Dare to Submit

by Carly Phillips

  “Well, for someone who claims to know her weaknesses so well, it seems to me you played on them yourself. She put herself out there for you, and where have you been?”

  Decklan winced. Seeing it from Brad’s perspective, Decklan realized he had come up as short as her best friend had. He ran a hand over his head and groaned.

  “For what it’s worth, I came out to my father,” Brad said as he rose from his seat. “Amanda and I have to attend one last event as a couple Friday afternoon. Then my father has an interview scheduled to air that night, where he plans to reveal everything. After that, we’re free. She’s free.” He treated Decklan to a deliberate pause. “It’s up to you what you do about it.”

  * * *

  Amanda and Brad flew to New York for the luncheon with the Ritter family. She arrived the day before the event and stayed the night in her rented apartment. The sadness that engulfed her in D.C. followed her here. In fact, it was worse in New York, because she knew how physically close Decklan was. Ironically, he’d never been further away.

  She’d bared herself for him in all possible ways, and he’d all but sent her away. He knew she was sorry and wanted to make their relationship work. The ball was in his court, and his silence spoke volumes.

  One more event for the senator and she could leave Manhattan and never come back. She promised herself that, after today, she’d no longer think about horse-drawn carriage rides with the man of her dreams, orgasms that went on with no end, or erotic uses for ice cream and hot fudge.

  For now, she had to focus on this luncheon. She chose a simple black-and-white dress, a pair of black pumps, and no statement jewelry. There was no need to draw attention to herself. This was a requisite photo op for the senator, and it would be the last time she’d have to play this charade in public.

  It was also the first time she’d be with Brad’s family since he’d come out to his father. From what Brad had told her, both his parents had taken the news in stride and were determined to make the best of their son’s decision to go public with his sexual orientation. They’d deal with party politics and blowback as it came up.

  The first step in the plan was an interview with Jessica Conrad, an interviewer known for pro-right leanings regarding economics, but her social views were much more liberal. Knowing they would get a sympathetic ear, the senator had chosen her for their family interview.

  Luckily, Amanda was excused from that particular event; however, she’d been warned to expect phone calls from the media wanting to interview her about her role as Bradley’s cover. The senator had put someone in charge of handling them and deciding which, if any, interviews would be beneficial to the campaign. If they decided Amanda needed to speak, they planned to give her media training before sending her out to deal with them. She hoped like hell they decided she had nothing of value to offer the press and turned down every opportunity offered.

  In the meantime, she waited for the town car hired to pick her up and take her to lunch, wondering when this feeling weighing her down would finally go away. Breakups sucked, yet another reason she was glad she’d avoided relationships for as long as she had. She didn’t have to worry about future heartbreak. She couldn’t imagine opening her heart to anyone ever again. Never mind the fact that she couldn’t picture herself feeling half as much for another man as she did for Decklan.

  Lunch was an awkward event at an out-of-the-way restaurant not even Brad’s mother, Nancy, a New York regular, had heard of. Apparently, Mitchell Dawson had chosen the place, claiming the donor they were wining and dining preferred his privacy. Mitchell himself was sullen and clearly still upset with the senator’s plans, and he was outright cold to Brad. His silent fury, anger, and dislike emanated off the man in waves, and Amanda was grateful when he excused himself early, claiming he had a scheduled phone call he had to take. With Mitchell gone, the mood around the table lifted, and Amanda was able to finish her meal.

  Unfortunately, he met them outside the restaurant, immediately pulling the senator away for a private talk. As a good politician’s wife, Brad’s mother, Nancy, engaged the sponsor in conversation, leaving Brad and Amanda alone.

  “Thanks for this last supper,” Brad said.

  Amanda laughed at his joke. “You’re welcome. I’m glad it’s almost over. I hope the interview goes smoothly for you.”

  He shrugged. “It’ll go how it’ll go. I’m not looking forward to anything but it being over. I’ll deal with the media frenzy and get on with my life. What about you?”

  “What about me? I’ll do whatever your father needs with the press. I’ll be at work. I’m not going to let my professional life fall apart just because my personal one did. I’m sorry I flaked out on you this week.”

  Brad frowned. “Don’t apologize. I put you in a horrible position and should have ended this charade years ago.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “What are you talking about? This worked out for us both, at least until recently. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  He grasped her hand. “Decklan was right. It was a selfish arrangement and—”

  “Wait. You spoke to Decklan? When?”

  A loud crack rent the air before Brad could answer. Amanda screamed as blood blossomed on Brad’s chest and his face froze in terror. He grabbed his shirt, and a rush of red fluid immediately oozed through his fingers, snapping Amanda out of her shock.

  “Oh my God!” she screamed. “Brad! Help! He’s been shot!” She dropped him to his side, unsure of what to do. How to stop the bleeding. She pressed her hands on top of his, a sob catching in her throat as her fingers turned scarlet and wet.

  Nancy shot to her son’s side, pressing her hands over Amanda’s. “Call 9-1-1!”

  Shaking, Amanda slid her slick hands from beneath Nancy’s. She wiped her hands down her dress and retrieved her cell. All the while, his mother spoke to him, her voice soothing and calm, begging him to keep his eyes open. To remain conscious.

  Amanda’s vision blurred as she dialed, and she shook while she waited for an answer. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Mitchell had pushed the senator down, covering his body with his own.

  The minute the dispatcher answered, Amanda focused on answering the questions the operator asked. After what seemed like the longest minutes in history, the wail of an ambulance finally broke through the madness around her.

  “Thank God.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Decklan had asked Max to meet him at the club. He hadn’t been to the place since the last time he’d met up with Amanda there. He hadn’t missed it either. But he couldn’t help but admit it felt good to be here now, nursing a soda and waiting for his best friend. Especially when he’d come to a decision about Amanda and he had time to kill before he could do anything about it. He didn’t want alcohol dulling his senses when he dealt with Amanda later on.

  Because it was daytime, there wasn’t any play going on, just a few members having a drink or meeting to talk. A big-screen TV hung above the bar, playing the news, and Decklan kept an eye on the closed captions while waiting for Max.

  “Good to see you,” Max said, joining him at their favorite seats by the bar. “So what’s the deal with Amanda? You two back together yet?”

  Max knew the bare-bones details about Amanda’s fake relationship with Brad. He knew nothing about their interaction after, specifically Decklan’s behavior. He’d always known that no matter what he decided about the future with Amanda, he owed her an apology for preying on her weakness. That hadn’t been his intention.

  “Not yet. I’m going to go talk to her in a little while. She’s got one last required event with the Ritters.” Then, to quote Brad, she was free. And once there were no external barriers keeping them apart, he intended to make things right.

  “And then you’re going to get your girl?” Max asked.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Does she want to be gotten?” he asked, laughing.

  Decklan groaned. “That’s the big question.
I fucked up.”

  Max leaned an arm on the bar, studying him with too-knowing eyes. “Well, no shit, buddy. You’re you. You have abandonment issues.”

  Decklan rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you become a shrink? Then you could spend your days analyzing everyone else’s problems and you’d be too sick of it to bother with mine.”

  Max grinned. “Because my father left me his business, that’s why. Now let’s get back to you.”

  “Okay, Freud. I had a visit from her best friend. The senator’s son. I gave him a piece of my mind, but in a few succinct words, he let me know I hadn’t handled things with her any better.”

  After signaling for a drink, Max turned his attention back to him. “Spell it out.”

  “Instead of accepting her explanation and apology, I basically stripped her of her defenses, got pissed at myself, and sent her on her way.” The memories of that night were still crystal-clear and just as painful now as then.

  Max shook his head and let out a low whistle. “Because you’d rather push her away than lose her some other way. Like I said, abandonment issues.”

  “Go away.”

  He shrugged. “Hey, if the shoe fits…”

  It did. Too well. Decklan just hadn’t viewed things from that perspective. Sometimes Dr. Freud had good points, not that Decklan would tell him and give him any more of a swelled head.

  But the gut-wrenching truth was he’d taken a woman who was just waiting for everyone in her life to find her lacking and he’d done just that.

  “Shit, man. Look.” Max pointed to the television screen.

  Decklan glanced up, and his heart practically stopped beating as he read the closed-captioned words on the screen, Presidential candidate Senator Stephan Ritter and family involved in shooting downtown.

  “Hey, turn the volume up,” Max yelled to the bartender.

  The man did as Max asked, and bits and pieces of the report filtered through to Decklan.

  The senator or a member of his immediate family might have been shot, according to witnesses from inside the restaurant… Information is sketchy at this time but … taken to Mt. Sinai Hospital.

  Spots flashed in front of Decklan’s eyes, and his brother Gabe’s voice sounded from inside his own head as long-buried memories rose to the surface. Mom and Dad were in an accident … eighteen-wheeler … the car rolled … no survivors. Mom and Dad didn’t make it.

  Decklan knew he wasn’t that kid again, but Amanda had been with Brad at the event, and there’d been a shooting, and someone had been taken to the hospital. He couldn’t live through that kind of loss again. He just couldn’t.

  Suddenly Decklan felt himself being shaken hard, and he refocused on the dark club walls and his best friend in front of him. “Come on. I’ll get us a cab to the hospital,” Max said.

  But Decklan remained frozen in his seat.

  “Hey, buddy. You okay?” Max asked with true concern in his voice.

  When Decklan didn’t answer, Max handed him his cell phone, which he’d left lying on the bar. “Call her. Make sure she’s okay.”

  He didn’t know what he’d do if she wasn’t. All this time spent angry and hurt, when they could have worked through things together. Now if she’d been hurt, if she was killed… His stomach rolled at the thought.

  “Decklan, dial the damned phone or I’m going to beat the shit out of you in order to bring you back to the here and now. Snap out of it,” Max demanded loudly.

  To his shock, Decklan burst out laughing. “You did not just use your dom voice on me.”

  “Thank God you’re back.”

  Decklan pulled up Amanda from his favorites and hit send on his phone, but it went straight to voice mail. His insides felt like ice, but he pushed forward. He already knew what it was like to live without Amanda in his life for a short period of time. Being separated by death just wasn’t an option. So as the taxi headed for the hospital, Decklan prayed fate wasn’t going to shit on him a second time and rip someone he loved away from him.

  The cab dropped them off at the Emergency Room entrance. Decklan left Max to pay. The media had already begun to set up camp outside the hospital, but in the chaos, Decklan was able to slip through the main doors and into the waiting room.

  Heart pounding a mile a minute, he found the desk and braced both hands on the counter. “I need to know if Amanda Collins was the shooting victim.”

  “Are you family?” the older woman in charge asked. “Because we can only reveal patient information to family.

  Decklan clenched his hands into fists in frustration. “Look—” He reached for his badge, determined to use any means necessary to get inside.

  “Cardiac emergency!” paramedics called out as they rushed in, carrying a man on a stretcher and heading through a set of double doors.

  The woman behind the desk jumped up, forgetting all about Decklan, obviously rushing to help organize things inside.

  Max glanced at him. “What’s up?”

  Decklan shrugged. “They won’t tell me anything.” But the Nazi behind the desk was gone for now. “I’m going in.”

  He walked straight through the same double doors the paramedics had used seconds before. He was immediately engulfed in chaos, no doubt thanks to the current emergency and the fact that someone in the senator’s family had been shot.

  He scanned the room and saw the senator. So he was okay. Decklan kept going, his gaze hitting on the senator’s wife, who had blood all over her clothes and was crying and being comforted by her husband. No sign of Brad. Or Amanda.

  His hands were sweating badly, and panic threatened to engulf him.

  “It’s not her,” Max said, putting a solid hand on Decklan’s shoulder.

  He hadn’t realized his friend had followed him inside. “How do you know?” he asked, hope building inside him.

  Max shrugged. “I charmed a nurse, how do you think? It’s the senator’s son, Brad. He was hit.”

  Decklan’s knees nearly buckled. He wasn’t relieved Brad had taken a bullet, just that it wasn’t Amanda. “How bad?”

  “No news yet. He’s in surgery to have it removed.”

  Decklan glanced around. “Then where’s Amanda?”

  “In a cubicle. She was hysterical, and they had to sedate her. Apparently she was there. Had her hands on his fucking chest, Deck. She’s in three.” He pointed to an area cordoned off by a blue curtain.

  Decklan brushed past Max and made his way to the cubicle, ignoring a nurse who tried to stop him with her nagging voice.

  He pushed open the curtain and stepped inside. Amanda lay still in a propped-up hospital bed. Blood covered her black-and-white dress, an eerie scarlet spattered all over. Her arms held blood traces as well. He knew she’d want that gone as soon as possible.

  He stepped over to the bed. She didn’t stir.

  “Sir, you’re going to have to leave.” A nurse walked up behind him.

  “The hell I am. She needs someone here when she wakes up. Would you want to come to alone in a cold hospital covered in your best friend’s blood?” he asked the woman.

  She opened her mouth.

  “I thought not,” he said, not letting her speak. “I’ll call you when she wakes up.” He turned away from her, ending the discussion, as far as he was concerned.

  “I’ll be right outside,” she told him.

  He refocused on the woman lying so quietly and said a prayer of thanks. He hadn’t prayed since he was a kid, but he did so now, knowing he was lucky. That he’d let his own fear and maybe even his ego get the better of him. If he’d lost her without ever telling her he loved her, he never would’ve forgiven himself.

  He wasn’t about to live in fear anymore. And he wasn’t about to live without Amanda. So he pulled a chair up beside the bed, lifted her hand in his, and settled in to wait until she came to.

  * * *

  Amanda woke up, and the first thing she noticed was a bright light overhead. She blinked and immediate memories came flooding back
. The hot summer air, the sidewalk outside the restaurant, the sound of a gunshot, and Brad’s blood. So much blood.

  She struggled to sit up, intending to look for him, but dizziness assaulted her, and she fell back against the uncomfortable bed.

  “Easy.” A strong hand came to rest on her shoulder.

  “Decklan?” She turned toward him, surprised to see him here, and wondered if she was hallucinating.

  “I need to let the nurse know you’re awake.” He squeezed her hand and started to rise.

  “Wait. How’s Brad? Is he…” She couldn’t get the last image of him out of her head and swallowed over a sob.

  “He’s going to be fine,” Decklan said in a soothing voice. “And you need to stay calm or that nurse is going to give you another sedative.”

  She swallowed hard, her mouth and throat dry. “I lost it. The ambulance left with Brad. His mom went with him. The senator took me with him to the hospital. We got here at the same time as the police. They wanted answers. I looked down at my hands, and there was blood everywhere. No one would tell me how Brad was, and I got hysterical.” She ducked her head in embarrassment.

  “A form of post-traumatic stress.” A nurse with black hair pulled back, who looked to be in her mid-fifties, walked over to her. “I heard voices. You’re awake, which is good. Your friend here is right. Stay calm. You don’t want us to have to sedate you again.”

  “Okay.”

  The woman took Amanda’s blood pressure and temperature while Decklan hovered. “All normal.” She smiled. “I’ll bring you something to drink, and you should be out of here soon. But the police have been waiting to talk to you.” The nurse, all brisk efficiency, strode out of the room.

  “Do they know who … shot Brad?” she stumbled over the words as she asked Decklan.

  He met her gaze and shook his head. “Frankly I had to sneak in here to see you. I wasn’t about to risk being thrown out by wandering around out there.”

  “Luckily for you, I’m braver than he is,” Max said, pushing back the curtain and walking in. “I’ve been so busy making myself useful bringing people food and drinks from the cafeteria, no one thought to ask who I was or throw me out. I’ve got as much of the story as I could overhear from listening in on the senator’s family.”