess there’s no time like the present.” She looks down at her dripping wet capri leggings and long-sleeve running shirt. “Although, I think I’d like to shower first.”
I eye my own wet slacks and button-down shirt. “Yeah, same.” I glance at the clock on the dash. “It’s already after five anyway. The district court is closed. Why don’t we plan on tomorrow?Is there a time that works?”
“I’m pretty free until about two. That’s when I have to be at the school.”
“Right. So, morning, maybe?” I pull out my phone and start scanning my calendar. “Shoot, I have meetings from 9 to 11:30. I could probably sneak out at lunch, though. How does that sound?”
“Sneaking out for your lunchtime wedding.” She shakes her head. “You know, I’ve always thought having a clandestine rendezvous would be more romantic.”
“I’ll buy you lunch at Chipotle after, how’s that?”
She laughs, the sound like Pavlov’s bell conditioning my heart to leap in my chest. Stupid. I look away. She doesn’t like me, and I refuse to be the first of us to decide I like the other.
“Uh, we’ll need two witnesses,” I go on, “I can bring Tom.”
“Oh goody, Tom.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m so glad he’ll be at our wedding. Maybe our other witness can be Hannibal Lector or Darth Vader.”
“Tom has good intentions,” I say, “and he has a lot of experience. Really knows his stuff.” Not to mention, he’s not at all affiliated with my dad. I can win this election without my dad’s help. Even if he doesn’t think so.
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” she retorts.
“Anyway,” I bypass this comment, “tomorrow at noon, we’ll get married. If you can’t find a witness, maybe Tom’s wife can come.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll find my own witness.”