Governor (Governor Trilogy 1)

by Lesli Richardson

  Because maybe this is about Carter.

  She’s in traffic, her phone in speaker mode, and from the sound of her tearful swearing she’s also speeding on the Crosstown, heading home.

  “Pet, calm down,” I order, channeling Carter. “Deep breaths, honey. Slow down your car, and talk to me.”

  She’s sobbing. “Daddy. Momma said Daddy’s in surgery. He collapsed in his office thirty minutes ago, and they rushed him to the hospital. Massive heart attack.”

  Fuck.

  “I’m almost home. I’ll pack for us. You slow down and get here safely, understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  I know it’s a reflex, and I can’t blame her, given the circumstances, but it still makes me feel…weird.

  By the time she arrives, I already have our bags sitting inside the front door, including one for Carter. He’s in his car and will most likely leave directly from Orlando.

  When he’s in depositions like this, he usually turns his personal phone off and leaves it in his laptop case. He’ll have his work phone on him, but even that will be on silent mode.

  So I call his personal cell and leave a voice mail about what’s going on, then text his work cell and tell him to check his voice mail as soon as possible.

  I’m already walking out the front door with our bags when she pulls into the driveway, throws it into park, and jumps out to hug me. She’s still crying.

  Benchley might be an asshole of stratospheric proportions, but unlike my mother, he was a good father, and Susa loves him.

  “Go inside, use the bathroom, then set the alarm and lock up on your way back out.” I’ve left my keys in the deadbolt outside, so she can use them.

  She runs to do it.

  I stow our things in the backseat and have to readjust the driver’s seat so I can get behind the wheel without kneecapping myself. By the time I’m ready, she emerges, locks the door, and is in the passenger seat seconds later. She’s changed into jeans and a blouse, and has scrubbed the makeup off her face and pulled her hair back into a messy bun.

  “Deep breaths, sweetie.” She nods, but I don’t know if she’s really processing anything beyond the need to get to Tallahassee, right now, to be with her father.

  We’re north of Ocala on I-75 when Carter calls my phone from his work phone. “Where are you?”

  “In the car.”

  “Okay, is Susa there with you?”

  “Yeah, um, did you check your voice mail?”

  “No. Someone just walked in at the depo and passed me a note. It’s all over the news, apparently. I just asked for a ten minute recess, and you were my first call. How is she?”

  I glance over at Susa, who’s on the phone with one of the paralegals at the office, going over stuff with them that they’ll need to handle in her absence. She’s barely holding it together.

  I drop my voice. “She called me Sir without thinking.”

  “Oh, shit. Okay, buddy. Hang in there. Did you grab me clothes?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’ll go talk to my co-counsel and opposing counsel and see if I can leave. We had to move mountains to get the schedules aligned for counsel and witnesses to do this today.”

  That’s when I know what I need to do. “No. Stay there and try to finish the day and leave from there. We don’t know anything yet. They’re doing emergency bypass surgery, so there’s nothing we can do anyway.”

  He pauses, and it sounds like he’s moving into another room, maybe closed a door behind him. “You sure, Owen?”

  “I’m sure, Carter. Keep your work phone on you. I’ll text you a 911 if something changes.”

  This is where three is better than two, because if Susa was alone without me, she’d absolutely tell him to stay and finish the deposition, because I know her.

  And Carter would feel like utter shit for doing it, hating himself that he didn’t nuke a work situation for her.

  We’ve been lucky. Damned lucky. They did the emotional heavy lifting for me when I needed them. It’s time for me to shoulder this load for them.

  When we reach Tallahassee, we go straight to the hospital and have to actually get a hospital administrator to approve us coming in, because they had to remove press and now have a very limited list of people who will be allowed to join Michelle in the surgical waiting room.

  “Her husband will be coming later,” I tell them while they’re taking Susa’s picture for the temporary visitor’s pass.

  “You’re not her husband?” the administrator asks.

  “I’m her—”

  “Brother-in-law,” Susa says, her voice sounding dull and brittle. “He’s my husband’s brother.”

  Okay, then. I was going to default to friend, but maybe she wants to list me as family to help smooth the way.

  I get my picture taken, and we hurry down corridors to find Michelle.

  Susa bursts into tears again when we find her mom, and they hug, both of them crying as I get them sitting and Michelle tells us the latest update. He’s still in surgery, and listed as critical, but stable, but he’s not out of the woods yet.

  “Where’s Carter?” Michelle finally asks.

  “Deposition in Orlando,” Susa says before I can answer. “I told him to come later. Nothing he can do right now.”

  Benchley is out of surgery and in the ICU, still unconscious, by the time Carter arrives around eight that evening. Susa’s spent the afternoon either in my arms or her mom’s, and I went in with the two of them when they allowed a brief visit after moving him from recovery into the ICU.

  But when Susa sees Carter, she goes to him and I watch as he whispers to her, Susa tearfully nodding over words I can’t hear.

  Frankly, I’m relieved he’s here.

  Michelle leans in. “Must suck, huh?”

  “What?”

  “The woman you love, married to him?”

  I’m emotionally frayed around the edges, worried on Susa’s behalf, and in no mood for games. “Who says it’s not the other way around?”

  I mentally kick myself for saying it, but it was reflexive. Or maybe I’ve channeled too much of the bastard.

  But Michelle looks at me, at them, then seems to not know how to process my statement. Which is fine by me.

  When they join us I stand and, once Susa retakes her seat, I hug Carter long and hard.

  “My good boy,” he whispers. “Thank you. You were perfect.”

  Everything else melts away except Him. “Thank you, Sir.”

  * * * *

  Benchley pulls through, thankfully. Carter and I stay two days. Susa stays behind in Tallahassee through that weekend, because her father is a crappy patient and has no patience for Carter’s presence. Carter and I are slammed with work and the campaign anyway. Benchley warns us if we don’t get our asses back to the campaign trail, he’ll pull his endorsement.

  So we ride back to Tampa together, leaving Susa’s car there for her.

  Carter’s driving. The Snot Box gave way to a Mercedes a model newer than Susa’s two months after we started working at the law firm.

  They’d already replaced my Subaru with a gently used Mercedes SUV our first Christmas together, while we were still in college.

  And it wasn’t a disgusting shade of green, either.

  I tearfully and gratefully accepted it, knowing it wasn’t merely a present from them.

  It was the last tangible reminder of my mother’s former hold on me erased from my life.

  We ride mostly in comfortable silence. We’re almost to Brooksville when Carter speaks. “Michelle asked me an interesting question that first night we were there, when I walked back into the ICU with you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Did she say anything to you?”

  I think back and remember my comment to her and tell him.

  He smiles.

  “Why?” I ask. “What’d she say?”

  “She asked me if I trusted you.”

  I can tell he’s going to draw this
out, so I go with it. “And?”

  “I told her I trust you with our lives, our hearts, and our secrets.” He glances my way.

  “How’d she take that?”

  “Like you said, she didn’t seem to know how to process that. I think she was trying to figure out a way to drive a wedge between you and me, to sow distrust.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past Benchley to ratfuck us with the truth, if he had proof. Even to Susa’s detriment.”

  “He wouldn’t.” Carter sighs. “He’ll have to get over it, though.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  Carter shrugs, and his next comment catches me off-balance. “Oh, he knows not to fuck with me, or you. Doesn’t matter how much he hates me. I’ve got him on a short damn leash, and he knows it.”

  Then he smiles that smile.

  Bastard extraordinaire, FTW.

  I decide I don’t want clarification on that comment. It’s better I don’t know. If I should know, Carter would have already told me, and that was one of the guidelines he laid out for me early on—that there would be things he deliberately does not tell me so I have plausible deniability.

  So I default to what’s always worked for me ever since I first met Carter—I trust.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Ten Years Later

  I spend four years as a county commissioner, then four years as a state senator.

  Benchley’s old seat.

  Benchley never gets his chance to run for governor. Michelle puts her foot down and forces him to retire from public life after his Senate term ends. Oh, he’s still an attorney and does some work for his firm, and is still heavily active in the state GOP, but he’s more behind-the-scenes now than actually leading the charge.

  It surprises me when he endorses me for the state Senate seat from the primaries on, even over all the GOP candidates.

  It downright shocks me when he manages to swing other important GOP lawmakers to support me from the primaries on, too.

  When I confront Carter about this one morning during our run, he smiles, but doesn’t answer.

  Meaning the whole situation gets filed in the “don’t ask again” folder.

  Meanwhile, Carter has put both myself and Susa through a concealed carry course to get our permits, and we all own handguns. I don’t get many credible threats, but Carter has instituted a rule that if we are out and about and not in a government space where we’re prohibited from carrying, we’re required to carry.

  It’s a minor shadow on what I otherwise consider to be a perfect life. Susa and Carter are far more comfortable with firearms than I am, but because I am above all else Sir’s good boy, I comply with his wishes.

  When I’m elected to the state senate, we end up buying two townhouses that sit side-by-side in a three-unit building in Tallahassee, just blocks from the governor’s mansion. Benchley owns the third unit, but he and Michelle rarely spend time there now. They’re once again living in their house in Brandon.

  We hire a contractor to put a door between our two units, and life goes on. Carter is my chief of staff in Tallahassee, and is usually with me. We’re home in Tampa every weekend, and there are times Susa’s in Tallahassee, too, especially after she easily gets elected to the state House of Representatives two years into my Senate term. Then, all three of us commute back and forth from Tampa together, sharing the same bed nearly every night.

  Susa has really helped me navigate this new job of mine.

  When I file to run as governor, the three of us go to Tallahassee to hand-deliver the documentation an hour before the registration deadline closes for the August primary election.

  That’s the only way this magic works—the three of us.

  We’ll already have a bit of a boost for the primaries because none of the other candidates who’ve filed have named lieutenant governor candidates yet. By state law, they’re not required to name one until after the primary, and then they have nine days to do it. It’s an extra paperwork hassle to go through if someone doesn’t win the primary for their party anyway, but it also means it gives them time to juggle people around to see who to appoint to the spot.

  Usually based on who grovels and brown-noses the best for them during the primary election cycle, cutting out anyone who supported one of their opponents.

  Once again, Carter’s proven correct. Fuck merits—it’s nothing more than a goddamned popularity contest that’s more petty than my freshman year of high school. Mutual cock-jerking aplenty.

  In our case, having Susannah Joleen Evans listed on the ballot with me is name recognition. Especially since we’re already running ads with Benchley endorsing his daughter’s running mate for governor.

  It’s going to catch people by surprise in both parties, but by the time they realize what we’ve done, it’ll be too late for them to add their lieutenant governor pick for the primaries to make it on the ballot.

  That was actually Benchley’s idea, and it’s genius.

  I don’t know how Carter twisted Benchley’s arm to back us, and I don’t even care. It seems that, over the years, Carter and Benchley have forged a strong mutual working relationship centered around Susa and her political aspirations.

  I’d say maybe Benchley’s brush with death mellowed him, but that’d be utter bullshit. All I know is there will be a lot of former and current GOP lawmakers and party leaders on our side for this primary, leaving a mad scramble among the ranks as the GOP candidates rip each other to bloody shreds trying to win their primary nomination.

  We’ll be taking notes on how they attempt to wound each other, too. Both for points to hit the front-runner with during the general election, and to prepare for what subjects they might try to attack me on.

  The rest of the pack will be focused on winning their party’s primary, at first, and not on me. There are two other Independent candidates, but neither are expected to garner more than a few thousand votes each. They’re not our competition. The candidates from the two major parties won’t be able to divide their efforts between winning their primary and attacking me at the same time. It will make people wonder why they’re so worried about me that they’re going after me this soon.

  It’ll make them look bad, not me.

  Ah, the double-edged sword of closed primaries.

  Meanwhile, our ads will start out on the high-road, focusing on my history, on Susa’s, on our endorsement from Benchley, on our platform issues. Once we know who our final opponents will be and we see what tone their ads take will we start going dark and low.

  By then, Benchley will have dug up enough dirt on them for his PACs to start running attack ads.

  I’m sure there will be ratfucks aplenty.

  All we have to do is be careful. It’s harder than I thought it’d be to pretend Susa and Carter are nothing more than good friends and adopted family. It’s hard not to want to reach out when we’re in public and hold their hands, or lay my head on their shoulders.

  Touch them.

  Unfortunately, it’s a skill I get used to, because I used to be pretty good at it while growing up.

  * * * *

  As June fades into July, the campaign shifts into a higher gear. Campaigning never gets easier for me, no matter how often I do it or what office it’s for.

  Days turn into weeks as I leave free time behind and increasingly throw myself into this new aspect of my life. I’m still a state senator. Traveling back and forth from Tallahassee to Tampa, and then around to other parts of the state to campaign, is wearing on me.

  All I have to do is see one of Susa’s encouraging smiles on our nightly FaceTime conversations when we can’t be together to remember why I’m doing this.

  I’m doing it for Her.

  Even Benchley’s grudgingly admitted Carter’s strategy is solid and will likely work. Every new set of polling numbers he and Carter dissect keep proving the bastard extraordinaire’s right.

  Of course he is.

  Doesn’t mean I enjoy doing this. It means I keep t
he bigger picture in mind.

  It’s all for Her. I mean, yes, this is kind of what I wanted, but without Carter and Susa, I never would have done this. I likely never would have progressed past county commissioner. That had been a grind I wasn’t prepared for, all things considered. It was damned hard work. Sure, I could have phoned it in the way some of my fellows on the board were prone to do, but that’s not me.

  I was getting paid by the citizens to do the job they elected me to, and I took it seriously.

  Just like I take my role as a state senator seriously.

  “Senator Taylor” is a very weary man right now, no matter what face I put forth to the public. I get to spend more time with Carter than I do Susa, but…

  I’m tired.

  On that August primary election Tuesday, we’re in the same Tampa hotel where we always rent space to hold our election night parties. We haven’t rented the ballroom, but we took over a decent-sized banquet area and are watching the returns roll in with our campaign staff and volunteers. We only have a few paid campaign staffers right now besides Carter, but will be adding more as we gear up for the general election.

  We’ve also rented a suite upstairs for ourselves for later, just like we have for every election night.

  Our private celebration.

  As the polls close at seven in most of the state—the western panhandle is in a different time zone and closes at eight Eastern time—I stand in front of the computer monitor where Carter’s deputy campaign manager, Draymond, sits at his laptop and refreshes the state election results page every few minutes. He hasn’t told Dray or Susa yet, just me, but Carter plans on tapping Dray to be Susa’s chief of staff if we win the general election.

  While Carter is reasonably certain of our chances, he doesn’t want to jinx us, either.