“What about the media? What about Hux?”
“Everything should be fine if we just play it cool. Stay hidden. And if he wins the election, I guess we’ll see what happens,” I say, chewing on my bottom lip. My stomach twists at the idea, but I force it away. I’m focusing on the good. “And if he doesn’t, it’ll be easier to navigate.”
My phone buzzes with an incoming call. “Hey, my mom is calling. I need to grab it in case something’s wrong with Huxley.”
“Go. Just know I’m proud of you, Ali!”
“Thanks, Lo. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Barrett
The lights are off in the cabana, but the solar lights are still burning along the path leading to it. The grounds are quiet and everyone is gone but me.
My briefcase is open on the desk. Swiping a file, the edges worn from looking at it so many times over the last month, I plop back on the bed I use when I stay here and look at it again.
I try to zero in on the words, but my mind keeps going to Alison. I’m not sure what in the hell I’ve gotten myself into, only that this is the first time in a very long time I’ve felt like I just made the right decision. My decision. A decision unmarred by suggestions and requests from everyone around me.
Even though we’re keeping it quiet, I know shit will hit the fan if it becomes public knowledge. Nolan will be furious. My father disappointed. Graham, the most trusted voice out of them all, will think it’s wrong.
I don’t care.
If I think about it long enough, I realize that my lack of concern does, in fact, concern me. Their points are right. This could be a big fuck-up for my campaign. There are a million ways this could go wrong. So why am I not more anxious about this new relationship?
I have no fucking idea.
All I know is that there’s a little peace in my stomach, a little levity in my step that I don’t want to let go.
In a world of stress and assholes, a life of planned moves and compromises, she’s the purest deal. The only person that just wants me. She looks at me and sees straight through to who I am on the inside, without the name, the looks, the smile, or influence I can flash and get my way.
I can’t let that go. Regardless of what they say.
My phone rings and I grab it. I see my mother’s name on the screen. Immediately, I smile and answer. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, Barrett. Am I interrupting anything?”
“Nope,” I say, shutting the file and tossing it on the edge of the bed. “And even if you were, I’d stop to talk to you.”
“Ah, you’re a charmer,” she laughs. “How is my oldest child? Are you hanging in there? I know how the last weeks of a campaign can be.”
“Yeah, I’m all right.”
“Why do I know you’re fibbing?”
Chuckling, I imagine her face. Her eyes are narrowed, her lips pressed together.
“Because you’re my mom, I guess.”
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice soft.
“Just . . . shit.” I contemplate telling her about Alison first. I want to discuss it with someone that won’t judge me right off the bat.
“Is it that Land Bill? Your father was talking about it tonight. I know we own some of the land in play and he wants you to go against it.”
Sighing, I nod. “Yeah. That’s the main thing right now. I’m being pushed by everyone to brush it off, but I just . . .”
“Barrett, listen to me. This is your career. Whatever you choose to do is your legacy. You have to do what you feel is right, what you can be proud of having your name attached to.”
“You know Dad will disown me if I don’t go against it, right? You realize you’ll personally lose a few million dollars?”
“You do know I have enough money so your future children never have to work. And you also know I will die after your father and it’ll be me that decides who’s in the will.”
I can’t help but laugh. I know she’s joking, in part, but she’s kind of telling the truth too.
“On a serious note,” she says, “I understand and respect the fact that you care about what your father says. You’re a good man, a good mayor, a good son. But your father has had his life to make his mark on the world, and when I look at you children, I have to say he’s made six beautiful, smart impressions. But this is your life, not his. He tries to push you and guide you, but you can make your own decisions.”
I think to the one decision I’ve already made that I also know he’ll be against.
“What if this is the wrong decision too?” I ask.
“Too?”
“Forget it,” I say, realizing my slip of the tongue. “I misspoke.”