“It means . . . it means that I’m overwhelmed and I need some space, okay?”
“No, no, it’s not,” he huffs. “Barrett left the event early because he wanted to find you, realizing what it probably looked like, especially on the heels of the baby thing earlier today. And when he finds out about the incident with you . . .”
I take a deep breath and hold tight to my guns. If I go back now, I’m setting myself up for heartbreak. How do I know the thing with Lacy tonight doesn’t just make Barrett feel bad? Maybe they want to spin that to make Barrett look better in the media too?
I can’t back down. Not until I know for sure.
“Let him know I’m fine and that I’m not necessarily running from him,” I say, gauging Huxley’s response out of the corner of my eye. “I’m just overwhelmed right now, and I feel like I need to take Hux and just settle down.”
“My brother loves you. I’ve never seen him like this about anyone. He’s always been pretty hedonistic, to tell you the truth, and right now, all he’s thinking about is you.”
I fight back the tears again. “Well, if that’s true, it will work out,” I sniffle. “Just tell him I’ll be back after the election and we can talk then. My phone is dying, Linc . . .”
“Ali, wait.”
The line goes dead.
Barrett
I pace back and forth across the living room of the Farm, my phone in my hand. I wish I had spent more time paying attention to her work schedule.
No, I wish I would’ve made her not fucking go to work tonight. I should’ve been me, the man I feel like when I’m with her. I should’ve taken charge, protected her, made her realize she’s the most important thing to me in the world.
I should’ve been her man.
Fuck!
“Why is Alison not answering my calls?” I ask Graham.
“How do I know? She’s not my girlfriend.”
I stop in my tracks, ready to fire off some hasty comment when Lincoln clears his throat. Turning to look at him, he’s sitting at the desk in the corner, facing the computer, his brows pulled together. He looks over his shoulder at us.
“Hey, who was here today?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Humor me.”
I blow out a breath, frustrated. “Dad. Nolan was here for a while with Rose, I think. Maybe Camilla?”
He nods his head, his bottom lip between his teeth, and flashes Graham a look before going back to checking sports scores or whatever he was doing.
“I need to talk to you for a second,” Graham says, getting my attention.
“I’m here,” I shrug, getting impatient. “Talk.”
He lifts off the chair and squares his shoulders to mine. “Alison went to work tonight and there was an incident.”
“Define incident,” I growl, a chill tearing through every cell in my body.
“She was attacked.”
“What?” I bellow. “Is she all right? Why am I just finding this out?”
“She’s fine,” Graham says. “There was a witness, a guy she works with and I’ve been talking with him off and on all night. He’s filing a witness report now in case something happens. He saw it all.” He thinks a second before speaking again. “He volunteered to answer any questions you might have.”
“Alison is okay though, right?” I say, taking a step towards Graham. My heart is beating out of control. I knew something was wrong tonight. I felt it. Motherfucker, I knew it and I should’ve been with her or had her with me. Fuck!
“She’s okay. Really. She . . . um . . .” Graham winces. “She was attacked by Lacy McKay.”
“What!?” I boom.
“We don’t know what was said,” Graham says. “We just know what Isaac, the guy she works with, saw. And that was Lacy slapping her and then claiming Alison hit her back. But she didn’t.”
“Fuck,” I hiss, grabbing my phone again to see if she’s responded yet. “I need to see her. I need to be with her. Where’s Troy? I need to get to her house.”
“I’m sorry, Barrett. She’s not there,” Graham says simply.
“Where is she?”
“Hey, guys,” Linc interrupts loudly. “You’re gonna want to see this.”
“Not now, Linc,” Graham warns.
“Trust me.”
“Lincoln, no one gives a fuck about golf scores, all right?”
He casts an angry look our way. “Okay, how about this? Does this get your attention?” He bends closer to the computer screen. “I’ll wire you another five thousand this morning. If Barrett pushes back about the pregnancy, we’ll come up with fake ultrasounds. Don’t be bothered by that. We’ve talked to Lacy and she’s on board, ready to see this thing out until the very end.”
“What the fuck is that?” I say, racing to the desk. I’ve broken out in a cold sweat, my stomach churning, as Graham and I look at the screen. Emails upon emails from a web-based account under Nolan’s name. “Oh my God.”
“It gets better,” Linc says. He clicks another message.
“Release the info about Baker. That should shake him up. Maybe it’ll make him withdraw altogether.”