I hear my mom stand and feel her walk towards me. She places a hand on my shoulder, and I look at her sideways.
"If this is your dream, I will help you achieve it. I will push you, pull you, put on events of every kind to get you to where you want to be. But if it isn't—" She shakes her head as I start to interrupt. "If this is your dad's dream or Nolan's dream or some crazy idea in your head that you have to do this, don't do it, honey. There's so much more to life than campaigns and legislature and politics."
"Is there? For a guy like me, is there?"
"Of course there is," she huffs. "There's happiness and vacations. There's falling in love with a lady, note I said lady, and having beautiful grandbabies that I can shop obsessively for." She winks, but I know she's not totally kidding. "You can have a tremendous life, Barrett, and not live in this world. And there's nothing wrong with that. I would be just as proud of you, and your father would deal. Trust me."
My mind starts to go down that path—of weddings and babies and strolls down tiki torch-lit paths, and I shake my head.
“What if I was already in love?” I ask, watching her for a reaction.
Her eyes light up and she places a hand on her hip. “That would make me very happy if it makes you happy.”
I can’t contain my grin, which makes hers grow wider.
“I’m not going to push. I’ll just say that Camilla has met her and told me she’s a delightful girl.” She looks me over from head to toe before laughing. “This explains a lot.”
“What does that mean?”
She shrugs, a grin still tugging at her lips. “You’re rounding out, as a man. Thinking things through, considering ramifications for things on a broader scale than you would’ve before. It’s nice to see. Now if we can only get Lincoln there . . .”
I laugh and let her pull me in for a quick hug. "You're making me feel like a little kid."
She squeezes my cheek for effect. "You are my little kid. And that's why I'm here at," she glances at her watch, "eight o'clock in the evening."
"Have you had dinner?" I ask.
"No. Your father is working late tonight with Graham, so I'm on my own. I'll probably just heat up some leftovers from last night."
I glance at the pile of papers on my desk and the four hundred requests in my email. I look back at my mother. "Let's order in. Me and you."
"Really?" she asks, her eyes lighting up.
“Really, Mom. I’d love to have dinner with you.”
“I’d like that too.”
Barrett
The antique grandfather clock ticks, reminding me of every second that passes. It feels like a million seconds have ticked by since I made the deal with Monroe yesterday, but, in reality, it’s only been a little over twenty-four hours.
I've hated that walnut clock since I was a kid. My mother always said it was her prized possession, an heirloom from her own grandmother. She'd warn us not to toss balls or wrestle in the dining room because of that damn clock. There's a crack in the back of it that she doesn't know about thanks to Lincoln's handiwork.
"You listening to me, son?"
Dad nudges me in the arm and I snap back to the present. We've been going at this for hours. It feels like we're beating a dead horse. We go over every angle of the election frontwards and backwards, and every time, it winds up in the same spot: too close for comfort. On paper, I did the right thing by selling my soul to the devil himself. In reality, I feel less than stellar about it.
"Yeah, I'm listening, Dad."
"Good. So when Monroe endorses you, we'll watch the poll numbers. He should really clinch the north for you. They listen to that son of a bitch for whatever reason."
I nod, swishing the rest of my coffee in my mug. "It's going to be fine. I think it would've been fine anyway."
"I get doing what you need to do in order to win," Lincoln says, his eyes narrowed, "but I think this was a fuck-up."
"Linc, stay out of this," Dad warns.
"You push him and push him to do what you think is right. Has it ever occurred to you for one second that maybe he can make his own decisions?"
“He made the choice,” Graham says, looking at Lincoln across the table.
Lincoln laughs. “Him ‘making that decision’ would be like a coach telling me to swing at the first three pitches without letting me get up there and get a good look at it first. It’s asinine.”
“We don’t have time for baseball metaphors,” Graham says, rolling his eyes. “This had to be done. It’s not something we can explain to you in a matter of hours. This is not balls and strikes.”
“You know what? Fuck you,” Lincoln says, but he’s not entirely kidding. “I may not know much about politics, but that was by choice. And not knowing shit about that doesn’t mean I don’t know what a good decision looks like.”
I sigh, watching my brothers and father go at it right in front of me. Seeing them at odds over this campaign, the frustration in their eyes, makes me feel horrible.
Pushing away from the table, I stand and look down at my father. I know what I'll look like in another twenty years. I wonder how much I'll resemble him in other ways.
Giving him a tight smile, I nod and walk out. My mother grins at me from the kitchen as I walk by, but doesn't speak. She watches me, her brows pulled together.
Troy is standing outside the front door and pops open the back of the Rover. I slide in and he's in the driver's seat before I know it.
"Where to?" he asks, looking at me through the rearview mirror.
I shrug. Nowhere sounds good. I feel alone, completely fucking alone, and that's where I want to be.
"Just drive."
I don’t tell him to take me to her place, but he does anyway. Maybe that means I’m a lost cause or maybe it means he knows me well enough to see what I need. Either way, when the Rover pulls up in front of the little white house, I can’t help but feel relieved.
Troy catches my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Thanks,” I say, nodding.
He doesn’t respond, just watches me climb out and make my way to the front door. I knock a few quick raps and she pulls it open right away. Her face lights up when she sees me and I step inside and waste no time getting my arms around her.
She buries her head in my chest and plants a kiss on my sternum. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers.
“Me too.”
She closes the door behind us and we amble into the living room. I don’t let go of her; I need her touch, her presence, to assuage some of the stress rioting through me.
“How are you?” she asks.
“Shitty.” I sit down and pull her onto my lap. Nuzzling my face into her hair, I breathe her in and let it comfort me like it always does. “But I’m better at the moment.”
“I’ve been thinking about you all day. You sounded so upset last night. If Hux hadn’t been home, I would’ve come and found you.”
“This not being with you all the time, not having you accessible to me, has got to end.”
“One thing at a time, okay?” she whispers, kissing my cheek. “I’m here for you whenever you need me. You need to just focus on work for the next few days.”
I hold her tight, this precious girl that dropped into my life with a tray of champagne. She has no idea what she means to me or that I need her every minute of every day.
“Can I just hold you right now?” I ask, feeling my nerves settle. “I don’t want to think about anything other than what you feel like in my arms.”
“Sounds good to me,” she says and gets comfortable in my lap.
For the next half hour, I sit on her couch in the outskirts of Savannah and hold the one thing that I’m sure is the right thing.
Alison
THE FRONT DOOR OPENS AND I hear my mother’s voice. There’s something off with the tone, something that has the hair on the back of my neck sticking up.
I put down the brush I’d been running through my hair. Hillary’s House today wa
s insane and I was able to get a quick shower in before Mom brought Huxley home from school.
Walking into the hallway, I see them both standing in the foyer. My mom looks as white as a ghost.
“What? What’s wrong?” I ask, frozen in place.
“Some guy was taking my picture,” Hux declares, like it was no big deal. “Grandma went crazy, Mom. She—”
“What?” I shriek.
Mom takes off her coat and then shrugs it right back on again, physically shivering, even though it’s not that cold outside. “I got him off the bus like usual at my house. We started walking up the sidewalk—”
“And this man was in a van with a big camera,” Huxley cuts her off. I’m too nervous to even reprimand him for manners.
“What was he doing?” I ask, looking at Mom.
She just nods. “I called the police. The guy took off, but I got his license plate number and they pulled him over a few streets away. He’s being held downtown now.”
My heart clenches. The room starts spinning. “Oh my God.”
Hux’s arms are around my waist before I can think. I hold on to him for dear life.
My precious boy, the child that doesn’t deserve his privacy to be invaded because of my choices.
Guilt floods me, tears doing the same to my eyes. I feel like a piece of shit mother.
Every bad thing that could’ve happened today, every terrible thing that still could, sweeps through my mind all at once and I feel like I’m going to pass out. All I can do is hold on to Huxley.
“You wanna know something?” he asks, gazing up at me with his shining eyes.
“What’s that?”
“It was kind of cool,” he admits.
Shaking my head, I can’t help but laugh. “No, it’s not.”
“It kind of is. They wanted my picture. I feel like a rock star or something.”
“You’re too young to be a rock star,” I point out, trying to ease the fear that’s still crippling my heart. “Now go put your bag up and let me figure this out.”
He kisses his grandma’s cheek and goes into his room, shutting the door softly behind him. I look at my mother.
“Things like this are going to happen,” she says. “Barrett is too big of a catch not to think no one is going to pay attention.”
“I can’t go through this again, Mom. And not with Huxley.”
“There are tradeoffs to everything, sweetie. It’s up to you to decide what you can and can’t handle.”
Rubbing my forehead, I lean against the wall. “Think of all the things that could’ve happened. I don’t want his face on a magazine or his name in papers. But . . . what if he tried to kidnap him, Mom?”
A tear trickles down my face at the thought.
“Every child has that risk, Alison. When your baby goes out the door, you run the risk of something tragic happening. It’s a part of life.”
“But does putting Huxley in the public eye make him more of a target?”
Her response is cut off by my phone ringing. I look down to see that it’s Barrett.
“I’m going to go,” Mom says. “I need to call the police station back. They’ll probably call you too and make sure he’s okay. I’ll be back in an hour or so to watch Huxley when you go to work.”
I nod and let her see herself out while I pick up the call. “Hey,” I say.
“Hey, baby,” he replies. The sound of his voice soothes me, makes my nerves ease just a bit. “How are you?”
I sigh and he picks up on my mood immediately.
“What’s wrong, Alison?”
“Mom just dropped Hux off. Apparently someone was taking his picture today.”
“What the fuck?” he booms. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah.”
His fury is palpable and knowing he’s as angry as I am makes me relieved in a weird way.
“Who was it? Did you call the police?”
“Mom did and the guy is at the station.”
“I’m going down there,” he bites out.
“No, you aren’t. Let them handle it.”
He groans through the line, but that’s the only sound for a long while. We both seem to be mulling over the situation—him trying to fix it, me trying to absorb it.
“I’ll make sure we make an example of him,” he breathes, anger laced with every word. “I’ll have his name and face ran through the mud every which way. Trust me.”
The tears flow again, the fear resurging. I let out a little whimper, and I can hear him on the other end responding.
“Don’t cry. I’m coming over there.”
The one thing I want more than anything is to be wrapped in his arms. But I need time to think about this, and if he comes over here, he’ll just convince me it’s all going to be fine . . . and I need to know, by my own standards, that it will.
“I’m sure you have a million things to do,” I say instead.
“None of them are as important as this.”
My lip quivers. “I appreciate that. But I don’t want to make any bigger deal out of this than it already is,” I say truthfully. “And if you come over here like some kind of defender, ready to slay the dragon . . .”
“Oh, I’ll slay the son of a bitch. That I promise you.”
“See?” I laugh. “That’s what I mean. Plus, I’m supposed to go to work at Luxor tonight. Don’t you have some event or something?”
“Fuck,” he hisses.
“See? Just take care of you, and I’ll take care of us.”
The pause makes me regret my choice of words.
“Barrett?”
He sighs into the line. “I hate that I’m not a part of ‘us,’ you know?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“No, it is. You look at me like I’m separate from you and your son, and that . . . it pisses me off, Alison.”
“That’s not how I look at it,” I retort. “But that is reality, Barrett. You have your thing you’re working on, and I have school and a job and a side job and a son. Yes, you are . . . my boyfriend, for a lack of a more suitable word, but that doesn’t mean . . .”
“What? That you don’t want me around?”
My shoulders slump as I fall onto the sofa, my head going into my hand. “I do want you around. But . . . I just need to process this. My son’s photo was taken by some asshole a little bit ago. I need to make sure Huxley is okay. I need to figure out what’s going to happen.” I take a deep breath.
“I’ll send Troy over. He can be your—”
“I don’t want Troy here. I can take care of this.”
“Damn it, Alison. Let me help you!”
“You do help me. Look at you, ready to jump in and save the day. I love that about you, Barrett. But . . .”
I try to push back the thoughts rippling through my mind. Taking a deep breath, I know I’m going to have to confront the reality that’s just smacked me in the face. Glancing at my watch, I realize I don’t have a lot of time before I have to either go to Luxor or call off, and I need to talk to Huxley.
“Barrett? I really need to go. I need to talk to Huxley, call the police station, and then decide if I’m going to work tonight or not.”
“Why do our lives feel so separate?” His voice is so lonely that it makes my heart hurt. “I want to take you with me tonight. I want to be able to see Huxley and make sure he’s okay too.”
“He will be. I’ll make sure of it,” I whisper. “I’ll tell him you asked about him.”
“I’ll call you later?”
The way he asks it instead of states it hurts.
“Yes. Please call me later.”
“Okay. Talk to you soon, baby.”
“Bye, Barrett.”
Alison
“YOU’RE SURE YOU’RE OKAY? ARE you worried or scared or—”
“I’m fine, Mom,” Hux replies, rolling his eyes awhile later. “I’m not a baby. And the guy just took my picture. You’re kind of making a big deal out of this.”
I mess with his hair as he ducks away, his nose buried in the book he’s reading. “They arrested the guy. He’s in a lot of trouble.”
He doesn’t act like he even cares.
“If you want me to stay home tonight, I will.”
He peers at me over his book with a smile on his lips. “Will you please go so I can read in peace?”
“It’s a good thing you’re cute,” I laugh, lifting up from his bed. “Grandma will take you to her house in a little bit, okay?”
He nods but doesn’t look up. Laughing and saying a prayer of thanks that he doesn’t seem to mind the drama of the day, I head into the kitchen. My mom looks at me from the kitchen table.
“You okay?” she asks.
I shrug. “I think so. Hux seems okay about it. I just . . . this is what I was afraid of, you know?”
“I do. That’s because you’re a good mom and you want to protect your boy. But you can’t protect him from everything, Alison.”
“I know that,” I scoff. “But am I asking for trouble? Am I putting him in a position I’ll regret?”
She crosses her arms over her pale green sweater and tilts her head. “Do you feel like you regret this?”
I start to tell her I don’t know, that I haven’t had time to think it through, that my head is still spinning like a top and I don’t know what in the world is going on, but my phone rings.
It’s Barrett.
“Hey,” I say, holding it to my ear.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Okay,” I say, shooting my mom a look and leaving the room. “What’s up?”
“First, how’s Huxley?”
I smile. “He’s fine. Acts like a little champion.”
“Good,” he says, blowing out a breath. “I have this fucking Gala tonight and I have a million things to do before then. But there’s a story that will probably be breaking sometime tonight or tomorrow, and I wanted you to hear it from me.”
I force a swallow past the lump the size of an avocado in my throat.
This day just gets better.
My hand grasps the back of a chair and I brace myself. “What kind of story?”
Something bangs in the background, possibly a glass on a table. My brain focuses on it instead of his words because it’s easier to digest. “There’s another girl saying she’s pregnant by me.”
Sway (Landry Family #1) Page 24
