by Chelle Bliss
She exhales deeply. “Because what I want, I can’t have.”
“Why not?”
“Jude.” Her voice is edged with irritation. “You know why. If you win this race, you’ll be working your ass off every day. We’ll have security details. It’s the opposite of what I’m talking about. I want you to stop being everyone’s champion and just be…mine.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. I can’t get over my shock at what she’s saying. I’ve been asking her to start a family with me for three years now, and she’s finally saying she wants to. But she’s right—as governor, I can’t give her the simple life she wants.
“I need some time to think about things,” I say, quickly adding, “but I don’t mean us. I mean the rest of it. I love you and plan to be with you until I’m an old, grouchy bastard.”
She laughs softly. “I’m not asking you to drop out of the race, baby. You’ve worked too hard for it. I’m just telling you why I need to be here right now. I just have to resign myself to what I have instead of what I wish I had.”
What I wish I had. Her words are like a knife to my chest. When I promised that her happiness would be my life’s goal on our wedding day, I meant it. And the thing she wants is so easy—more of me. More of us.
But she’s right. I won’t make empty promises about date nights and vacations after the election. Being the governor is a demanding job. I’ll always make time for her, but not the way she’s telling me she wants.
I won’t be able to make myself unrecognizable in a crowd. I can’t say I’ll walk in the door at dinnertime every evening.
“Let me think on things, okay?” I say.
“Okay. But, Jude—I think it’s me who needs to do the thinking.”
“What do you mean?” My blood pumps hot and fast. “Don’t say you’re thinking about not being with me, because that’s not an option.”
“I don’t know what I’m thinking about, honestly. I’m still processing all of this.”
I sigh heavily. “Your timing couldn’t be worse. I’m two weeks out from the election, in a dead heat, and now I have to wonder if my wife’s leaving me or not.”
“Jude.”
“Reagan.”
“I’m not going anywhere right now, okay?”
I scowl. “I feel so much better, thanks.”
“Let’s sleep on things and talk tomorrow.”
I mutter a goodnight and hang up. She might be able to sleep tonight, but I sure as hell won’t.
25
Reagan
Jude strides across the stage and shakes hands with Gloria Rush, the Democratic candidate for governor. I feel a tug in my chest. His confident smile and his polished, dark suit with a red tie remind me of days gone by.
I just watched his final pre-election debate on my laptop. I’m sitting on the bed in my mom’s guest room, legs crossed, wearing a gray tank top and jean shorts.
I should be wearing something much nicer right now. I should be backstage at the debate, about to hug my husband and congratulate him on crushing that debate.
He was strong but compassionate; optimistic but realistic. The debate showcased all his best qualities.
I noticed the fatigue on his face, though. The slight purple circles under his eyes that aren’t usually there. And my stomach dropped with guilt from knowing it was my fault.
The broadcast switches to analysts doing post-debate coverage, and I close the cover to my laptop, grab my phone, and send Jude a text.
You were amazing, baby. I’m so proud of you.
My pride in him is only matched by my disappointment in myself. I’ve been thinking nonstop about things, and I’ve found some clarity that makes me wish I never would have told Jude what I did.
I put him in an impossible situation. Made him feel like he has to choose his career or our marriage, and he’s right—I did it at the worst possible time.
Never did I expect to find myself out of a job. That, and my mom’s unexpected cancer scare, left me feeling unmoored for the second time in my life.
The first time was after learning about my father’s affair and secret family. That bombshell made me realize I wasn’t pursuing a career in politics for myself, but for my father. And in an instant, he became someone I no longer cared about impressing. I realized who he was to me—a hero who sacrificed time with his family to make others’ lives better—was just a façade.
I’d been working behind the scenes in politics since, and it wasn’t until Andrea Matisse offered me a job that I even considered doing anything else.
I walked into my mom’s kitchen and opened the freezer, going right for the Cherry Garcia. Sitting down on a counter barstool, I opened it and mined a good first bite while considering my situation.
What do I have if I no longer have my career? Who am I if I’m not a tenacious, can-do advocate for bipartisanship.
I’m Reagan Titan. Wife. Daughter. Sister. Friend. Hopefully one day, mother. I love the beach. I make amazing chocolate chip cookies. I never tire of cheesy 90s movies. I’m kind of a whiz at trivia. I’m a champion for women’s rights. And I’m wound inextricably with the man who is my best friend, lover, and life partner.
I don’t know where the next chapter of my life will take me. But I know Jude will be in that chapter, as he will be in every chapter after.
Do I yearn to be a governor’s wife? Not especially. But I’m deeply in love with a man who stands a great chance of becoming a governor in twelve days.
My mom comes into the kitchen, her hair wrapped in a towel and a white bathrobe secured around her waist. She grabs a spoon from a kitchen drawer and sits down next to me, silently sharing my ice cream. We’re getting close to the bottom before I finally speak.
“It’s hard for me not to know what direction I want to go,” I say softly.
“Focus on what you do know.”
“I love Jude. I want to be there for him—whatever that means. He stands in Sephora with me for as long as it takes me to pick out what I want, and he never complains. He rubs my back and lets me be irrational when I have PMS. He’s my person, you know?” My voice breaks with emotion on the last part.
“You’re his person too.”
“I should’ve been there tonight. I let him down, and I didn’t even have a good reason.”
She puts an arm around me. “I shouldn’t have said what I did to you. It doesn’t matter what life I want for you—it matters what life you want for yourself.”
“I want him. I wish we could have more time together than we do, and a simpler life, but Jude…he needs to do this work. He does it for veterans and people who need jobs. And he’s good at it. He listens to people and then does his best to make decisions that are best for everyone. He’s honest.”
“We need more like him.”
I look down at the empty ice cream container. “I need to go be with my husband. I owe him twelve days of the hardest campaigning I’ve ever done.”
“I owe you an apology, Reagan. Jude is not like your father. Your life with him is not the same as my life with your father. I want you two to make your own decisions, and it warms my heart to see how much you love each other.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She hugs me close. “Better go book that flight.”
I nod and head to the bedroom to do just that. I hope Jude can forgive his normally decisive, headstrong wife for being flaky and unsupportive these last few days.
26
Jude
My campaign bus smells like coffee and unshowered bodies. It’s been rank for the past few days as we all bust our asses heading into the homestretch.
“We’re still within the margin of error,” Tyson reminds us, dampening the interns’ celebration of our post-debate bump in polls.
I’m leading by a hair now, but like Tyson said, it’s still anyone’s game.
I want this win so bad I can taste it. Gloria Rush doesn’t support increased funding for veterans’ assistance, which is desperately need
ed. The vets of Illinois will be measurably better off with me as governor. I don’t want them having to fight for what they’ve earned, and I don’t want them feeling ashamed of asking for what they need.
A story in a Chicago paper this morning about a murder-suicide by a vet with PTSD hit me hard. If he’d gotten treatment, that tragedy could have been prevented.
“We stay on message,” Tyson tells the group. “And we review the message with every new group of volunteers knocking on doors. Every time, guys. Message is everything right now.”
The door to the bus opens, and I look over at Rita, who’s smiling at whoever she opened it for. I furrow my brow in confusion, because my entire core team is on this bus right now.
“Did someone order pizza?” an intern asks hopefully.
As the person steps up onto the bus, my breath catches in my throat. It’s Reagan, her dark hair back in a ponytail. She’s wearing a tank top and sweats, her arms wrapped around herself.
“Babe, I didn’t know you were coming.” I stand up and walk to the front of the bus to greet her, rubbing her chilly upper arms.
She gives me a smile that makes me suddenly feel soft inside.
“I wanted to surprise you. Could you use another volunteer?”
There’s an apology in her tone. I nod and pull her against my chest, hugging her tight.
“You’re freezing, babe. What are you doing wearing a tank top in October?”
She laughs against me. “I know. I planned on going home for clothes first, but…I was too excited to see you, and I came straight here.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers in my ear.
I lean back and kiss her forehead, then turn to Tyson.
“Toss me that hoodie. We’re gonna go grab coffee.”
Several of the interns’ eyes gleam at the mention of coffee. It’s how we’re surviving these days.
“I’ll bring back coffee for anyone who wants it. Somebody text me a group order for Starbucks.”
Tyson tosses me the black hoodie I sometimes wear when the bus is cold, and I help Reagan into it. The sleeves hang past her hands and the bottom comes to her thighs, but it’ll keep her warm.
“I’ll take door-knocking today if you need me,” she says to Tyson.
Tyson looks down at his clipboard. “I need…door-knockers and mailer-stuffers.”
“I’m up for anything,” Reagan says.
I take her hand and lead her off of the bus. As soon as we’re alone, I wrap her up in another hug and then kiss her.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” I ask. “I might’ve actually slept last night if I’d known.”
“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, her blue eyes glistening. “I’ve been a shitty wife lately.”
“Don’t say that. Never say that. You told me what was on your mind, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Well…I’ve just been thrown off-balance by losing my job.”
“Which wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t running for governor. It’s not your fault.”
She sighs softly. “I know. I’ve just had lots of time at my mom’s to think about what matters most to me. And it’s not a job or an elected office or money. It’s you. My family.”
I nod. “I’ve been thinking too, and you’re right. I don’t want all our memories of this time in our life to be about campaigning and rallies and fancy dinners. I want a family with you. And if you’re ready… I mean, if you want me to… I’ll walk away from this.”
“Jude, you can’t.”
“I can.”
“This is your dream. I don’t want you giving up your dream for me.”
I shake my head. “For us, babe. And this isn’t my dream—you are.”
Tears well in her eyes. “Wow. You never stop amazing me, Jude. But honestly, no—I don’t want you to drop out. I don’t know for sure what the future holds for us, but I know how many times you’ve put me first, and it’s my turn to put you first. Just promise you’ll keep me by your side if you win.”
“You aren’t sure about that? Reagan, I always want you by my side.”
“I know, but there’ll be special interests and pressure, and—”
“Always. You’re first, and everyone else is second. That’s never gonna change.”
She nods and smiles. “I think you’re gonna do this, Jude. I was looking over the poll numbers on the flight, and I have a feeling it’ll be you.”
I kiss her forehead again. “We have to keep campaigning like we’re behind, though.”
“I know. And I’m all in. Anything you need. However I can help. I want to make up for the time I missed here.”
I wink at her. “You can make that up to me between the sheets, babe.”
Her sweet, sexy laugh makes my cock stir to life. “Like I said, I’m at your service.”
“Excellent.”
I zip up the hoodie and take her hand, heading toward the Starbucks I saw on the way to our parking spot.
“How’d you find us?” I ask, giving her a puzzled look as we walk.
“Tyson.”
“Ah. You guys are becoming BBFs on me, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But we are having friendship bracelets made.”
Her quick wit was one of the first things I fell in love with. I squeeze her hand, using the other one to wave at the driver of a car who honks at us and waves, yelling, “I’m voting for you!” out his open car window.
“Thanks, man!” I wave back at him.
We make it to the coffee shop, which has a line. I look at Reagan as we wait.
“I was thinking that, win or lose, we should take a trip after the election,” I say.
She considers. “Yeah, but…if it’s win, there’ll be tons of transition work to start on.”
“It’ll wait.”
“Is there somewhere you want to go?”
I shrug. “Somewhere private with a beach. That’s all I care about.”
“That sounds nice.”
When we get to the front of the line, I take out my phone to look at the coffee order and end up ordering fourteen drinks. A couple waiting for their order asks me to take a photo with them, and Reagan takes one for them.
Each carrying two trays of drinks, we start the walk back to the bus.
“If we win, I want you to know this job isn’t gonna take me over,” I tell her. “You know how cranky I get when I don’t get to be with you for even a couple days. We get to make our own rules for this.”
She nods, her expression softening with a smile. “I like that plan. And if you win, I’d like to focus on advocacy. I don’t think I want to get another job right now.” She laughs. “Can you believe I just said that?”
“I think that sounds perfect. You can travel with me. What kind of advocacy do you want to do?”
“I’m not sure yet. Something with women’s rights, probably. That may not thrill some of your donors.”
“Makes no difference at all. I’ll be proud of you for doing what matters to you.”
The bus comes into sight, and the closer we get, the more it sets in that we won’t have many moments like this until that post-election vacation. When it’s just me and her, we’ll be too exhausted for much besides sleep.
Well, she will. I can always manage the energy for sex with my wife.
“Babe,” I say, stopping outside the open bus doors. “We can just do one term if you want, okay?”
She smiles and nods. “We make the rules.”
I kiss her before walking back onto the bus. Finally, everything’s right. I care more about having Reagan at my side than I do about winning or losing.
But I’m gonna do my damnedest to win.
27
Reagan
Jude grabs a glass of champagne from a passing server’s tray and passes it to me.
“Drink,” he says with a wink.
I sip it gratefully, feeling more like throwing back the
entire glass at once.
God, I’m nervous. The polls were running so close yesterday that we still don’t know who’s likely to win. Considering how recently I wasn’t sure I wanted my husband to be governor, it’s ironic that I’m now hoping for it with everything I’ve got.
And worse, I can’t let it show that I’m a bundle of nerves. We cleaned up and left headquarters to come to an evening election-night party put on by wealthy supporters.
It’s nice seeing the aides and interns from the campaign all cleaned up, the men showered and shaved and the women wearing makeup and fancy gowns.
I’m pretty sure that like me, they’d prefer to be scarfing down pizza from a box right now as we all hover in front of the TV making inappropriate jokes and waiting for returns to come in—but they deserve to be here. They’re taking advantage of the open bar, but Jude and I decided to stay sober.
Looks like he changed his mind about me drinking, though. I think it was a good call, because I’m about to jump out of my skin.
I’m staring at a TV monitor set up for us to watch the returns come in, and Jude takes my hand and tugs gently.
“Let’s mingle, babe. Somebody’ll let us know when it gets updated.”
I blow out a nervous breath. “Okay.”
He slides an arm around my waist, and we walk over to a group of couples. Everyone shakes Jude’s hand and asks him what his first order of business is going to be.
“Win or lose, we’re taking a vacation,” he tells them. “We’re leaving Friday morning.”
“You certainly deserve it,” one of the women says. “This has been a hard-fought race.”
One of the men, who I’m pretty sure is one of the Branch brothers, rolls his eyes. “That happens when you’re fighting a millionaire willing to spend whatever it takes.”
Jude was outspent almost three-to-one by Gloria Rush. His supporters came through with a lot of money, but she spent a record amount for a gubernatorial race.
I’m incredibly proud of Jude, no matter what happens. He took the high road at every turn, and he worked his ass off.
