Bona Fide (Illusive Duet Book 2)

by Hazel Grace

  “Can I stay with you for a little while?” Her soft tone hits my gut, but I need to start being more rational instead of letting my traitorous heart do all the talking.

  “You can’t be here.”

  “I’m here now. I just hopped a plane and—”

  “You’re going to Camp David.”

  “What? I can’t go there. That’s for—”

  “You’ll go there because I fucking said so.” I open my mouth to apologize but refrain, cupping her face before closing my eyes. “Please go so that I can deal with all of this. It’s going to get ugly. I don’t want you near me or any of this.”

  “I can help,” she retorts. “I can be there for you when—”

  “Please stop. We said goodbye, nothing has changed besides the fact that I’m still in love with you. I’m not going to yank you back into my bullshit. I don’t want you like this.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you want.”

  “It’s always mattered what I want, and with those decisions came this.” I give her little head a shake. “Your life was destroyed because of me. Your mother almost died. Your career was decimated over things Demi did. You might care for me, but I don’t want you to anymore. If you need to fuck half the population to move on, then I wholeheartedly support—”

  She jerks out of my grasp. “Stop. Don’t talk to me like that.”

  “It’s the reality, baby. Something we both don’t want to face, but it’s a grotesque fact that we both have to accept. There is no place for you in my world.”

  Her eyes bore into me before her face twists in offense. “I’ve told you a million times...you don’t run my life. I’m a big girl, and if I want to help and support you, I will.”

  “Remember who has bigger dogs,” I retort. “I’ll show you nothing but what power stands behind me as president. Don’t make this harder.”

  “You’re...serious?”

  “Yep. You’ll leave for Camp David immediately.”

  “Are you going to take me there?” I close the small space between us, brushing away the scattered strands of hair from her face before I clasp both sides of it with my palms.

  I squeeze it softly. “No. You’ll be safe there. Demi hates it, and she’s not allowed anywhere near me right now, so I’ll keep her focus on me for now and what I have planned next.”

  Her brows furrow. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why isn’t she allowed near you right now?”

  My lips quirk into a smirk. “You came here knowing that you had the chance of running into her? You’re insane.”

  “Still doesn’t answer the question.” I groan and sweep her cheeks again with the pads of my thumbs. It’s not in her best interest to know or worry.

  “Protocol,” I deadpan. She studies my face, looking for more than what I just gave her, but it’ll never come from me. Not today, not until later. I need one simple-ass thing, and that’s her safe and sound. “I’ll have Marty and your mama sent there too. I need you to stay there...promise me that you’ll stay. I can’t do everything else when I know you might leave.”

  “I’ll stay but my business needs—”

  “Sadie can handle it. I know she’s there.”

  “How—” Realization dawns on her face. “—I don’t want to know.”

  “No, you don’t. It’s not very flattering on my character.” Her fingers come up to wrap around my palm.

  “I’ll stay.”

  “Promise me, Sox.”

  She nods. “I promise, Yank.”

  ♫ Bad Romance — Thirty Seconds to Mars ♫

  Tucked away in the wooded hills of Catoctin Mountain Park, not only was Camp David beautiful but Wade was right, I don’t belong here. The suited men who escorted me here have been making me nervous since boarding me on a plane and driving me here to the not-so-modest cabin. They don’t speak, they cryptically search every angle and corner that we tread on. I feel as though every one of their eyes fall on me no matter where I walk in the house, silently judging me for stepping foot on something that belongs to the President of the United States as a civilian.

  I wasn’t his wife. I was just the bitch who sent him a video and ripped his heart out while I continued on my way—sort of.

  When I left the hospital, Wade barely looked at me, issuing out orders to a man named Marshall. I made a mistake by coming, but I’d do it again just to reassure myself that he wasn’t in critical condition since the news knew nothing about how he was fairing.

  And Emmy didn’t answer any of my text messages.

  Wade squeezed my hand and told me to stay put here. I strived to ask him more questions, ones I had no right in asking, but I couldn’t help myself. He abruptly cut off every single one, repeating that he just needed me in a spot where I could be safe.

  Safe.

  Well, what about him? How could the President of the United States be in the same room with someone and a gun? Did every room he entered become like Area 51—danger didn’t exist. No inevitable threats step foot within a ten block radius of him.

  How is he so calm during this? Why am I so pushy when Wade already had me set in place to be protected? Why won’t I let myself break free from him so that someday we’ll be semi-whole again?

  He pressed a longer than necessary kiss to my forehead before resting our foreheads together.

  “Remember that the Yankees are the best. And that you’ll always be my Sox.”

  A cracked chuckle left my lips, he was trying to lighten the mood, but our relationship and future was already shattered into a million pieces. No amount of glue would assemble us back together.

  It’s Day Four, sunny and bright, the warm rays urging me to feel somewhat happy and lucky that it’s such a nice day out since the last three days have matched my mood. I’ve already explored every inch of this place—four bedrooms, five bathrooms, a beautifully done kitchen with black marble countertops, and a study with hundreds of boring-ass books on history and geography. The landscaping is impeccable, the pool is perfectly maintained, and, I never thought I’d say this, but I’m ready to go home.

  It may not be ideal, but it’s somewhat comfortable, the monotonous days and nights of my life, even the sporadic thoughts of Wade from time to time. But this is a whole other level, I’m not supposed to be here.

  “Reagan Mae, did you put on some sunscreen before laying out on that lounge chair?”

  No.

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “What time did you wanna eat dinner?”

  “Whenever you want, I’m flexible.” Thankfully, my back is to her, and my focus is along the freshly cut grass and mountaintop that caps over the greenery of the woods.

  I’m flabbergasted that she didn’t ask more questions when she arrived here in an infamous SUV with the Suits and believed Marty when he told her that he got a weekend here for free. That President Lockwood was lending his vacation spot to people of the military.

  I mean, who is she going to ask to confirm that?

  “The Boston Sox game is on,” Mama continues. I clench my eyelids harder, my cell in my hands itching for me to just give in and text Wade with that number I had before. I’ve already done some damage when I looked up news on what was happening outside this oasis of solitude and impatience.

  Wade finally emerged from the hospital yesterday with news that the bodyguard who saved his life had passed away.

  His face was solemn as he mindlessly read off the piece of paper in front of him. A man that resembles the gentleman, Francis, who was killed, stands at Wade’s side. Wade offers his condolences to the family and friends of the fallen Secret Service member and promptly leaves the stage, not taking any questions.

  Demi hasn’t left the White House to the media’s knowledge. They haven’t released a statement about her alleged love child with Senator Lockwood, and my heart felt like it had been battered like a pinata after reading the article over and over again.

  A clandestine love affair, one that had DNA test
s explicitly out for anyone and everyone to read. Senator Lockwood has failed to make an affirmation about it, and when the media asked Wade about it after he spoke of his fallen agent—he just stared out in the open. I noticed the man next to him gently nudge him back into reality, and he further said that he wasn’t going to talk about it at this time.

  My phone vibrates in my hand, and I quickly power on the screen.

  Marty: How are you and Mama?

  Me: Good. Where are you? You said you’d be here.

  Marty: I’ll let you ponder on that for about an hour.

  Marty: Like when you dipped out of the trip without telling anyone and flew to Washington DC, giving me a damn heart attack.

  Me: Gee, that was my next question. Are you still mad?

  Marty: You are such a pain in my ass.

  Me: I love you more.

  Marty: Have fun fleeing Camp David. I’d love to see how you attempt to do that.

  Me: I promised I wouldn’t leave. When will you be here?

  Marty: Soon.

  Me: Doesn’t make me feel better.

  Marty: I know. But I promise I’m safe.

  Me: Why couldn’t you come again?

  Marty: Duty calls.

  Me: I can’t wait for you to be done with all of this.

  Marty: That’s something we need to talk about when I see you.

  My heart plummets because I know what that means.

  I think I know what that means anyway. He’s going to reenlist, and it’s going to break both mine and Mama’s heart. He’s served his time, Mama is as good as she can be, and he doesn’t need to slave away anymore. He doesn’t need to be away anymore.

  Me: I’m not going to like the answer.

  Marty: Give Mama a kiss for me. I love you.

  Me: I love you too.

  Rising from my spot, I stride back inside to check in on what Mama is doing in her temporary heaven. She’s already come up with ideas of redecorating, rummaged through every room, alluded to going swimming in the pool, and taken three walks around the premises learning some of the names of the soldiers standing guard.

  I find her in the kitchen, making lunch, ingredients are all over—mustard, ketchup, mayo, bread, bags of lunch meat and potato chips. Freshly chopped strawberries are in a bowl, and she’s humming happily to herself—unaffected.

  “There you are,” Mama coos with a bright smile. “Your show is on.” I return the smile and approach the kitchen island of beautiful black marble.

  “Starving,” I reply. No, I’m not. “Marty told me that he’s back with his squadron but wanted me to send his love.”

  “Oh, he texted me too. Told me to keep you out of trouble.”

  I mean...he isn’t wrong to assume that.

  “And skip out on the free food and lodging, I don’t think so,” I tease. Mama slides a glass plate in my direction, along with a can of Coke.

  “Grab your stuff, we’ll sit in the family room.” I reach for my food and drink, following her into the next room, where the seventy-inch TV hangs over a large fireplace, already playing the Boston game.

  I can’t watch this.

  “Let’s see if that one show is on,” I voice. “The renovation show.” Mama snatches up the remote off the coffee table and starts flipping through channels, talking about the episode she watched last night in her bedroom.

  Anything to keep her mind occupied.

  Any way to keep my mind from sauntering over to Wade and the trouble he’s in.

  “Move over.” It’s a whisper, so faint and snug, brushing along my ear as I shift under a soft surface. It doesn’t wait for me to respond but moves my legs before a body eases its way between me and whatever my back is resting on.

  Cracking my eyes open, it’s dark, streams of moonlight illuminating a small crack through the curtains of the family room of Camp David.

  My body begins to shoot up but a large hand lands on my stomach, gently laying me back down on the couch that I know I fell asleep on.

  “Go back to sleep.” My head jerks to the voice, I’m beyond familiar with it. Dreamed about it for the past year and still madly in love with how deep it sounds. His body sandwiches between the back of the couch and me, pulling me into his chest and positioning his head above mine.

  And doesn’t say another word.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were on your way?” He wraps his arm tighter around my middle and forces me to lie back down with him.

  “My number is blocked, remember?”

  Shit, right.

  “I forgot.” His fingers splay over my belly button and over the waistband of my shorts, letting the tips dip underneath the fabric.

  He doesn’t respond, but I hear his deep inhale in my hair and feel the way his body relaxes along with mine.

  “Go back to sleep.”

  “Can I ask you how you are?” My tone and body are weak—fragile for him because I wish I could lighten his load somehow. And vulnerable because his body is making mine come to life with how close he is to me.

  It won’t stop buzzing and humming at being pressed up against him like old times. His scent surrounding me in a comfortable aura of peace in our reality that is violent and cruel.

  “No,” he deadpans, then after a few seconds, says, “I’m fine, Sox.”

  My body breaks into a faithless sob. It slips by so quickly from the depths of somewhere that I don’t have time to stop it.

  Sox, how fucking stupid of a nickname and how simple those times made me feel. He was the hidden and counterfeit thing I needed to make days go by. To not worry about Mama’s cancer coming back or Marty arriving home safely.

  He was everything—lie or not—Yank was my getaway.

  He was my fucking safe place.

  Wade’s hand reaches over to cup my cheek, pulling my face to his. “Why are you crying?”

  “I...I—fucking hate you and this,” I choke out. “I don’t want this.” His thumb brushes away the trail of one of my tears.

  “I know.”

  “You’re not okay. You are broken and battered, and I’m some of the reasons why. I know I am.”

  “You are. But it doesn’t change anything.”

  “It changes everything,” I whisper-snap. “I want you to hate me. You have to. I don’t want you to care for me anymore. You’re holding on, tell me to fuck off and let me go. I want you to be a normal man with pricked pride and think that I’m some evil-ass bitch who did some petty-ass...I destroyed you. On purpose.”

  My words are for the both of us. We both need them repeated over and over again like a child because we don’t want to listen to what we can’t have.

  “And I lied to you,” he counters. “On purpose.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not the same.”

  “It is the same. Your involvement with me triggered too much. You wouldn’t be where you are if it wasn’t for me, Shelton. It made you pull an evil, dark side of you out and—”

  “Stop. Stop defending me.”

  “They’re facts,” he voices softly. “Plain and simple. Everything is black and white, Rea. I knew I shouldn’t get involved with you, and I did it anyway.” His hand moves and wraps around my hip, twisting my body to face his until we’re chest to chest. “I wouldn’t change a fucking thing besides you being hurt. Everything else...I’ll never forget it.”

  I pinch my eyes closed. “I’m a pretty big pain in the ass, so I guess that could be hard to forget.” A deep chuckle sounds from his chest, and I snuggle closer to him, inviting his scent and heat to seep into me. “Wade?”

  “Mhm?”

  “Thank you.” He kisses the top of my head. A simple sentiment, but it means everything in one easy and ordinary way. I assassinated this man with my own style and he’s here, protecting me, easing away my worry, and trying to give me forgiveness when I didn’t earn it. I’d feel better if he’d just take a baseball bat to all my shit.

  “How long are you here?”

  “I don’t remember you ask
ing so many questions before,” he grumbles.

  I smile into his chest. “How long?”

  “Tonight.”

  My eyes widen, and my head shoots up to him. “Only—you’re going back to the White House?” I see the outline of his head nod, and it turns my stomach. He’s going back to put all the fires out in his life—alone.

  I push myself closer to his face, pressing a kiss underneath his chin, the roughness of his stubble contrasting my lips.

  “What are you doing?” he presses. “Go to sleep.” My hand reaches out to curve around the fine edges of his features.

  “Just saying goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.” He hauls me closer, forcing me to accept the fact that he doesn’t want to talk. He just wants to be here—with me. Where even in the darkness, it’s just the two of us.

  Like it’s always been.

  ♫ When the Party’s Over — Our Last Night ♫

  He’s gone. I don’t know what time he left, but the cold was the first thing I noticed when my eyes fluttered open and I reached for him. My hand hit suede, and my whole mood took a shit for the rest of the day. And it didn’t get any better.

  Marty: Can’t talk now, Tsarina.

  Mila: Business is fine, stop worrying.

  Sadie: New York is alright but we got everything handled. Some man was looking for you though.

  That gets my full attention.