2. Rowan
two
Rowan
Five years ago
“ L eave us,” Sebastian Delaney, the president, says as he loosens his tie.
I raise a questioning brow in response, but otherwise keep my expression neutral as I’m forced to snap out of my thoughts. It’s been a few weeks since giving Dove the news, and I can’t fucking stop thinking about her. The cameras I placed around her family’s house didn’t help either. I keep wanting to check them over and over to make sure she’s safe and not a target for the EFW... but also just to see her. To know her.
The need is fucking irritating, like an itch I can’t reach to scratch. All the years of training in the military should be able to keep my thoughts and impulses under control. But when it comes to her, my mind isn’t cooperating.
“Sir?” Secretary David Foster asks, visibly confused.
It’s not every day that I’m called into the White House, especially since Maddox isn’t president yet. Not only that, but to be summoned here together with the Secretary of Defense is unusual in its own right.
“You heard me,” the president tells him. “Get out. Rowan, you stay.”
A pause, and then, “Sir, this is a very delicate situation. You can’t possibly consider handing it over to—” Secretary Foster stops mid-sentence, and I almost smile at the gesture. If he doesn’t have the balls to insult me, he most certainly shouldn’t be advising the president on anything. Ever. “We’re in the middle of a full-fledged war. A special ops commander isn’t trained for this sort of—”
“And you are?” Sebastian asks, approaching him. “Look.” He sighs. “You’ve been helpful so far, but you’ve got to admit this is way beyond your skill set. Besides, if it weren’t for Rowan recognizing the trap, the troops you sent out last night would be dead. Dead , Secretary. All two hundred of them. Do you understand?”
My eyes flash in Sebastian’s direction when he says that. I didn’t think he’d go with my suggestion on last night’s attack. All our previous interactions prove he doesn’t exactly like me very much. Not that I care too much for him, either.
“I shouldn’t have to remind you we lost a quarter of the Ridge last month. We’ve been making no progress of our own,” Sebastian continues. “People are rioting. The country is scared, and we’re running out of goddamn time here—”
“Sir, if I may—” Secretary Foster cuts him off.
My lips tilt upward at this point, and silence fills the Oval Office, announcing his demise. He stutters, looking between the president and me, defeat coiling around his tongue.
It’s pretty clear that despite our differences, the president has decided to put me in charge of the military operations for the war. I kind of expected to be called in at some point, but not now. And to be completely honest, I wouldn’t give a fuck about involving myself in this shitshow if it weren’t for two things and two things only: one, making sure Cole’s death wasn’t for nothing, and two, getting a favor from the president himself.
Losing Cole made Maddox and me drastically change the way we’ve been approaching our plan. It put things into perspective, too. And so, instead of advancing on our own, we’ve been seeking more allies than ever. The bigger, the better. And you can’t go any bigger than the fucking president himself.
Two pairs of dark-circled eyes turn to look at me when I’m the first to speak up.
“I assume none of us have all day to fuck around.”
Secretary Foster points a finger at me as he walks toward the door, his Adam’s apple bobbing above his blue tie. A light layer of sweat shines from his grizzled temples, which he wipes away with the handkerchief he retrieves from his chest pocket.
“Careful, Commander. You keep burning bridges like this, and you’ll be left with no bridges to cross when the time comes. And make no mistake, the time comes for all of us. You want to be in politics? Well, here you are. It is cold. And it is ruthless. And—”
I dip my chin, not turning to meet his gaze. “Far from my intention to burn any bridges, Secretary. In fact, I am more than happy to discuss my plans with you later today. Whatever the president and I decide on, that is.”
“I’ll see you next week,” Sebastian tells him. “And I hope it goes without saying that you won’t be mentioning this to the press. I’ll make an official statement when the time comes.”
The secretary sighs behind me, and I almost get the impression he’s secretly glad to be relieved of this job. I wouldn’t blame him.
“Yes, sir,” he says. “Though if I may—how can you be so certain this is the right move? What if it’s not?”
A muscle feathers in the president’s jaw, as if he doesn’t appreciate the question. He’s a proud man, Sebastian Delaney. He doesn’t like being put under the question mark, and I suspect it’s because it makes him doubt himself to some extent. The press hasn’t exactly been kind to him lately, blaming him for the war and everything. “It’s my job to be certain of things. Now, please…”
Not another word spills from David Foster’s mouth as he opens the door and leaves the Oval Office. The buzz from the busy hallway seeps into the room for a second, followed by more silence.
Sebastian runs a hand through his hair and glances at me sidelong.
“So? Can you do this?” he finally asks.
I lift my chin. “You wouldn’t have called me otherwise.”
“Yes, yes, I know that. I’m asking if… ah, I don’t know what I’m asking. You bring a lot of trouble, Rowan. Unauthorized raids. Broken protocols. You rescued those civilians in the middle of enemy lines without clearance. I know that’s how you play, and I know we’ll win this war with you in command. But…”
“But you’re afraid I’ll draw too much attention. And not the good kind.”
He nods.
“Except you’re forgetting something,” I say. His eyebrows rise. “The public. They don’t have to know we’re in this together. Sure, you’ll have to be the one who nominates me, but we can make it look like you had no other choice.”
“I don’t have another choice,” he emphasizes, holding my gaze.
I press on, ignoring the remark. “In the public eye, they can paint us as enemies. It doesn’t matter. When this war is over, you’ll keep your name clean, and I’ll have helped you win behind the scenes. I can be the monster you’re looking for. You won’t be able to fire me no matter how upset the public might be with my decisions. Not with the National Defense Continuity Act . Assuming the bill gets approved, of course. Which I imagine it will.”
He considers it, then narrows his eyes at me.
“And why would you be fine with dragging your name through the mud? That would be political suicide, and I thought you wanted to get into politics. What are you after, really?”
I shrug, my lips turning upward fully this time. “I’m just a simple man serving my president.”
“Ah.” He smiles back, taking a step forward as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “However did I get so lucky?” He smacks his lips, then says, “Here’s the thing, though. I don’t offer favors for anyone, Commander, let alone a man everyone tells me to stay away from.”
“Well, Mr. President…” I look to the side, then back at him. “If you wanted to stay away from me, perhaps you shouldn’t have fired your Secretary of Defense. I imagine that would make things rather… difficult.”
Sebastian takes a deep breath as he nods slowly, a tacit agreement floating between us. When the time comes, he’ll grant me that favor. And there will be no questions asked. Just like there aren’t any asked by me right now. Except, perhaps, the only one that matters…
“Whatever it takes?” I say.
He extends a hand in between us, and I lower my gaze to see it before making eye contact again.
If I’m going to do this, I need free rein over the operations. He won’t grant me that, obviously, but I can force his hand and see where it takes me. As president, he is in a precarious situation with this war. And not because he cares about this country—fuck no. But because he wants to run for office again, and he knows the votes will be scarce if he doesn’t figure out a way to settle the pressing conflicts. All the more reason to grant me a favor as big as this fucking house whenever I need it most.
“Win me this war, Commander.”
I look up to the right, where I know the cameras in the Oval Office are recording this moment. My right hand reaches out, gripping his, sealing our fates—and the fate of the country—in one simple handshake.
Someday soon, the press will write about this. And Dove will see it. Or, if she doesn’t, she’ll at least hear about it. And every time my name pops up on the news, it will remind her of the monster she met that day. She’ll hate me, just like the rest of the country, and my name will only mean peril and despair. But that’s fine with me. Because unfortunately, it might be the only way I can make sure I stay away from her.