I groan. “We’ve been working on this campaign for years, Linc. There are so many people’s jobs riding on the line.” Sighing, I slump against the counter. “I was reading him the riot act today, and Dad shoved me out of the room and told me to calm down.”
Taking another swig of the liquor, I feel the burn as it trickles down my throat. “If I fire him now, my chances of losing this election triple. Maybe quadruple. So much time and money have been spent that I can’t just blow it now because I’m pissed off. Those people have families to feed, bills to pay. That’s not fair to anyone.”
“It’s fair to you. You gotta stand up for yourself, man.”
“I did,” I sigh. “I’ve done everything I can.”
“Welp,” Lincoln says, “if that’s the case, have you done everything you can to tell Ali that?”
“Ali? You’re on a nickname basis with my girl now?”
“Hey, she likes me. Probably better than you right now!”
“Go to hell.” A pang of jealousy that their relationship is so easy taps my heart.
The line grows quiet, both of us trying to get some kind of game plan together. The problem is that neither of us plan as well as Graham, and this isn’t something I can plan with my logical brother. I’m closest to Graham, but when you need someone to plan shenanigans, you have to go to Linc.
“You know, I’ve never understood why you like politics,” Lincoln says.
“I’m not sure why I do right now either.”
“Is it what you want to do? Do you want this life, worrying about what everyone says about you, picking you apart, going after your girl?”
Sitting back at the table again, I think about how many times I’ve asked myself that very question over the last few days.
“It’s the only thing I ever considered doing,” I point out.
“Because Dad pushed you.”
“Not just that,” I say. “I’ve always felt like this is what I’m supposed to do. And I’ve enjoyed it for the most part. You can do a lot of good things with the power it gives you. It’s constantly moving, changing. You can’t stand still or you get lost in the shuffle. And, before the last couple of months, I’ve had all the women and parties and opportunities I could ever want.”
“That’s all fine and dandy, but everything you’ve said has been past tense.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “I know.”
“So . . . why not drop out? Change courses. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to try to save the world or give up your life and subject yourself to this craziness.”
“I’ve considered it.” My fingertips strum the table, lost in thought. “You know, I wonder what my life would’ve been like if Dad hadn’t bought me the mayoral election.”
“Barrett, don’t even fucking go there. You won that thing on your own.”
“Did I, Linc?” I ask. “I remember going to the debates, answering the questions at the interviews, and not really having a fucking clue what they were talking about. I said what I was supposed to say, smiled, and boom—I’m the mayor. Did you ever think about that?”
He groans into the phone. “You’re just being stupid now.”
I laugh, feeling like a weight is off my shoulders. “No, maybe I’m just being honest.”
“If that’s the case, maybe you shouldn’t be in politics to start with.”
“Maybe not. But I am and I can’t back out now.”
“You also can’t risk losing her either, Barrett. I’ve never seen you happier than you have been lately. You’re so normal when you’re with her, almost like one of the guys I play ball with.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He laughs. “I’m serious. You’re usually a stick in the mud, off burying your cock in some chick or huddled in a corner with Graham. You’re actually kind of fun now.”
Taking a swig of my drink, I feel it burn as it goes down. “I don’t feel very fun right now.”
“You’re at the plate with a full count. You have to step to the plate ready to swing, Barrett.”
“Baseball analogies? Really?”
“Listen to me. Be ready to swing. Don’t let the third strike pass the plate. Because when that happens, you go to the dugout. Alone. And that’s a cold and lonely place.”
Barrett
MY TIE IS OFF CENTER. I face the mirror and see the green and white striped fabric twisted like a twelve-year-old put it on.
It makes wonder if Huxley knows how to tie a tie. An image pops in my mind of us standing in front of a mirror and me showing him how to do it. I can’t help but grin at the idea and the realization that the concept makes me happy.
Heaving a breath, I force myself to concentrate on getting myself presentable for another day at the office. It’s early, a little past six, and I haven’t slept. I’d hoped the bourbon would assist in that effort, but it didn’t.
My phone was in my hand as much as it wasn’t all night. I wanted to call her, to plead my case, to tell her how I’d do anything to fix the pain she felt yesterday. Then I got pissed off that this happened, from my staff, no less, and the fury coursed through me until I was exhausted.