Sway (Landry Family #1)

by Adriana Locke

  “Because it’s too easy to be with you. Even at this slow pace we say we’re going at . . .”

  I lift her chin with my fingertips. “It’s crazy, huh?”

  She nods, her eyes wide. “It’s so crazy. I’ve spent the last few years making sure all of my ducks are in a row so I never get trampled by anyone again.”

  “The only place I’ll trample you is in this bed,” I grin.

  “The parallels from what I went through and this are so similar. What if I get caught up in this, in you, and you get elected? Don’t get me wrong—you should be elected. You’re smart and funny and charming and have the best heart. But you move to Atlanta and . . . what then?”

  “Then we figure it out,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster. “What if I lose? Will you want to fuck a loser?”

  She shakes her head. “Even if you don’t win, you won’t be a loser.”

  “Even if I win, that doesn’t make me a winner.” I say the words before I think about it, before I realize I’ve said them aloud. Something clicks and I know she’s going to ask me to expound on the idea, and I grimace and wait for it.

  “What does that mean?”

  I huff a breath and think about lying to her, but the openness we have in conversation is nice. Cathartic, even.

  “It just means,” I say, grabbing a strawberry, “that sometimes in this business you have to agree to things you don’t necessarily believe in.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a bill about some land around the state.”

  “Don’t agree to it,” she says simply. “If it’s not what you believe in, how could you?”

  “Because you have to sometimes give on things to win on others.”

  She bends over and presses a sweet kiss to my shoulder. “I don’t think you believe in yourself enough.”

  The words hit me hard because it’s true. I start speaking again without thinking. “It’s hard to believe in yourself when you aren’t sure you’ve ever accomplished anything on your own.”

  “How can you say that?” she asks. “You won the mayoral election.”

  “Did I?”

  I raise my eyebrows and watch her face twist in confusion. Her mouth opens to reply, but she shuts it just as quickly.

  “Yes, I’m the mayor,” I say, my throat burning. “But did I win it on my own ideas? Or did I win it because of my name or my looks?” I look away because I’ve never said these things aloud to anyone, although I’ve thought them nearly every day for years. “Or did my father influence it somehow?”

  The last one is the kicker. It’s something my opponents have projected a number of times, that my father paid off certain people and thereby bought the election. He denies it, but of course he would. I don’t really think he’d do that, but there’s always a niggle of doubt. My dream was his dream before it was mine.

  The silence between us thickens and I switch off the television. I realize I’ve done what I can’t do. I opened my mouth. It’s Politics 101: Never Open Your Trap. Everything is kept close to the vest, everything in the dark.

  So why in the hell did I just say that?

  Her hand rolls mine over and she laces her fingers through mine. She doesn’t respond for a long while, just holds my palm like it’s enough. Maybe it is.

  “Barrett?” she asks, her sweet voice barely audible.

  I turn to look at her. Her features are soft, her lips still telegraphing that they’ve just been kissed. I love the look on her, like she’s just been thoroughly adored. It’s what she should always look like.

  “Even if that is true, and I don’t believe it,” she says, taking a breath, “it just means even more that you need to prove to yourself that your ideas are enough.”

  “But what if they’re not?”

  “If you say what you feel, that you don’t agree with the Land Bill, and you don’t get elected—is that the worst thing that could happen?”

  The answer to that is complicated and both yes and no. It would end the work of so many for so many years. I have no backup plan; politics has always been my career, the trajectory up the ranks as quickly as I’ve been able. But looking at her in my bed, trying to make me feel better, the answer is also this: the worst thing is losing the person that makes me feel alive and enough for the first time in maybe forever.

  “It’s not,” she says, shaking her head. “The worst thing would be for you to have your legacy tainted by a bunch of half-truths. By your grandkids asking how you felt about this or that in your career and having to lie. It’d be better to not win.”

  It sounds so simple, but isn’t. It seems to be true, but it’s convoluted. It seems easy, but it’s so damn hard that I don’t want to think about it anymore. Not while she’s here.

  “You know what would be better?” I ask, feeling my lips twitch.

  “What’s that?”

  “If we stop talking and instead make use of this fruit . . .”

  She grins and I roll her over before she can object.

  Alison

  “AND HE WOULDN’T DO IT! That bastard. He said he wasn’t sticking fruit inside my body and slurping it out. So, I told him I’m not seeing him anymore,” Lola laments, making me laugh.

  “Maybe he’s not into food play,” I giggle, turning the car down the street the next afternoon. “It’s not for everyone. I don’t even think it’s for me, Lo, really, but . . .”

  “But it’s Barrett Fucking Landry!”

  “Exactly.”

  “So Isaac is on ice. I’m just going to find someone else that will indulge my newfound food fetishes.”

  Laughing, I shake my head. “But Isaac is such a nice guy, Lo.”

  “And apparently nice isn’t what does it for me.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “Are you working the charity thing that hit the schedule at Luxor last night?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “I just switched days at Hillary’s House today so I can be off. The tips will be astronomical; I can’t say no.”

  She sighs too. “Right? I’m so over working these shitty jobs. I just need to land a rich man and be retired already.”

  I roll my eyes, but grin. The chatter with Lola is my tried and true way of relaxing from work before getting home to Hux. The stress of the job is diluted by her antics and it’s my own form of therapy.

  “You do that,” I laugh.

  “I expect to. But in the meantime, you need to corner Isaac and let him know he needs to—”

  “I’ll do no such thing!” I laugh. “I’m not about to tell him how to have sex with you, Lo!”

  “You’re simply not the friend I thought you were,” she huffs.

  “Apparently not. But I’m pulling in the driveway and am beat, so I need to get off of here.”

  “Okay. Talk later.”

  I end the call and pull up beside my mother’s car. Every day it’s the same feeling of being grateful she’s here to help with Hux and frustration that I’m in the position of needing my mother so much to help with my child.

  Opening the door to the house, I smell the aroma of freshly baked snickerdoodles. I follow the cinnamon scent to the kitchen where my mom and son are sitting at the table with a plate of cookies and tall glasses of milk.

  “Hey, Mom,” Hux says.

  “Hey, buddy.” I kiss the top of his head. “You smell like outside.”

  “He’s been outside tossing a ball around all day. He even had me out there playing catch,” my mother says.

  “You? You played catch?” I laugh. “I bet that was a sight.”

  “Some man called here earlier this afternoon, shortly after Hux got home—”

  “It was Lincoln!” he beams. “We’re going to go work out today!”

  I cast a confused glance at my mother. She twiddles her thumbs and looks at me with raised brows.

  “He said you’d take me to see him when you got home,” Hux says, standing. “So can we go, Mom? Please?”

  “Go wash your face
,” my mother instructs him.

  “But Grandma . . .”

  “Huxley. Now.”

  He stalks towards the bathroom and when he’s out of earshot, the room gets smaller. Much, much smaller.

  “So . . .” she draws out, waiting for me to give her information.

  I don’t.

  “Alison, why is a Major League baseball player calling the house to play baseball with my grandson?”

  I shrug like I have no idea, but she doesn’t buy it.

  “There’s also a beautiful bouquet of flowers in your bedroom,” she states. “Hux told me to take a look, said the mayor of Savannah sent them to you.”

  “It’s nothing,” I say, turning away from her.

  I wait for the impending question and answer session, but nothing happens. The bathroom door closes down the hall and my mom’s chair scoots against the tile floor. But she doesn’t speak.

  I can’t take the anticipation any longer. Turning to face her, I see her looking at me, a wide smile on her face.

  “What?” I say, fighting a grin of my own.

  “I want to ask you a million questions . . .”

  “There’s nothing for me to answer. Not really,” I add on, the grin getting harder to conceal. Just thinking about Barrett makes my stomach flutter and it’s ridiculously hard to not show it.

  “So you met him somehow and you’re seeing him?”

  “No,” I gasp, then catch myself. “Actually, yes. Kind of. But if we—”

  “Oh my gosh, Alison! You’re kidding me!”

  “Mom, please,” I say, sounding like Hux when he’s embarrassed. “It’s nothing. We just met awhile ago and have been spending some time together.”

  “I can’t say I’m sad about this,” she teases. “He’s handsome and well-to-do . . .”

  “We’re friends. That’s it, Mother.”

  She tsks me and crosses her arms over her chest. “Being friends with someone doesn’t put that look on your face,” she teases.

  Taking a deep breath, I know I can’t hide anything from her. It’s pointless. “We’re trying things out, feeling our way through . . . whatever this is.”

  “I’m so happy for you, Ali.”

  “Don’t get all crazy,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And please don’t mention it to anyone. It’s nothing official and I don’t want people asking about it.”

  We exchange a look, one filled with memories we’d both like to forget.

  “Understood.” She walks around the table and pulls me into a quick embrace. “I won’t meddle, but if you need anything, just ask.” She starts to leave but pauses at the doorway. “I knew someone would sweep you off your feet . . .”

  “Friends, Mom!” I laugh, exasperated.

  “Friends. Right,” she shrugs, and shortly after, the front door closes.

  Then it opens again.

  “Alison, there’s a man that’s just pulled up in a Range Rover?” She peeks her head around the front door. “I’m guessing that’s something to do with your friend?”

  My jaw hangs open. I have no idea why Troy would be here, besides that Lincoln called, but I’ve had no time to get ready.

  “Yeah,” I say, “go on. It’ll be fine.”

  She smiles too brightly and leaves, but the door stays partially open. Before I can get to it, Lincoln pops his head around the corner.

  “Hey there,” he grins in his adorable way. He chuckles when he realizes how gobsmacked I am. “Expecting me?”

  “Not really,” I laugh.

  “Well, I called earlier because I need a good workout. I thought Hux could head to the Farm with me and play some ball, if that’s all right?”

  My brain scrambles for something to grasp on to. “Yeah, I guess. I mean . . .”

  “And,” he draws out, “my brother has had a terrible day. I’m sure he’d like to see you, if you don’t mind accompanying us.”

  “He doesn’t know you’re here?”

  His head shakes. “Nope. It’ll be a surprise.”

  “Lincoln, with all due respect, I’m not sure this would be something Barrett would appreciate. I know he has work to do, and I don’t want to intrude. Nor do I know how he’ll take it if I bring Hux there.”

  He leans against the doorjamb and I’m glad Lola isn’t here. If she were, she’d be tackling him and having her way with him. He’s ridiculously handsome in a boy-next-door kind of way, if you live by a boy that could possibly show up on the cover of a magazine.

  “Alison, with all due respect, you aren’t intruding.” He looks at the ceiling before finding me again. “You’ll be my guest. How’s that?”

  He snickers at my reaction.

  “Yeah, that’ll go over really well,” I say.

  “Exactly. You show up with me, and I’ll guarantee you Barrett will fall all over himself to be with you. He’s not going to leave us alone together,” he winks.

  “I’m taking that to mean you’ve had arguments over girls before?”

  “Nope,” he says, popping the last sound, “because my brother has never had one before you that would’ve been worth my time.”

  My cheeks heat at his words and his cocky little grin goes wider. A dimple sinks into his cheek just like it does Barrett’s.

  “Today, my brother needs you,” he says, laughing as Huxley comes barreling down the hallway with a grin a mile wide. “So if you think as much of him as I think you probably do, which is half as much as you should think of me,” he smirks, “get your stuff and let’s go.”

  Barrett

  “Motherfucker,” I grimace, feeling my blood pressure soar through my veins. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “I’m not kidding about any of it,” Nolan says through the phone. “Apparently she’s saying you knocked her up a couple of years ago and paid for her to abort the baby.”

  “It’s bullshit,” I say, exasperated. I fall back into my chair and peer at the lawn of the Farm through my office window. “I only dated her for a couple of months. I barely even remember her.”

  He laughs, but it’s not one of amusement. “I’m sure. The faces must bleed together at some point.”

  “Very funny, Nolan,” I groan. “Just deny it. I don’t fucking know. Make her come up with proof because there is none that ties it to me.”

  “You know she volunteered to not say anything if you cut her a check for fifty thousand.”

  “I’m not paying her fifty cents. This is extortion.”

  “This is politics on a grand scale, Barrett. She won’t be the last, so prepare yourself.”

  I can hear the judgment in his voice, the sound that says without saying that he’d be a lot happier managing Graham or Ford than me.

  My head begins to pound harder than it’s pounded all day. I’ve been working since before the sun came up with no break for lunch or even coffee. The bag of food Rose brought in at some point midday is sitting on the table by the window untouched.

  He ends the call without a goodbye and I sit watching the driveway. Standing, I see Troy’s Rover coming down the bend and I glance at the clock. “Shit,” I mutter, looking at the stack of papers I have left to work on, even though the day is done.

  The car rolls to a stop and a number of doors open and slam. I hear voices, more than Troy’s, one in particular that’s a little sweeter than the others.

  What the hell?

  I see Alison standing next to my driver as Lincoln and Huxley head to the lawn beside the house. She’s wearing a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt, her hair pulled into a messy knot, and has no makeup on. And I don’t think I’ve ever found her to be more beautiful than I do right now.

  She looks at me, a hesitant smile ghosting her lips. I flash her a finger to tell her to hold on and take the steps down the staircase two at a time. When I reach the porch, she’s sitting on the swing, watching Hux and Linc.

  “Hey, you,” I grin, sliding into the seat beside her.

  “Hi,” she breathes, her hand falling into mi
ne. We lace our fingers together and I give hers a gentle squeeze.

  “I want to kiss you,” I say, “but I don’t know if I’m supposed to do that in front of Huxley or not.”

  The breeze picks up her laugh and carries it across the yard. Lincoln looks up and catches my eye and just nods. I nod back, knowing he arranged for this after seeing me nearly having a breakdown this morning.

  “Well, I’d like to kiss you,” she replies, “but I’m not sure if I’m even supposed to be here.”

  “Why wouldn’t you be?”

  Shrugging, she watches her son toss a ball back and forth with my brother. “Are we interrupting anything? Linc just showed up and basically dragged us over here . . .”

  “So you didn’t want to come?”

  Her face twists to mine, her eyes soft. “Of course I did. But I don’t want to be a thorn in your side. And Huxley is here, and I don’t know—”

  “I’m glad you’re here, and I’m glad he’s here too.”

  “You are?”

  “He’s part of the deal, right? I mean, I can’t take you and not take him, even if he doesn’t think I’m the coolest Landry brother,” I wink.

  “No, he certainly comes along with the package.”

  “And I happen to like your package,” I whisper, making her laugh as a ball is overthrown and rolls to the porch.

  Lincoln and Huxley race to retrieve it, landing in front of us. They’re laughing, out of breath, and Linc leans on the railing. He has a shit-eating grin on his face, his Arrows hat pulled low over his eyes.

  “So,” he says, not looking anywhere but at me.

  “So,” I say back, trying to keep my face as blank as possible. This just amuses him more and I can’t help but let my lips part into a grin. “Nice job.”

  “You’re very welcome,” he says, knowing exactly what I’m thanking him for. “I told Ali if you didn’t want to see her, I’d be more than happy to hang out with her.”

  I start to respond with a big “Fuck you,” but remember Huxley is standing right there. “You’re pushing it, Linc.”

  He bursts into laughter and looks down at his new friend. “Can your mom play baseball?”

  “No,” Huxley groans. “I don’t get a lot of practice in because she and my grandma kinda stink. Sorry, Mom.”