30.0
The highway blurred past in streaks of gray and green. Early sunlight flickered through the windshield, hitting the dashboard in pulses that matched the rhythm of my thoughts — fast, uneven, impossible to pin down.
I'd left Jersey an hour ago. Monte had offered to drive, but I needed to clear my head, and the silence of the car felt like the only place I could think.
The house was quiet when I'd gone. Amira was still asleep, curled toward Alina, who'd wedged her stuffed bunny between them. They looked safe. That was all I wanted.
Alina had adjusted faster than either of us expected. Monte had found someone to redo her room — soft pink walls, a little reading nook under the window. She'd spent yesterday afternoon helping pick out stuffed animals like it was the most important job in the world.
Amira had smiled for her, but not the same way she used to. There was a shadow there now. The grief she'd been trying to keep buried since her mom died had resurfaced, just tangled up in new fear. Too much loss for one person to keep processing.
I tightened my grip on the wheel. I could handle my parents. I could handle the press. But watching her unravel — that was the part that scared me.
I merged onto I-95, the skyline of Philly starting to rise ahead, and exhaled slowly. Time to face Bryan.
I 'd gone back and forth about it all night. Monte thought honesty would be my best friend at this point and I couldn't agree more.
Hiding it didn't sit right anymore. Not after everything I'd promised Amira.
If this thing was going to burn, it needed to burn honestly. Bryan deserved to hear it from me—not a headline, not a leak, not Margot.
So yeah. I'd go in, tell him everything. The truth, unpolished.
And then deal with whatever came next.
By the time I parked, my phone buzzed — a message from Amira.
I stared at her message a little longer than I should've, thumb hovering before I typed back.
Three dots appeared. Then, finally—
I kept my head down, nodding when people greeted me, answering with the same practiced smile I'd used my whole career. It felt heavier today. False.
By the time I reached the top floor, the noise had thinned to a low murmur.
The door to Bryan's office was half open. He was at the window when I walked in, jacket off, sleeves rolled, the city reflected behind him.
"Morning," he said, turning. "You look like you didn't sleep."
"I didn't," I admitted, shutting the door behind me.
He studied me for a second before gesturing toward the chair across from his desk. "Sit."
I did. My hands felt too big for the space between my knees.
"I need to tell you something," I said finally. "And it's not good."
Bryan leaned back in his chair, his expression calm but alert. "Alright. What's going on?"
I hesitated for a moment, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "Something's probably going to hit the news soon and it might cost us the campaign."
That got his attention. The quiet stretched, the kind that made the clock on the wall sound louder. "You want to tell me what kind of something?"
I exhaled. "A few months ago, I found out I have a daughter."
His eyebrows lifted, but he didn't say anything. Just waited.
"Her name's Alina. Her mom—Amira—is someone I was with before the Senate run. The relationship ended because of timing. She was trying to get her career off the ground, and I was trying to figure out how to become someone the public could trust. We loved each other, but it was too much."
Bryan stayed quiet, his expression unreadable.
"When I found out about Alina," I said, "it... wrecked me. The day Amira and I broke up haunted me for years. And when we reconnected—right around the time you asked me to be your running mate—it felt like the universe was giving me another shot to get it right."
He finally leaned forward, elbows on the desk, voice steady. "And that's why you've been distracted."
"Yeah," I admitted. "I've been trying to live two lives. Be a partner, a father, and a running mate and I thought I could keep it quiet—keep it separate. But Margot found out and if I know her, she's not going to stay quiet about it."
Bryan rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You really think she'd leak it?"
"She will," I said. "It's her kind of move—public, clean, just enough truth to make it stick."
He let out a slow breath, more thoughtful than angry. "You're sure?"
"I am," I said. "And I wanted you to hear it from me first. I don't want this blindsiding you or the campaign. I know what it means for both of us."
Bryan sat back again, letting the weight of it sink in. "You're right," he said after a moment. "This could hurt. But I appreciate you coming in here and telling me straight. That means something."
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I really am."
He gave a small nod. "You've got a good heart, Brooks. I've always known that. But good hearts and campaigns don't always mix well."
"I know," I said.
He was silent for another beat, then softened. "You said her name's Amira, right?"
"Yeah."
Bryan frowned slightly, like the name tugged at something in his memory. "I feel like I've heard that name recently..."
I hesitated, then exhaled. "You remember the girl your nephew was seeing?"
His eyes widened. "That was her?"
I nodded once.
He leaned back in his chair, processing that. "But you two acted like strangers."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "That was the first time I'd seen her since we broke up. I didn't know what to say to her. Especially not in that setting."
Bryan's brows knit. "So that must be why she broke things off with Kian."
Before I could answer, the door burst open.
One of Bryan's staffers stumbled in, breathless, holding a tablet. "Sir—you both need to see this."
Bryan stood, instinctively reaching for the device. "What's going on?"
"It just broke," the staffer said, voice shaking slightly. "Fox is running it already—headline says 'VP Candidate's Double Life Exposed.'"
The room went dead quiet.
Another aide appeared behind her, phone in hand. "They're saying there's a baby involved. A woman named..." he scrolled, fumbling for the words, "uh—Ameera?"
"Amira," I corrected flatly.
Bryan looked at me, face gone pale. "Jesus Christ."
The room went still. For a second, all I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears.
Bryan set the tablet down, his jaw tight but voice calm. "Let me see."
The staffer handed it over. On the screen was a Fox News headline stamped in bold red
Below it, the grainy photos — me and Amira at the park, Monte leaning out the car window, Alina laughing on the swings. Private moments, now public property.
Bryan's thumb scrolled down slowly. "They've already got your parents' statement," he muttered.
My stomach dropped. "What?"
He read aloud, voice quiet. "'The matter is being handled privately. Our family asks for discretion during this difficult time.'" He looked up. "They're not even denying it."
I couldn't speak. My phone started buzzing in my pocket, one call after another.
Jenna. Monte. Unfamiliar numbers.
Bryan looked at me, the calm cracking just slightly. "You need to go, Brooks. Get out ahead of this. I'll manage the press here, but you've got to figure out what you want to say—because if you don't, someone else will."
I nodded once, throat dry. "Thank you."
He gave a faint nod, something almost fatherly in the way he said, "You're a good man. Don't let this world convince you otherwise."
I left before the next staffer could bring in another screen.
The hallway felt too bright, voices echoing off the marble. My phone kept vibrating until I finally pulled it out — twenty missed calls, half from people I didn't recognize.
By the time I got back to the car, the first text from Jenna was already waiting
I gripped the wheel tighter. "She's not—"
"I know," Jenna said, her tone softening just slightly. "But you have to understand, the narrative's out and it's moving fast."
I turned onto the main road. "Where's Margot?"
"She's not answering anyone from the team. But she's scheduled an exclusive interview with Gayle King for next week. We just got confirmation from CBS."
I let out a low, bitter laugh. "Of course she did."
"She's got two weeks of press lined up," Jenna went on. "And unless we counter it, she'll own the story."
"I'm not giving a statement yet," I said. "Not until I know what she's planning to say."
"That's not how this works," Jenna said, voice firm now. "You need to get ahead of it, Brooks. Otherwise, you're letting her set the tone."
There was a beat of silence on the line, both of us just listening to each other breathe through the chaos.
Then Jenna said, "Alright, look. I'm setting up a press conference for you tonight—seven sharp. We'll prep you, get something polished out there before this spins any further."
"Not tonight," I said immediately.
"Brooks—"
"I need to talk to Amira first," I cut in. "Just to see what she's comfortable with me saying."
I could practically hear her pinching the bridge of her nose through the phone.
"Fine," she muttered. "But tomorrow is the latest. We can't hold this off longer than that. I'll have the comms team draft a statement for your socials tonight—something neutral, measured. We'll review before it goes live."
"Alright," I said quietly. "Do that."
A pause. "You sure you're ready for what comes next?"
I let out a breath, steady and certain. "Just send divorce papers to Margot."
There was a long silence before she said, "Brooks, that's really bad timing. If that leaks now—"
"The worst has already happened," I said. "There's nothing left for her to ruin."
Jenna didn't argue this time. Just sighed, the kind of sound that said she'd stopped trying to protect me from myself. "I'll handle it."
"Thanks," I said.
The line went dead, and the silence in the car felt louder than before.
The elevator ride up was quiet except for the faint hum of the cables. When the doors opened, I knew before I even stepped inside.
The place was too quiet.