Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
BARRETT
The definitive sound of heels against the hardwood tells me who just pulled up.
The headlights had brushed past my office window, but I couldn't make out the model of the car before it pulled in.
When the key was used and the alarm turned off, the possibilities narrowed tremendously. But the heels were a dead giveaway.
"Knock, knock." My mother's voice rings through my office. When I look up, she's standing in the doorway. Wearing a dark purple dress and pearls, she looks like she's sent straight from Central Casting. The perfect mother.
"Hey," I say, sinking back in my chair. "What brings you by this late?"
"Just checking on my eldest. I'm allowed to do that, aren't I?"
"Absolutely," I grin, happy to see her. "Come in."
She strides in the room with her usual grace, just like Camilla and Sienna do. They are beautiful and composed, yet can be lions when necessary. It's what I love most about them. It’s what I love about Alison too.
Sliding into a leather chair facing my desk, she looks at me. Her eyes search me the way a mother's do, trying to decide how I am before she asks. "How are you?"
"Been better. Been worse."
"How's the campaign coming along?"
"Almost over."
"You say that like you're happy about it."
I shrug and kind of grimace. I don't even bother trying to hide shit from her. She always knows.
"I'm proud of you. You know that?" she asks and I know to brace myself. She always starts out with a compliment before really getting to what she means. "But this—what you're going through right now—is why I didn't want you in politics, honey."
"It's not terrible."
"And it's not great either. And what I want for you is a great life.
" She sighs and shakes her head, and I feel like a twelve-year-old boy again.
"You've done an excellent job as Mayor, and I'd be thrilled for you to do the same things for the people of this state as you've done for the people in Savannah.
You've gone up against some serious odds during your terms and you've beaten them all.
But you've also managed to not lose yourself in the process and I'm worried that's going to happen.
" She eyes me curiously. "If it isn’t already starting to happen. "
She folds her arms and narrows her eyes. "I've watched my father work in this business and I’ve stood beside your father, through thick and thin, as he navigated this very same thing. None of them were as successful as you in a lot of ways. I like to think it's because you are part me," she teases.
"Probably true."
"You'll get as far as you want to. And I know your daddy pushes you, wants you to succeed in the ways he couldn't. But Barrett, my sweet boy, don't kill yourself for this unless you're sure it's what you want."
"I am sure."
"Are you? Are you really? I used to think so, but now ... I look at your face tonight and I'm not so positive anymore."
I bury my head in my hands. "I made a deal with Monroe."
"And?"
"And I didn't want to make it. I did it because I thought I had to. But now, I have doubts, and I know it's not one I can follow through on."
"Barrett..."
"I know. But I'm responsible for all of these people that work for me, Mom. I feel obligated to do everything I can to make sure I win so they can feed their families."
"That's Nolan talking—"
"That's me talking," I cut her back off. "I have the opportunity in front of me that so many want, and I can do it! If I win this election, I can be in the running for a shot at the White House in a few years. If I don't do this, isn't that just stupid? To just quit on a dream so many have?"
"Not if it isn't your dream."
"It is my dream," I sigh. "I'm just stressed. I need a drink or something." I stand and walk to my dry bar and pour myself some Scotch.
I hear my mom stand and feel her walk towards me. She places a hand on my shoulder, and I look at her sideways.
"If this is your dream, I will help you achieve it.
I will push you, pull you, put on events of every kind to get you to where you want to be.
But if it isn't —" She shakes her head as I start to interrupt.
"If this is your dad's dream or Nolan's dream or some crazy idea in your head that you have to do this, don't do it, honey.
There's so much more to life than campaigns and legislature and politics. "
"Is there? For a guy like me, is there?"
"Of course there is," she huffs. "There's happiness and vacations.
There's falling in love with a lady, note I said lady, and having beautiful grandbabies that I can shop obsessively for.
" She winks, but I know she's not totally kidding.
"You can have a tremendous life, Barrett, and not live in this world.
And there's nothing wrong with that. I would be just as proud of you, and your father would deal. Trust me."
My mind starts to go down that path—of weddings and babies and strolls down tiki torch-lit paths, and I shake my head.
“What if I was already in love?” I ask, watching her for a reaction.
Her eyes light up and she places a hand on her hip. “That would make me very happy if it makes you happy.”
I can’t contain my grin, which makes hers grow wider.
“I’m not going to push. I’ll just say that Camilla has met her and told me she’s a delightful girl.” She looks me over from head to toe before laughing. “This explains a lot.”
“What does that mean?”
She shrugs, a grin still tugging at her lips. “You’re rounding out, as a man. Thinking things through, considering ramifications for things on a broader scale than you would’ve before. It’s nice to see. Now if we can only get Lincoln there ...”
I laugh and let her pull me in for a quick hug. "You're making me feel like a little kid."
She squeezes my cheek for effect. "You are my little kid. And that's why I'm here at," she glances at her watch, "eight o'clock in the evening."
"Have you had dinner?" I ask.
"No. Your father is working late tonight with Graham, so I'm on my own. I'll probably just heat up some leftovers from last night."
I glance at the pile of papers on my desk and the four hundred requests in my email. I look back at my mother. "Let's order in. Me and you."
"Really?" she asks, her eyes lighting up.
“Really, Mom. I’d love to have dinner with you.”
“I’d like that too.”
***
BARRETT
The antique grandfather clock ticks, reminding me of every second that passes. It feels like a million seconds have ticked by since I made the deal with Monroe yesterday, but, in reality, it’s only been a little over twenty-four hours.
I've hated that walnut clock since I was a kid.
My mother always said it was her prized possession, an heirloom from her own grandmother.
She'd warn us not to toss balls or wrestle in the dining room because of that damn clock.
There's a crack in the back of it that she doesn't know about thanks to Lincoln's handiwork.
"You listening to me, son?"
Dad nudges me in the arm and I snap back to the present.
We've been going at this for hours. It feels like we're beating a dead horse.
We go over every angle of the election frontwards and backwards, and every time, it winds up in the same spot: too close for comfort.
On paper, I did the right thing by selling my soul to the devil himself.
In reality, I feel less than stellar about it.
"Yeah, I'm listening, Dad."
"Good. So when Monroe endorses you, we'll watch the poll numbers. He should really clinch the north for you. They listen to that son of a bitch for whatever reason."
I nod, swishing the rest of my coffee in my mug. "It's going to be fine. I think it would've been fine anyway."
"I get doing what you need to do in order to win," Lincoln says, his eyes narrowed, "but I think this was a fuck-up."
"Linc, stay out of this," Dad warns.
"You push him and push him to do what you think is right. Has it ever occurred to you for one second that maybe he can make his own decisions?"
“He made the choice,” Graham says, looking at Lincoln across the table.
Lincoln laughs. “Him ‘making that decision’ would be like a coach telling me to swing at the first three pitches without letting me get up there and get a good look at it first. It’s asinine.”
“We don’t have time for baseball metaphors,” Graham says, rolling his eyes. “This had to be done. It’s not something we can explain to you in a matter of hours. This is not balls and strikes.”
“You know what? Fuck you,” Lincoln says, but he’s not entirely kidding. “I may not know much about politics, but that was by choice. And not knowing shit about that doesn’t mean I don’t know what a good decision looks like.”
I sigh, watching my brothers and father go at it right in front of me. Seeing them at odds over this campaign, the frustration in their eyes, it makes me feel horrible.
Pushing away from the table, I stand and look down at my father. I know what I'll look like in another twenty years. I wonder how much I'll resemble him in other ways.
Giving him a tight smile, I nod and walk out. My mother grins at me from the kitchen as I walk by, but doesn't speak. She watches me, her brows pulled together.
Troy is standing outside the front door and pops open the back of the Rover. I slide in and he's in the driver's seat before I know it.
"Where to?" he asks, looking at me through the rearview mirror.
I shrug. Nowhere sounds good. I feel alone, completely fucking alone, and that's where I want to be.
"Just drive."
I don’t tell him to take me to her place, but he does anyway. Maybe that means I’m a lost cause or maybe it means he knows me well enough to see what I need. Either way, when the Rover pulls up in front of the little white house, I can’t help but feel relieved.
Troy catches my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Thanks,” I say, nodding.
He doesn’t respond, just watches me climb out and make my way to the front door. I knock a few quick raps and she pulls it open right away. Her face lights up when she sees me and I step inside and waste no time getting my arms around her.
She buries her head in my chest and plants a kiss on my sternum. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers.
“Me too.”
She closes the door behind us and we amble into the living room. I don’t let go of her; I need her touch, her presence, to assuage some of the stress rioting through me.
“How are you?” she asks.
“Shitty.” I sit down and pull her onto my lap. Nuzzling my face into her hair, I breathe her in and let it comfort me like it always does. “But I’m better at the moment.”
“I’ve been thinking about you all day. You sounded so upset last night. If Hux hadn’t been home, I would’ve come and found you.”
“This not being with you all the time, having you accessible to me, has got to end.”
“One thing at a time, okay?” she whispers, kissing my cheek. “I’m here for you whenever you need me. You need to just focus on work for the next few days.”
I hold her tight, this precious girl that dropped into my life with a tray of champagne. She has no idea what she means to me or that I need her every minute of every day.
“Can I just hold you right now?” I ask, feeling my nerves settle. “I don’t want to think about anything other than what you feel like in my arms.”
“Sounds good to me,” she says and gets comfortable in my lap.
For the next half hour, I sit on her couch in the outskirts of Savannah and hold the one thing that I’m sure is the right thing.