34.0
Just a short filler chapter. Miss you guys :((((( The next chapter will also be another short filler chapter in Amira POV. Hopefully I can post it tonight too I'm just doing some revisions.
The conference room in D.C. felt colder than usual — too much glass.
Bryan stood at the front of the table, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, staring at a wall of polling data like he could force the numbers to change through will alone.
"Alright," Bryan said, clicking the remote, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Let's start with the upside."
He said it like a man delivering news to a room that didn't believe in "upside" anymore.
A breakdown of the latest polling filled the wall — color-coded bars stretching upward or collapsing downward like heart-rate patterns.
"Younger voters," he said, tapping the screen. "We're up — significantly. Eighteen to twenty-nine across the board. Especially Latino men, Black women, and Asian-American voters. Our authenticity messaging worked. They're responding."
A few staffers nodded.
One whispered, "That's huge," as if saying it too loudly might break whatever luck we had left.
I stared at the rising bars.
A year ago, I would've felt pride.
Now?
Just a knot in my chest.
"And the other groups?" Jenna asked from the far end.
Bryan clicked again.
The chart changed.
The air changed with it.
"White men dropped twelve points," he said. "White suburban women dropped sixteen."
A low murmur rippled across the table.
Someone exhaled sharply. Someone else shut their laptop like they suddenly couldn't stand to look.
I felt the weight of it settle on my shoulders — heavy, cold, familiar.
This was the cost of telling the truth.
The cost of not hiding Amira.
Not hiding Alina.
Not hiding the part of my life that actually mattered.
Then there was Bryan— the man who gave me the other half of his political future — was paying for it too.
He clicked again. The dip got worse the longer I stared.
Silence rolled across the table like fog.
Something tugged low in my chest — not regret, not shame... just the quiet truth:
Bryan was taking a hit because I told the truth about my family.
And he didn't deserve that.
He deserved this country's best version of everything.
He deserved clean polling, not damage control.
He deserved the chance to lead without cleaning up my headlines.
I cleared my throat. "We can fix this. Shift the narrative. Focus on the economic plan, get us out front with the younger base in person. Push the family messaging that's working."
Jenna nodded, scribbling notes. "And we lean into authenticity. No dodging questions. No defensiveness."
Jenna shifted in her seat. The communications team scribbled notes they'd rewrite an hour later. Someone coughed into a sleeve.
I kept my eyes on the screen, jaw tight.
"I don't regret it," Bryan said finally, breaking the tension. "We led a mostly honest campaign," He paused, pointing at the dip again. "But with some groups? Honesty costs more than it pays."
Guilt twisted in my stomach — low, dull, familiar.
Because even though none of this was Bryan's fault and even though I'd meant every word I said on camera, I still wondered if I should've played all of this differently.
If there was a version where I didn't blindside the man who trusted me with half the damn ticket.
He didn't deserve that hit.
Not from me.
Bryan rubbed his temples. "We knew this election wouldn't be clean. But this..." He gestured at the board again. "This isn't unrecoverable. We have two months."
Two months.
"Still," he added, meeting my eyes, "I won't lie — Margot's doing real damage out there."
Of course she was.
I kept my voice even. "She was always going to play it this way."
Bryan nodded once, slow. "You holding up?"
I didn't answer right away.
Then— "Yeah."
He studied me for a moment like he was deciding whether to push. He didn't.
"Alright," Bryan said, clapping his hands once. "That's it for today. Everyone go home. We regroup tomorrow morning."
Chairs slid back. Papers shuffled. People filed out.
Bryan stayed a beat longer.
"You didn't ruin anything," he said quietly, eyes steady on mine. "You're still the right partner for this. I chose you for a reason."
He squeezed my shoulder once — firm, reassuring — then walked out.
I stayed behind for a moment, staring at the charts still glowing on the wall.
Younger voters up.
POC numbers up.
White voters falling through the floor.
My personal life becoming political debris.
Amira and Alina stayed in Texas.They'd decided to stay a little longer. They were enjoying themselves — sunshine, space, and familiarity. There wasn't exactly much waiting for them back in Short Hills besides a quiet house.
I didn't blame them.
But the distance sat in my chest anyway, steady and present.
They deserved the quiet more than I deserved the win.
I shut off the screen and walked out.
The election was two months away.
One way or another, everything was about to shift.
Monte was already waiting by the elevator, phone in hand, posture relaxed but alert like always.
"Philly?" he asked.
"Philly," I confirmed.
We rode down in silence. A calm one — not heavy, just necessary.
By the time we hit the ground floor, Jenna's name was lighting up my phone.
I exhaled once, steadying myself, then answered.
"Did you already head out?" she asked without preamble.
"Heading out now," I said. "Monte's driving me back to the penthouse."
The elevator doors slid open, city noise spilling in as we walked toward the car.
"Alright," she said. "Then I'll make this quick. I didn't want to mention this in front of Bryan. Margot's still on her smear tour. Three interviews this morning. Two more lined up. She's really trying to stick the landing before November."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Let her. I'm done reacting to her."
"You might be done," Jenna murmured, "but the voters aren't."
I didn't answer.
Couldn't.
I'd reached the point where there was nothing new to say — nothing left to defend, nothing left to argue.
The election was in two months.
The country would decide.
Monte opened the back door for me.
I slid inside as Jenna continued, "Call me when you get to Philly. We need to go over tomorrow's media schedule."
"Yeah," I said. "I'll check in."
We hung up.
Monte pulled out of the garage, merging into traffic with the kind of ease that made it obvious he'd been doing this for half his life.
Outside the window, D.C. blurred by — monuments, joggers, clusters of school kids on field trips.
A city still moving, still expecting something from me.
I leaned my head back, letting the hum of the engine settle the leftover tension in my jaw.
And then I called her.
She picked up on the second ring, slightly breathless.
"Hey," she said, warmth sliding straight into my chest.
"Where are you?" I asked, already smiling without meaning to.
"The park," she said. "Miles and Alina are playing tag. Tati's here too. It's loud."
In the background, I heard it — children squealing, leaves crunching, someone shouting, "NO TAG-BACKS!"
I laughed. "Let me guess. Alina's cheating."
"She is not!" Amira said, scandalized. "She's just very... determined."
God, I missed them.
"I'd ask you to put her on the phone but I know she'd be pissed if I interrupted her game."
"You're right about that," she laughed. "What about you? How was your meeting?"
I hesitated. Then softened my tone. "Long. Boring. Would've preferred the park."
She hummed, gentle and teasing. "You would not."
"I would've," I said, quieter. "If you were there."
Silence.
Not uncomfortable — just warm, thick, charged in the way she always got when I pushed even a little.
"Brooks..." she whispered.
Her voice did something to me.
"What?" I asked, smiling. "Did I make you shy?"
"No."
She absolutely lied.
A faint laugh left me — low, soft, unguarded. "You get quiet every time I flirt with you."
"I do not," she muttered.
"Amira," I said, slow on purpose, "you're doing it right now."
"Please, you do not make me shy anymore. Here comes Tati—"
Suddenly the phone jostled and Tati's voice blasted through the line.
"Hey Brooks!" I heard her yell. Amira told her she's too loud.
"Tell her I said hi."
There was some rattling in the background. I could hear Alina and Miles arguing about who won.
"I'm heading back to Philly. I'm free for the rest of the night," I said. "Call me when you get settled."
"I will."
"I mean it."
"I heard you," She laughed.
"Amira—"
"Brooks." She softened her voice. "I'll call."
"Alright," I sighed. "I love you."
"I love you too."
Almost three hours laterMonte pulled into the underground garage, the familiar low fluorescent lights washing over the car as we descended.
I ended the call with Amira reluctantly, her voice still soft in my ear.
Honestly, I wanted them there. Wanted them far more than the cameras and the headlines and the tension threading through every hour of my day.
Still — hearing her laugh at something Alina shouted in the background... it made the penthouse feel larger and emptier than it already was.
Monte parked.
"You need anything before I go?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Get some rest. I'll call if anything comes up."
He nodded and pulled off as I headed toward the private elevator, punching in the code with muscle memory.
The ride up was quiet — the kind of quiet that usually worked in my favor, but tonight only made the distance between Texas and D.C. feel wider.
When the elevator doors slid open into the penthouse foyer, the place smelled the same — clean, faint cedar, a hint of Margot's perfume still somewhere in the air.
I dropped my keys in the bowl.
Loosened my tie.
Exhaled.
Then—
A knock.
Sharp, deliberate, one-two-three.
I froze.
I wasn't expecting anyone. Not Jenna, not Monte, not security. No one had clearance to just walk up and knock unless—
Another knock. Firmer this time.
I walked to the door slowly, every instinct tight, controlled.
When I opened it—
My mother stood on the other side.
Perfect posture.
Pearls.
Coat draped elegantly over her arm like she'd arrived for a luncheon instead of a confrontation.
My stomach tightened.
"Brooks," she said softly. "Please let me in."
My hand stayed on the door.
"Mom," I said carefully. "How did you even know I was here?"
Her cheeks flushed. "I... may have paid the surveillance crew to notify me when you arrived."
A humorless breath escaped me. "Of course you did."
"What else was I supposed to do if you aren't taking any of my calls?"
I inhaled once, slow and steady — not for her benefit, but for mine. Because I wasn't na?ve enough to think she was here without an agenda, and I wasn't letting her anywhere near the parts of my life she'd tried to bulldoze two months ago.
Still... she looked different.
Not polished. Not performative.
Just tired.
She tried again, quieter this time. "May I come in, Brooks?"
My jaw flexed. I stepped back.
Only barely.
But I opened the door.
"If you're here about polling or optics or the press—"
"I'm not."
She said it quickly, and for once, it didn't sound rehearsed.
I stayed silent. Let her sit in the quiet.
She inhaled slowly. "I came to apologize."
My jaw tightened before I could stop it. I didn't move, didn't trust myself to give her anything yet.
She continued, quieter, "I was wrong. About how I spoke to you. About how I spoke about Amira. About assuming I understood what your life looks like now."
I exhaled through my nose, steady, controlled. "You didn't just 'speak about' her. You tried to belittle the mother of my child."
Her eyes flickered. Not offended — ashamed. "I know," she whispered. "I know and I'm deeply sorry."
A pause stretched between us.
I didn't rush to fill it.
She clasped her hands. "I've watched you these past few weeks. The interviews. The town hall. The way you talk about that little girl..." Her voice cracked softly. " I'm ashamed that my first instinct was fear instead of grace."
My throat tightened, a slow burn behind my sternum.
I sat on the arm of the couch, grounding myself. "I meant what I said — about distance."
Her gaze dropped, but she nodded. "I know."
"I can't bring people around Alina who could potentially make her feel like she's intruding. That's not going to be a thing."
She swallowed hard. "It won't be. Not again. If you ever allow me to meet her properly, it will be on your terms and with kindness. Only kindness."
I studied her — searching for the cracks, the ulterior motives.
For once, there weren't any.
"I'm not pretending nothing happened," I said.
"I don't expect you to." A tear slipped before she could stop it. She brushed it away quickly, like muscle memory. "I just... wanted you to know I see the man you've become and I'm proud of him."
The words hit harder than I wanted them to.
She gave a small, sad smile. "Your father is too. He'll never say it, but he sees you growing in ways politics never forced you to."
I huffed a breath that wasn't quite a laugh. "He won't say it."
"No. But he sees it."
A silence settled — not heavy anymore, just real.
She straightened her coat — a tiny, habitual movement meant to reassemble herself. "I'll go. I said what I needed to say."
She turned toward the door.
"Mom."
She paused.
I didn't soften my voice.
"You can't meet Alina before talking to Amira. It's ultimately her decision at the end of the day."
Her expression shifted — relief, humility, something close to gratitude. "Of course," she murmured. "If she's willing to I'd love to sit down with her again."
She let herself out with a soft click.
The quiet that followed was heavy but not suffocating.
A weight had shifted. Not lifted — not yet — but moved.
A different shape. A different possibility.
I sat there a long moment, breathing through the residual heat in my chest.
Then I pulled out my phone.
Brooks
We need to talk