Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Rayne
The heat of the spotlights feels hot enough to bake a pizza, but the roar rising from a sea of blue is pure oxygen.
Beyond the blinding glare, all I can make out are shadows and movement.
I can’t pick out individual faces, except for Carmen’s silhouette at the moderator’s table, but I know my people are out there.
Dad, Aunt Belinda, Uncle Maurice, Chaz, and Lexie.
Lot couldn’t make it in person, but she made her mother promise to prop her up on FaceTime so she could still watch.
My village. My support system.
And backstage, guarding the flanks, are Anika with her fierce pep talks and DK…
God.
The brief sight of him nearly took me out at the knees. After ten agonizing days of physical separation, it felt almost cruel to see him right there, within arm’s reach yet completely untouchable. It was like staring through a glass case at the one thing you want most.
Diablo and I meet center stage for a handshake before taking our places behind matching podiums. I adjust the microphone with stable hands, even though my pulse is climbing up my throat. DK lingers on the fringe of my thoughts.
He was wearing a taupe suit, his signature silk pocket square, and a light-blue shirt.
The color was deliberate. Just knowing he’d dressed with me in mind sends my imagination spiraling somewhere wildly inconvenient.
I picture him buttoning up the shirt over broad shoulders and warm skin.
The scent of cedar and spice clinging strongest near his throat—the spot I love to kiss and bite until a low groan rumbles through his chest.
Jesus, Rayne. Time and place. The last thing I need is some zoomed-in screenshot of me looking thirsty on local access TV.
Carmen begins her opening remarks, going over the format while my mind still won’t quit.
It flickers back to last night’s FaceTime dinner date.
DK had ordered us matching meal kits. We chopped dried chilies and chicken in our separate kitchens, comparing our curries, and teasing each other on which one looked closest to the recipe card.
DK is a man of real intention. Even from a distance, he finds a way to create intimacy. Shared meals. Shared routines. Tiny, sacred rituals like watching RHOA together on synchronized screens. Even virtual coffee time in the mornings, tolerating my showtunes.
It’s how he loves me.
Which means I know standing down while Bayside Truth Watch bleeds across social media is killing him.
It’s Hollis.
I feel it with a sick certainty. The posts are too pointed. Too personal. They carry the same cutting undertone I remember all too well: If people only knew the real Rayne Webber. Always delivered like a joke, yet it always felt like a dig.
Undermining me was his specialty. I didn’t want to see it then. But I see it clearly now. Hiding in the shadows to make me feel unsettled, anxious, exposed. Because he can’t control me anymore.
I touch my opal and take a slow, deep breath, finding that cool, unshakeable center just as Carmen turns toward the primary camera.
“Please join me in welcoming incumbent mayor Gabriel Diablo and challenger Rayne Webber as they face voters together for the first time ahead of Election Day. Ms. Webber, your opening statement.”
I’d won the coin toss, which puts me up first. Four hundred people in the theater. Television cameras rolling. The whole town watching.
“Thank you, Carmen,” I begin, leaning into the microphone. “And thank you to everyone here and to everyone watching tonight. I’m running for mayor because Bayside deserves growth that doesn’t come at the expense of the people who live here, or the place we call home.”
A round of enthusiastic applause from the blue section loosens my nerves, and I settle into my rhythm. Question by question. Answer by answer. Timed responses. Rebuttals. Expansion versus preservation. Scale versus sustainability. The very things I’ve spent years fighting for in the trenches.
The pace is brisk. Diablo is a consummate debater, and while I might be less practiced in this arena, the event becomes less about me competing and more about showing voters exactly who I am.
As we’re closing out the second segment, Carmen’s expression changes almost imperceptibly. The slight, uncomfortable clearing of her throat tells me what’s coming before she even speaks.
“Ms. Webber,” she says, her hand hovering over her notes as if measuring her words.
“In recent days, anonymous online commentary has circulated questioning the authenticity of your public image. While the origins remain unverified, the page has gained local attention. Since you have not publicly responded, would you care to address those rumors tonight?”
The audience falls silent.
Diablo glances toward me with anticipation. I imagine my father grinding his teeth in the second row, Anika going rigid, and DK standing one muscle twitch away from storming the stage.
A prickly chill slides down my spine. This is exactly what Hollis wanted. A public reaction. A crack in my composure. The twisted satisfaction of watching me squirm under his thumb.
Absolutely the fuck not.
I fold my hands lightly atop the podium, looking straight into the camera.
“It was far too absurd to deserve my energy, Carmen. I think most voters understand the internet can be a breeding ground for anonymous speculation and personal innuendo. It’s easy to hide behind a computer screen when you don’t have to face accountability.
Only cowards hide.” I pause, hoping like hell Hollis is watching.
“What matters to the people of Bayside is my platform, my policies, and my record. Over the last four years, while I served as Director, our tourism initiatives injected millions of dollars into this town and created hundreds of local jobs. And as mayor, my focus will continue on building a strong, sustainable Bayside.”
Applause swells from the blue side.
“I trust the people of this town to recognize the difference between legitimate political discourse and a cheap smear campaign.”
The applause grows even louder, a roaring wave vibrating across the room.
Carmen waits for it to settle before nodding. “Thank you, Ms. Webber. We’ll take a brief commercial break.”
“Clear for three minutes,” a floor manager calls out.
As soon as the camera lights go dark, Anika appears at my side.
“That’s the way to do it” she whispers triumphantly, shoving a water bottle in my hand before blotting my forehead with a makeup sponge.
“Your responses were on point, but that last one… girl, chef’s kiss.
You handled that question like a pro. Even better than we rehearsed. ”
“Thanks,” I say, feeling a rush of relief.
She runs through notes for the final segment while I sip water and reset.
Then I feel it. That familiar pull. My eyes lift instinctively across the stage.
DK stands near Diablo, his tablet tucked beneath one arm.
His attention isn’t on his candidate. It’s entirely on me.
No smile, no obvious softness anyone else would notice.
But I see it. The same look I saw after my first television interview.
The same one he wore when the poll numbers saw me climbing.
After every milestone, big or small, it’s the look that reminds me I belong here, in this race.
“Thirty seconds to air. Candidates ready.” The announcement breaks the moment.
But I carry that look all the way back into the lights.
When it’s over, and I return to campaign headquarters, I feel a dizzying mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.
I just survived my first live debate. I don’t ask Anika about the polling numbers or post-debate commentary—not yet.
Instead, I sit alone in my office for a few quiet minutes, letting the adrenaline settle and giving myself permission to soak in the achievement.
Then I open the door and walk out to my family, friends, and volunteers waiting for me. The only person missing is DK, but I tuck that ache away to take in their booming cheers.
Everyone is crowded around the folding tables, piled with pizza boxes, campaign flyers, and blue-frosted cupcakes.
“Thank you!” I shout over the Make It Rayne chant until it dies down.
“I could not do this without all of you canvassing neighborhoods, hanging signs, and hyping me every day. Not gonna lie, tonight was daunting. I was scared. But your support got me through the hot lights and tough questions. So thank you, sincerely. Now let’s get this party started.
” I pump my palms toward the ceiling, and the room erupts again.
“You were incredible, sweetie,” Aunt Belinda says, pulling me into a tight, perfume-scented hug. “We are so very proud of you.”
Feeling emotional, I hug my aunt back. “I appreciate everything you do.”
“It’s my pleasure to help any way I can,” she says as her husband steps beside us.
He isn’t nearly as effusive. Uncle Maurice is more of the gruff variety. There’s no gushing, but he grunts, “You did good up there,” which, coming from him, is the equivalent of a standing ovation.
“Thanks, Uncle Maurice.” I throw my arms around his neck. He endures it stiffly, giving me an awkward pat on the back, then promptly escapes.
Dad, unlike his older brother, doesn’t hold back. He wraps me in a massive bear hug. “I’m so proud of you, Pumpkin.”
“I did it,” I murmur into his shoulder, leaning fully into him, accepting the praise and comfort.
“Yeah, baby, you did.” Then he pulls back, keeping his hands braced on my arms. “You gave a big fuck you to Hollis.”
A surprised laugh bursts out of me. I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard him cuss and still have fingers to spare.
“Well, it’s true,” he says matter-of-factly. “I spoke to his father. Man-to-man.”
“What?” I feel my eyes practically bug out of my head. “When?”
“Yesterday. I told him he’d better get his son right and stop this vendetta immediately, or he wouldn’t like the consequences.”
“Oh my God, Dad.” I gawk at him. “That’s crazy. What did he even say?”
“He told me to get the hell out of his face with my unfounded accusation. That’s fine. I planted the seed.” My father folds his arms across his chest like he means business. “Hollis is lucky he lives in another state.”
“Dad…”
“What? I’m not above breaking bones.”
I bark out a laugh. “Who are you, Tony Soprano? You’ve never hit a person in your entire life.”
“No, but this is different. And I know Dakarai backs me on that.”
My amusement evaporates. “What do you mean Dakarai backs you?”
“He called me last week wanting my take on Hollis. We’ve talked a few times since.” Dad shrugs. “Turns out mutual vile for a common enemy and love for you makes for a bonding experience.”
I shake my head, my mind racing. “I explicitly told Dakarai I didn’t want him involved. And you either.”
“We respect that… within reason.”
“That response isn’t remotely reassuring.”
“Ray, you can’t expect us to sit still while someone slings mud at you.”
I honestly don’t know whether to be annoyed that they’ve been conspiring behind my back or be touched that the two men I adore have formed some bizarre anti-Hollis alliance.
I’m still processing it when Anika approaches. “Hey, Mo. Mind if I steal your daughter?”
“No problem. You’re actually rescuing me from the hot seat.” He grins before kissing my cheek and heading toward the food.
“What was that about?” she asks.
I fill her in, watching her eyes widen with every sentence.
“Okay, Mo.” She laughs.
I have to laugh too. “That man has never been in a fight, but I appreciate the sentiment… mostly.”
“Your men are looking out for you, Ray. Can’t be mad at that.”
“I’m not,” I say with warmth in my chest. “I know it’s frustrating to feel powerless. Honestly, I’m glad the question came up tonight. It gave me a chance to hit back.”
“I hear that,” she says.
“So give it to me straight. How are we looking?”
“We’re seeing strong digital engagement across the board.”
“Define strong.”
“The donation page is getting hammered right now.” Her grin turns victorious. “The video clips are already spreading.”
“Good or bad spreading?”
“Mostly good.”
“Mostly?”
“Girl, it’s politics. Gabriel and your man are spinning their infrastructure numbers and pushing that stagnation-versus-progress contrast.”
I roll my eyes at the way she casually threw DK into that comment. “Is it landing?”
“For some voters, yes. Expansion is always going to be the dividing line in this town. We just need to keep pulling people toward sustainable growth.” She wakes her tablet and scrolls.
“You’re carving out a big chunk of the younger voter bloc.
Energizing them because you come across as real, not like a politician. ”
I grin. “I’ll take that.”
“And apparently your outfits are fire.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.” She laughs. “Gen Z has spoken.”
“What about the Bayside Truth Watch question?” I ask, preparing for it to go either way.
“It’s performing exceptionally well.” She taps the screen and turns it to me with the clip of my response. “This has more views and reposts than anything else from tonight. ‘Only cowards hide’ is the soundbite people are sharing.”
She plays the clip, and I see myself on stage. I don’t look flustered. I look confident, in control. Not furious, but there’s a simmer of anger in my tone, which is what I wanted.
“You did great,” she beams. “Pivoting right back to your record. You forced the conversation back on what you’ve actually accomplished. I hope Hollis is rotting in his own filth.”
“You and me both.”
But neither of us is naive enough to believe this will stop him. If anything, he’ll get louder while insulated behind his computer walls. People like Hollis don’t back down when they don’t get the reaction they want. They push harder.
It’s unnerving not knowing what the next strike will be. But I turn my attention back to the people who showed up for me.
Hollis doesn’t get to have this moment.
“Enough shop talk.” I squeeze her arm. “Let’s go enjoy our party. We earned it.”