Chapter 22
MILES
The Brennan property is the kind that makes me wonder if it should be called an estate.
Surrounded by huge maples shedding leaves in vivid shades of orange and red, the house itself is probably three times the size of the one I grew up in.
There are at least a dozen vehicles parked out front, including a local news van, all spattered with rain.
A few dead leaves are plastered to their windshields, as if clinging on for one last wild ride before the November temperatures claim them.
Look at me getting all poetic and shit.
I guess falling in love really fucks you up.
I cling tight to Caroline’s hand as we head inside, less sure than ever about where we stand but not quite ready to share her with anyone else all the same.
Showing up for the Pete Brennan campaign tonight will be our last public appearance together—one last photo op for this fake relationship that’s become anything but fake to me.
To us.
George decided not to make the trip with us tonight. He claimed it would be too late for him to stay up, but I suspect he has no more interest in showing public support for Pete than I do.
“You sure you’re up for this, fancy girl?” The endearment rolls off my tongue as naturally as my next breath, a bittersweet reminder of how easy everything is with her.
George’s words about his late wife drift back to me: “No question in my mind. It was easy with her.”
My chest feels like it’s about to cave in. I may have found the one, but that doesn’t magically make me ready to be the one she deserves. Doesn’t make me easy for her.
“Uh, yeah. I think so.” Her features are tinged with a sadness that makes me want to pull her into my arms and make promises I can’t keep.
Caroline drove us to Seattle in heavy silence after our almost-conversation back at her place.
Hearing her tell me she’d get over it had been like swallowing hot solder—a burning sensation seared my throat at the implication that there’s something here to get over.
And, fuck me, there is. I’m in so deep I might as well be lying at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. With a shovel.
She’d all but confirmed she’s fallen just as hard. The pain in her eyes had said it all.
But, no matter what happens after tonight, and no matter how much it’ll hurt to say goodbye, Caroline’s given me a gift.
She’s helped me realize I don’t need to keep hiding from what life has to offer.
My routines have kept me sober, of course—no doubt about it.
But she’s helped me see I can loosen my strict death grip on structure without sacrificing sobriety.
And I’ll never be able to properly explain to her the freedom she’s given me.
Not that I’ll even get the chance to try.
Fuck.
It hits me all over again that this is it. I don’t know how I’m gonna sleep tonight. Alone. I’ve gotten so used to having Caroline in my arms, her fingers absentmindedly playing with my hair when I lay my head on her chest. The way her heartbeat hammers, then slowly settles after we—
Okay, God, I need to stop thinking about it or I’ll fucking cry.
I hang back, letting her lead us into her father’s office, suddenly aware that this is her family home—her turf. Naturally, the first person my eyes snag on is Fletcher, probably thanks to some hypervigilant part of my brain scanning for threats. Threats or, y’know, nearby assholes.
The room is busy, full of chattering people huddled in small groups, most of them on phones or laptops. Pete’s staff, I assume. Maybe some friends, if the bastard has any.
I squeeze Caroline’s fingers tighter when Fletcher heads in our direction.
“Caroline,” he says, flicking a level glance my way. “You look nice.”
“Fletcher.”
The dead-eyed way she greets him—no hello, no pleasantries, just his name—makes my chest swell with so much pride that it’s hard to keep a straight face.
Fuck him up, fancy girl.
Letting go of her hand, I slip my palm to her lower back. Even through her dress, the warmth of her skin is a familiar anchor in this room teeming with strangers.
Her eyes slide to mine and linger there for a moment.
I hold her gaze, hoping she can read my silent words: You got this.
When it becomes clear Fletcher isn’t fucking off, Caroline breaks the silence. “So, did you need something, or—?”
“I was actually hoping we could talk. Alone, if possible.” Another glance my way, like he’s wondering why I’m still here.
“I don’t see the point.” Caroline’s gaze only lands on her ex for the briefest pause before she scans the room, as if showing him she’d rather be talking to anyone else. That, or she’s searching for the emergency exits like a nervous passenger on an airplane.
“Please, Care-bea—” He seems to catch himself. “Caroline. Please.”
She turns to me, clearly uneasy and probably remembering what went down the last time she left my side at a busy event.
“I’ll be right here,” I reassure her, despite the way my entire body bristles at her spending even a second with this douchebag. Remembering the cameras—and, let’s face it, as a final fuck-you to Fletcher—I dip down to kiss the corner of her lips.
The temptation to keep Caroline away from Fletcher is strong, but she’s gonna be navigating this shit on her own soon enough.
And, I remind myself, I have no claim on her, despite the way every cell of my body screams she’s mine.
As of tomorrow, she won’t be in my life anymore.
Won’t be in my arms when I wake up in the morning. My heart twists at the thought.
Fuck, I’m gonna miss the shit outta that.
She cautiously crosses the room with Fletcher and I finally let my eyes jump to the election coverage on the huge TV.
The graph of early vote counts shows two nearly intersecting lines, although, I note with satisfaction, Pete’s is the lower of the two.
But, with heavily overlapping error margins, it’s too early to say how the race will pan out.
“Miles.” Pete appears over my left shoulder and sidles up beside me, swirling the remnants of a glass of whiskey.
Shit. This is the worst kind of déjà vu.
“Surprised you came tonight,” he adds, then drains the dregs.
I frown, darting a quick glance Caroline’s way before focusing back on the TV. “You said until the election.”
“I did, didn’t I?” I can hear the asshole smiling like he just remembered that tiny detail. But I know, like a damn elephant, this fuckwad never forgets. “I have to give you credit, though,” he drawls. “You did what I asked you to. You and Caroline seem to have gotten pretty cozy together.”
“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” I can’t help the sharp edge in my voice.
“Yes, well.” It’s one of those responses that says it all without saying much of fucking anything. He gives me a look of low-grade disgust and sucks his teeth. “Maybe a little too cozy.”
“It’s none of your business how cozy we are.”
“Ah, Miles, that’s where you’re wrong.”
My teeth grind together involuntarily, and I work to keep my tone even when I speak. “Ever thought about letting Caroline decide what she does with her life?”
God, I need a fucking drink.
The familiar thought floats easily—too easily—into my mind as my eyes fall to the empty whiskey glass in Pete’s hand.
He shakes his head as if the idea isn’t worth contemplating. “Don’t mistake a few weeks of playing house with my daughter for knowing what’s in her best interest.”
I shouldn’t let his comment sting, but it burrows under my skin anyway. A few weeks of playing house. I know it’s been more than that. To me and to her.
“I’ve indulged this little rebellious phase of hers for too long,” Pete says, almost to himself, training his gaze on the TV screen across the room.
“Rebellious phase?” I ask, almost laughing. “She’s twenty-eight.”
Christ, everything out of this man’s mouth is laced with privileged dickhead judgment.
“All the more reason for her to quit acting like a teenager so she can get her life back on track.”
“What are you talking about? She has a life in Lennox.”
He tilts his head, regarding me with amusement. “Now, Miles, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were hoping to be a part of my daughter’s life. But you wouldn’t have forgotten yourself, would you?” He inches closer, lowering his voice. “Wouldn’t have forgotten the terms of our deal?”
“Our deal?” I echo, trying to keep my voice down. “Don’t make it sound like I willingly signed up for this.”
He ignores my comment. “It’d be foolish, wouldn’t it? To fall for a woman you can’t have?”
I huff out a breath, trying to hide the way his words kick me squarely in the chest. Is there anything worse than someone you despise being right?
“My daughter deserves fine wines and penthouse suites, Miles.” He stares me down, scrutinizing me. “And we both know you’re more of a… tacos and arcades kind of guy. Isn’t that right?”
I knew he’d been keeping tabs on us—through the press and by God only knows what other means.
“You don’t even know her.” The words feel thin on my tongue. Pathetic. Maybe I’m the one acting like a teenager.
He tilts his head like that’s debatable. “Well, starting tomorrow, you certainly won’t.”
My neck heats, every shred of decency I’ve worked to build suddenly draining from my body, replaced by a white-hot rage and the overwhelming impulse to punch that smug look right off Pete Brennan’s face. “What’s your problem with me?”
“Pete!” Valerie appears at her husband’s side, smoothing her short gray hair. “The reporter from Cascade News wants a quick interview in about five.”
“Excellent.” Pete quickly lacquers on a phony mask as his gaze drops to his empty glass, then he looks up at me again, placing a hand to his chest. “Goodness, where are my manners? I haven’t offered you a drink, Miles.”
Shit. No.
“Uh, I don’t—”
The room erupts in cheers and back-patting as the news update reveals a small surge of Brennan votes, and a camera operator pans around the room, capturing the delighted reactions of Pete’s lackeys.