Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SLADE
When I get off the plane in D.C. I’m immediately pissed.
There’s a book in the airport with a dandelion on the front cover, and I’m not even on the ground longer than five minutes before my thoughts already shuffle to her.
I wish she could’ve come. I want to experience more with her, but Echelon Vanguard is in my way.
Elliot mumbles over the agenda for today, but I can’t shake the damn weed from my mind.
What is it that Thea wants out of life? She’s hesitant and reserved when it comes to her personal life.
I haven’t heard her speak much about her deadbeat father, or the mother I know she lost. She might be upset to know I dug into her, that I know her major is undeclared, and that she’s refused meeting after meeting with her academic advisor.
I have a sneaking suspicion it’s to do with her mother, or maybe the ominous boyfriend she’s mentioned. I didn’t miss that.
My desire for Thea has trickled well past obsession. I care about her more than I’ve cared for anyone.
The day moves forward, and I’m surrounded by more assholes than usual.
Power-hungry politicians who only have their own agendas, not those of their constituents.
The sad part is that more than half of them belong to Echelon Vanguard in some capacity, in their own cities and states.
At times, it’s hard to wrap my mind around how far EV’s reach really goes.
Several days pass, and my hope to return home for the weekend vanishes.
Then it’s Monday, and Elliot and I work in my office several blocks from the Capitol. My third office, and the one I hate the most.
I’m supposed to be working during our lunch.
Elliot had salads delivered for us and the staff.
The briefing packet open in front of me is marked-up—some transportation bill I have to pretend to care about in the hearing tomorrow, but I haven’t turned a page in twenty minutes, and the wilting spinach hanging off my fork turns my stomach.
What is she doing? I can’t focus. I stare out the glass window while those around me drone on about the bill, but I keep thinking about the way she looked the last time I saw her.
She was unafraid of me, even though I threw a tantrum in a fit of anger.
She kissed me. The way she kissed me, as if she wanted me too.
She was disappointed when I told her I had to go away.
An ache stirs behind my ribs, and I push my lunch away, yanking the bottled water off my desk and downing that instead.
Elliot looks at me. “How about a break? Want to take five?”
I look up, and Elliot gives me a half smile. I nod and pull out my phone as my staffers leave the room.
I text Edmond.
How is she today?
Edmond
She’s good.
I huff. That’s not enough, not when all I can do is think about her lips, her smile, her obsession with my favorite cereal.
I want updates on her throughout the day.
Edmond’s response bubble appears and then disappears several times.
Edmond
Very well, sir. She’s sitting on the dock.
Doing what?
Edmond
Sitting with her feet in the water.
I imagine that. Her hair blowing in the summer wind as she splashes the water up with her toes. I snarl, angry with myself for avoiding her those first few weeks when I could’ve been enjoying her company. Why haven’t I joined her out there? Does she want to swim?
I text Edmond again.
Does she like to swim?
Edmond
I believe so, sir.
Our five-minute break is not nearly long enough, and I jump, putting away my phone when everyone enters my office again. Although, there’s a relief in knowing she’s okay. That she’s still in my house and enjoying my dock. Work comes a bit easier until my next update an hour later.
Edmond
She’s making chocolate chip cookies without Stefan. They’re in the oven, and it doesn’t smell good.
Eat them anyway.
Twenty minutes later.
Edmond
I had three. Stefan says she’s not allowed to bake again.
I chuckle out loud during a presentation about a committee vote I’m to prep for.
My meetings last well into the night, and during a late dinner with two senators and several other congressmen, I get my next update.
Edmond
She’s watching Batman Begins, and she just called me Alfred.
I smirk and leave my phone on the table to watch his updates scroll through while I cut through my expensive filet.
Edmond
She’s eating Frosted Flakes WITH MILK in the kitchen.
Edmond
She says she’s tired and heading to bed.
An hour later.
Edmond
Her lights went off, I believe she’s asleep, sir.
Tuesday and Wednesday rush by with more of the same, and when I exit the shower Wednesday night, another message is waiting for me.
Edmond
She’s upset and thinks the housekeeper took one of her outfits.
I doubt that.
Which one?
Edmond
One of the rompers I purchased for her, sir.
Towel wrapped around my waist, I exit the bathroom and stare at the romper bunched up near the top of my pillow.
Buy her another one.
Edmond
It’s already on the way, sir.
I strip and climb into bed, bringing the tantalizing garment to my nose. I’m so messed up.
Another message comes through.
Edmond
I don’t think she’s feeling well.
Why?
Edmond
She told me she doesn’t think she’s feeling well, sir.
I roll my eyes and stare at my phone. It’s been almost four years. I haven’t spoken to anyone on the phone. Text yes, and up until recently I didn’t want to speak to anyone, but …
I dial Edmond.
“Sir? This is a surprise.”
“Put her on the phone.”
He hesitates. “I, uh, yes. One second please.”
He shuffles around, and there’s a knock on a door. “Miss Thea—” His voice fades out, and then there’s a rustle of sheets. Damn it. Did I wake her up? If she doesn’t feel well, I’m sure she doesn’t want to speak on the phone.
“—wait you’re giving me a phone …” Her voice grows louder. “Hello?”
“Hi,” I say.
“Slade? What’s up? Are you okay?”
I frown. She’s asking about me? “Edmond said you’re sick.”
She laughs. “No. No I’m not sick.”
“Then … what’s wrong?”
She sighs. “It’s just that time of month, you know.”
“Oh … I’m—I’m sorry. Do you have everything you need?” Did I really just ask that?
She offers me another laugh, and it goes straight through me. Hell. “Yes. The housekeeper had something on her and was able to help me get what I needed. It was a surprise, I guess. They gave us stuff at EV that, uh, you know … prevented it.”
Sniffing, she moves, and there’s more rustling.
“I’m sorry, Thea.”
“When are they going to take me back, Slade?” She sniffs again.
I press the phone tighter to my ear as if it could bring me closer.
She’s crying, and her broken little breaths gut me.
Running a hand over my face, I lean back against the headboard.
I don’t know. My hope is they’ve forgotten I have her, which is ridiculous.
Of course they haven’t. The other men, the ones sniffing around, definitely haven’t forgotten.
“Promise me, Slade. Promise me if they do, you’ll bid on someone else. Save another girl from a terrifying night. Don’t just save me.”
Like hell. “Thea …”
“Please, Slade. I can’t handle it anymore.
I’m here making cookies, watching movies, enjoying the summer sun, and they’re stuck back there sucking down every last drop of green juice to satiate themselves, and fighting for sunlight through a skylight just for thirty minutes.
The guilt is eating at me. Please … next time … give someone else the respite.”
The pain in her voice has me grasping for anything to help her. The cracks in her voice, each shaky breath she tries to swallow back—I hate it. I hate that she’s falling apart, and that she feels guilt for me loving her. “I-I promise,” I say, not thinking.
She lets out a relieved sob, and my chest caves. “Thank you. Thank you.”
“Please stop crying.” Every sniffle is a punch, and each sob a chokehold.
I wish I could shoulder the guilt she’s feeling, because none of this is her fault.
It should be mine, my guilt. I’m the one who stopped the bidding rotation after I laid eyes on Thea.
I’m the one who wanted to stop her from the Culling.
Every hurt, I want to take from her. I want to ease her pain.
I want to care for her for the rest of my life.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m probably extra emotional right now,” she says. “When will you be home?”
Home. My jaw clenches, the energy in that single word humming in my veins.
For a moment I’m somewhere else with her.
She’s beside me in my office, barefoot with her hair curled on top of her head in a bun, tapping on her laptop while she edits, saying, “This line is too safe. Say what you actually mean.” I’ll smile because she’ll be right and she challenges me.
I see her walking the halls with me, shaking hands, whispering the truth in moments I can’t afford to get it wrong.
I see her on the steps of the community center in Chicago when we launch the literacy program together—her name on the foundation paperwork beside mine.
The rabbit hole continues, and I picture us home, worn out but content to relax with a few comics and bowls full of Frosted Flakes.
She can’t know what I’m seeing. Not yet.
This life I’m picturing would only compound the guilt she feels, but I picture us transforming the legacy my grandfather tried to impart on me into something for good, for the better.
She says something, then laughs softly with a yawn behind it.
Hell.
She’s the only version of the future that makes any damn sense, and it’s not some preprogrammed legacy my grandfather crafted. It’s organic and beautiful.
Yet, I’m terrified I’m the only one who can see it.
What does Thea want from life?