Chief

by Lesli Richardson

  All this was for her benefit, because Owen damn sure didn’t want it. Not really. He wanted it because she wanted it for us. There’s an irony there, too, that she’s the cut-throat politician, and Owen’s happy teaching the boys how to make dolmades and moussaka from scratch, in between helping them learn their ABCs and how to swim.

  The loving childhood he didn’t have, with doting parents he was denied.

  And then there’s me, the pivot between the two. Owen wants her to be happy, and so do I. We make her happy by supporting her. I want to make Owen happy. Making them happy makes me happy.

  Lather, rinse, repeat.

  “Fuck, yeah!” Dray yells, high-fiving Susa, Ethan, and Gregory as more results roll in.

  I loudly clear my throat, and he turns, realizing what he said as he catches sight of the boys with Owen. “Whoops.” He grins. “Sorry, Dad.”

  But I glance over to where Owen and the boys are curled up together on the couch. He’s not wearing his jacket, and he’s loosened his tie. He’s got the boys in his lap, holding his iPad as they play some sort of educational game together that’s probably teaching them numbers, or Esperanto, or kid physics, or…something.

  Owen spends every spare minute he has—and a few that he doesn’t—doing everything he can with the boys. Sometimes I wonder if I should tell him to tone it back a little, until I realize he’s being a good dad.

  I can’t bear to deny a second of that to him.

  Owen’s counting down the days until he can kick back and enjoy life again. I’ve already told him he’s to take the next six months off, and I’ve cleared his calendar as much as possible.

  On the other hand, Susa’s counting down the minutes until she knows her future for certain.

  A future she desperately wants, and I’m feeling…ambivalent about.

  As her husband, I want her to be happy, even if all I wish is for the three of us to be able to relax and enjoy life out of the spotlight, enjoy this time in the boys’ childhoods.

  Be a family, where we don’t have to worry about people popping out of doors with cameras, or spying on us if we want to walk down the street and browse through shops.

  I want to be able to lean over and kiss my wife…and my husband.

  And I want them to be able to kiss each other in public, with or without me there.

  I want to return to our house in Brandon, be able to sell one of the townhouses in Tallahassee, and cherry-pick the work we do. Let Owen handle environmental cases when he wants to. Maybe I’d do a little campaign consulting. Susa can write her book or throw her opinion in where she wants to as a TV network’s political expert.

  The love in Owen’s eyes when he watches us can’t be measured. The joy that’s filled his life since we’ve become parents can’t be bought or sold.

  In many ways, absolutely, he’s finally getting the childhood he was denied, even as he’s a dad.

  Downstairs, there’s a stage awaiting us, win or lose. There is a room full of people who started assembling there hours ago, and who are probably starting to get pretty damn loud now that the polls have closed and exit polling numbers are swinging heavily our way in even greater numbers than Owen enjoyed.

  There are a couple of FHP officers and several Hillsborough County deputies on duty in the hallway outside the suite. Whether they’re going to be guarding one or two governors by the end of the evening remains to be seen.

  I have my suspicions it’ll be two.

  Tomorrow, I already have a full morning slate of interviews booked for Susa, just in case. Some want her win or lose, some contingent upon her winning tonight. That fucking Kevin Markos wants first crack at her, regardless. I decided to tell Dray to book him first for a sit-down and get him out of the way. Any hits Markos scores on her, she can swing back during the later interviews and make him look like an ass. Either way, tomorrow morning’s going to be busy.

  Except I promised Owen we’d sleep in. Cook breakfast with the boys. Make scrambled eggs and French toast. This suite has a little mini kitchen, and I went shopping.

  If Susa wins, Dray is perfectly capable of walking her through her schedule tomorrow. I have to stop holding his hand at some point.

  I have to stop holding her hand, not that she’s needed me to do that.

  I needed to do it.

  If she loses, she’s not going to want me hovering over her anyway. Another way in which my two pets are different. I’d be stupid—and a poor husband to both of them—if I didn’t recognize that and give them the space they need when they need it.

  Susa can simultaneously exist in a world where she’ll both take a loss as a personal rejection of her, or perhaps see it as a series of missteps on our part in the campaign—and beat herself up regardless of the reason, within our control or not.

  To her, nothing less than a win is acceptable.

  Unfortunately, that’s one thing I haven’t been able to train out of my sweet pet.

  Fortunately, it’s that very stubborn spirit that kept her alive and brought her home to us.

  I’m sure, as long as there’s breath in her lungs, it’ll keep bringing her home to all of us.

  * * * *

  As the evening wears on I know, win or lose, I’m going to have to totally go bastard extraordinaire mode on Owen to get him back in his jacket and downstairs to put in an appearance. Since Owen’s the incumbent, and Susa’s his lieutenant, his attendance isn’t optional, unfortunately for him. But Tommy’s already dozed off in his arms, and Petey doesn’t look far behind.

  My boy would rather chew off his own arm than wake either of them when they’re asleep.

  Except they’re our children, and they’ll be expected to be seen on stage with us. The photo ops alone are worth it.

  Yes, I feel like a shit for thinking that way, but don’t think Susa hasn’t already thought that ten times more than I have.

  Both the thought itself, and feeling like a shit for thinking it in the first place.

  What can I say? We’re complicated people.

  I decide I’ll carry Petey and let Owen carry Tommy. I can already see that Petey looks so much like Owen, and having him in Owen’s arms might make people ask questions.

  We just need to make it through the next four years and her re-election campaign, as long as Susa wins tonight, to avoid people making that comparison.

  After that, it won’t matter, even if she wants to run for Senate. There will be enough time out of the spotlight for us that we can have peace.

  Plus, with Owen and me carrying the boys, Susa can walk out waving, free to shake hands along the front of the stage, and it won’t require an awkward hand-off of kids on stage. We’ve already trained the press that he’s “Uncle Owen,” not just our best friend but also the boys’ godfather. The pictures taken of the boys sitting with him in his office, behind the governor’s desk, are treasured keepsakes I will always tear up a little over.

  Susa’s decided not to go back on the pill, preferring to let nature take its course. I made a deal with her—two years. If after two years she doesn’t get pregnant again and isn’t in menopause, she’ll go back on the pill, or Owen will get a vasectomy. I don’t want to risk her health with a late pregnancy after she’s already been through so much.

  We have more Heaven than I ever imagined. It’s plenty enough.

  Finally, we have answers, and phones start ringing. Resigned, I mentally begin to prepare myself.

  As I stand here tonight and watch my pets, I can’t help but smile. I’m going to enjoy sleeping in tomorrow. I also decide fuck it, Owen can leave his jacket off.

  He’s not the new governor, so why does it matter? Let him enjoy this evening. It’ll make him happy.

  I, however, have to put mine back on. As the candidate’s husband, I ironically no longer have the leeway I did simply being the governor’s chief of staff.

  In fact, as I stand in front of a mirror and fix my collar, straighten my tie, Susa walks up behind me and wraps her arms around my w
aist. She’s smiling at me in the mirror.

  From the day Owen and I met, we had a rapport, a way of silently communicating entire conversations just with our expressions.

  It took me and Susa a little longer to reach that point, but we did.

  We’re having one right now. She glances over toward the sofa, to Owen and the boys, then back to me, with one eyebrow arched.

  Can they stay up here, Sir?

  Owen’s…done. He’s tired, he’s done, but I don’t want to do this without him.

  Because he loves us, he’ll follow us wherever we ask him to go.

  All he wants is to be with us, be a family with us. While I appreciate and love her for wanting Owen to have that break now, he needs to make an appearance downstairs.

  I lift my eyebrows at her and give her a smirk that’s not quite that smirk.

  Our boy really should come downstairs with us.

  She glances over at them, sees that the boys are yawning, too, and tries again, a hint of pouty lip.

  But they’re so cute and tired. Please, Sir?

  I pull out the sorta-stern look, and she breaks first, snickering against the back of my shoulder.

  “I had to try, Sir,” she whispers in my ear from behind. “They look so comfy.”

  I keep my voice down. “I know.” I finish fucking with my tie and reach for my jacket. “But we can send them up early.” I turn to her. “Make sure he’s at our table for the ball.”

  She smiles. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. On my other side from you. All of us, or none of us. No one left behind. I don’t give a shit if people ask about it.”

  She kisses me. “Thank you, Sir,” she whispers.

  “For what?”

  “For everything. This. Him.” She smiles. “You. For no one left behind.”

  I sigh as I think about the one I did leave behind, and wish there was more I could do for him. Except I know I need to accept that…no.

  He will remain a broken promise I can’t go back and…fix.

  “Eight years, pet. Then your ass belongs to us again, for a while.”

  She smirks. “My ass always belongs to you, Sir.”

  The End

  http://www.LesliRichardson.com

  (If you’re still not sure, your obvious question is immediately answered in the following preview of Chapter One from Dignity, book 1 in the Determination Trilogy. You don’t really think I’d leave you hanging, do you? I’m a sadist, not an asshole. LOL)

  Sneak Peek - Dignity (Determination Trilogy 1)

  The following is a preview from Dignity (Determination Trilogy 1) by Lesli Richardson. Coming December 28, 2018. Set in the same world as the Governor Trilogy, this standalone spin-off trilogy follows the paths of Kevin Markos, US Senator ShaeLynn Samuels, and Secret Service Special Agent Christopher Bruunt.

  Dignity (Determination Trilogy 1)

  He wants it back…

  My name is Kevin Markos, former star anchor for Full News Broadcasting.

  I say former, because an exhaustion- and frustration-fueled emotional on-air meltdown of apocalyptic proportions means my previously dignified reputation and stellar career as a highly respected conservative TV news host and commentator lay in smoking, irreparable ruins. Only one person will hire me now, and it’s the last person I want to work for—Democratic Senator ShaeLynn Samuels, who’s determined to be the next president of the United States.

  My reluctance isn’t because of her, but because of who’s working for her—Special Agent Christopher Bruunt, the head of her Secret Service detail.

  A college spring break trip I thought was safely hidden in my past, even if it never strayed far from my thoughts, now comes back to haunt me. But if I take this job and succeed, it could resurrect my career and put me at the right hand of the most powerful person in the United States.

  But how much am I personally willing to sacrifice to claw my way back to the top? Because Christopher never forgot that spring break, either.

  And he has a few agendas of his own.

  * * * *

  Chapter One

  “Thank you all for joining us this morning. It is my privilege to be interviewing Lieutenant-Governor Susannah Evans, who woke up this morning as the governor-elect of Florida. I know you’re busy this morning, Ms. Evans, so thank you for taking the time to sit down with me, and thank you for making us your first stop this morning.”

  “You’re welcome, Kevin. Thank you for having me. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

  Although I can see from the hard, cold glint in Susa Evans’ blue eyes that she’s anything but happy to be sitting here with me. Especially in person.

  Frankly, I can’t blame her. Not after my run-in with her friend and former running mate, Governor Owen Taylor, during his campaign for his first term.

  I never should have let the producer in my ear override my good sense that day. It was a shitty question, a stupid question, and I knew better. I hadn’t meant to ask it, not really. But I was sick from food poisoning due to bad sushi the night before, was working on a migraine and couldn’t clearly see my notes…

  And because I was trying to listen to Taylor, and listen to the voice in my ear at the same time with a miserably throbbing headache to boot, I stupidly parroted the question my goddamned producer dumped in my ear before I’d really thought about it and processed it.

  Yeah.

  Not one of my finer moments.

  I finally got the bastard fired by the network for that goddamned stunt. I’d been trying to get rid of him for months, and that was the last straw. Worse? They still didn’t want to fire him, at first. The only reason they did wasn’t because of what he did, but because even our own viewers rightfully skewered us, and we were the laughingstock of every damn network.

  Even Fox clicked their tongues at us.

  Taylor got me back but good, though, four years later. I thought all was forgiven and I was being handed a scoop when I got to be the very first anchor to interview Taylor and Susa Evans early the morning after Taylor’s re-election. The walk-and-talk wasn’t going to be long, just a preliminary clip we could run until we managed to tag them later in the day for a formal sit-down.

  A sit-down that had been delayed and rescheduled several times over the past week by Taylor’s ball-busting chief of staff, Carter Wilson.

  Who also happens to be Susa Evans’ husband.

  I got my walk-and-talk, all right.

  But I was left slack-jawed, as well as lambasted by the network just an hour later, when a widely smiling Evans and Wilson went on Tampa’s WFLA morning show, alongside Governor Taylor, and broke the news that she and Wilson were expecting their first child, and that she’d be running for Governor at the end of Taylor’s second term.

  It gave the local NBC affiliate the political scoop of a lifetime, considering that, only months earlier, Evans had barely survived a plane crash and shipwrecking that literally killed half the Southeast’s governors and lieutenant governors, cruelly and forcibly shuffling the political hierarchy in those states forever.

  And considering that it was a given Evans would herself be running for governor at the end of Taylor’s second term, because term limits meant he couldn’t run again, it was still a scoop because she officially announced it there first.

  Fuck me.

  Yeah, I guess I deserved it.

  I’m Evans’ first sit-down interview early this Wednesday morning following her landslide victory last night. A fifty-five point victory that will rightfully shake both major parties to their foundations before they finally finish processing all the numbers. She and Taylor both have won incredible victories, especially considering they’re Independents.

  Not that the idiots in either major party will take heed. They’ll wring their hands and go back to the same ole bullshit in four years.

  I’ve interviewed Evans’ father before, former state senator and GOP bigwig Benchley Evans, several times. The man is a ball-buster, and I was supposedly on his side, politica
lly.

  I can tell his daughter didn’t fall far from the same tree, and if my balls aren’t crushed by the end of this interview, it’ll be a miracle.

  Her friend and Florida’s current governor, Owen Taylor, is just as difficult to interview, although that’s mostly my fault because of how I mishandled the interview with him following the school shooting before he won the election for his first term.

  I do take a little satisfaction from the fact that my former producer ended up having to go to Brazil and produce soccer game coverage, because not a single damn network in the States would touch him once they found out what happened.

  And Draymond Garcia, Evans’ chief of staff, is every bit the bastard her husband is as chief of staff for Taylor. Garcia allowed me this interview under strict conditions, reminding me of the journalistic ratfuck they subjected me to four years earlier. He also hinted that I would only get this one chance to make a halfway decent impression with the woman, or my network would basically all but lose our press credentials with this administration for the next eight years.

  In other words, they were done putting up with our shit.

  Again, I cannot blame them in the slightest. I’m just about done putting up with our network’s shit myself.

  If I didn’t need the goddamned job so fucking much, I’d leave.

  Unfortunately, I have a contract that says I’m stuck for another four years, unless they fire me or decide to let me go early. The list of fireable offenses is a very short one, but also one that would guarantee I’d either end up in jail on the back side of events, or unemployable by any other network. If I choose to leave before my contract’s up, I can do that, sure, but I have a non-compete clause that means until the expiration of the contract’s original term, I won’t be able to get a network job anywhere in the US, unless it was for the Golf Channel or Animal Planet or something. Or, I’d have to take an anchor position at some little tiny backwater local TV station for a fraction of the pay.