by Silver James
Clay spread his feet, crossed his arms over his chest and braced for the volleys coming his way.
“What the hell, Clay?” Cash said.
He said nothing, ignoring Cash, though worry niggled at the back of his mind as he continued staring at his father. When had Cash become the old man’s lap dog? Clay would have to discuss the situation with Cord and Chance when this intervention was over.
“You just going to stand there?” Cash pushed out of his chair and tried to intimidate him by leaning over the table. “You’re weak, Clay. Weak and stupid.”
“When did you learn to heel to the old man’s whistle, Cash?” Chance dropped his question into the frigid silence smothering the room.
Clay still didn’t acknowledge his brothers, keeping his gaze focused on his father. The tactic worked when Cyrus erupted from his chair and stalked toward him. Clay stood taller than the old man and he used that to his advantage, gazing down, expression implacable.
“You listen to me, boy. I raised you for this. I groomed you from the first breath you took to be the damn president. I hired people to take care of your announcement, to put the package together. I had your PAC organized. And what the hell did you do? Ignored everything. You spouted some idiotic nonsense that barely blipped on the polls. I’m running things, Clayton, so don’t you forget it. You don’t have time to be running back here like a whipped puppy. You need to be out there winnin’ primary votes.”
Cyrus stabbed him in the chest with his index finger and Clay fought the urge to grab it and twist.
“These are the rules. You don’t fire people I hire for you. And you damn sure don’t hide here at home in the middle of a campaign pantin’ after that sickly, no-account woman. You’re gonna be president. You better damn well act like it.” Cyrus, red-faced and sputtering, jabbed him again. “You need to act like a candidate. I’ve hired that advance team to work the primary states for you. You should be out there pressin’ the flesh, you fool. They’ve scheduled appearances for you every day from now until the convention. You don’t have any damn time to waste on that...woman. Cut her loose. Now. We’ll figure a way so it looks like she left you. That’ll get you some sympathy.”
Clay clenched his teeth, but didn’t say anything. Was his father that crazy? Sympathy? He’d come off looking like a total jerk, not to mention that staying with Georgie was not up for debate. Loosening the fists he’d made, he didn’t back away. “Here’re my rules, old man. Don’t hire people for me if you don’t want them fired. I run my own campaign. I was in double digits the week after my announcement, with the package my team put together. I know what I’m doing.”
His father cut him off. “Coulda fooled me, boy. Spendin’ all your time with that woman. She’s dyin’, just like your mother. She’s bad news and only gonna mess you up. She can’t do any of her jobs—in your bed or out of it—and you’re thinkin’ with the wrong part of your anatomy when it comes to her.” Cyrus pushed past, headed for the door. “Get rid of her, Clay. Or I will.”
Disgusted, Clay headed after him, but was stopped when Cash grabbed his arm. “Don’t push him on this, Clay. You won’t like the consequences.”
He stared at his youngest brother and his voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “Is that a threat, Cashion?” He stepped closer, until they were eye to eye. “If you, or anyone else, so much as looks at Georgie wrong—”
Cash snarled, “You’re as bad as those two.” He jerked his thumb toward Cord and Chance. “Going soft over some woman. I never figured you to be this big a fool, Clay.”
His fist formed and he swung before he had any conscious awareness of his action, but the forward momentum was stopped when Cord grabbed his arm and Chance pushed Cash out of range.
“Get out, Cash.” Chance stared their brother down. “I don’t know what bee climbed up your butt, but we’re getting damn tired of it.” He manhandled Cash toward the door and pushed him out. He glanced toward Chase. “You have a clue what’s wrong with him?”
Chase just shook his head as Cord blew out a laugh with a wry grin. “Well, that could’ve been worse.”
Boone appeared in the doorway and tilted his head down the corridor. “It is.”
Clay stepped out in time to see Georgie disappearing into the elevator. “Did she hear?” At Boone’s nod, more than a few expletives escaped. He needed to fix this.
Chance rubbed his forehead. “This is my fault. I had Glen drive Georgie up to meet you here because I thought this meeting concerned the family trust. Had no idea the old man would ambush you. Call Glen, tell him to wait so you can go after her.”
Clay grabbed his phone but before he could call, Sylvia Camden appeared and snatched it.
“No time. You have to be at KWTV in twenty minutes for makeup. The interview with CBS was moved up.” She tucked Clay’s phone in her pocket. “She’ll be fine. She’s a professional. She needs some time to process. She knows how important these appearances are. Now come with me.”
Boone nodded in reluctant agreement. “Glen will take her home, get her settled. You can call her later, go down tomorrow after the donor dinner tonight. You have to make this appearance, cuz. You know that.”
Clay let himself be swayed. His head knew his team was right but his heart said they were so very wrong. He cared for her. Needed her. But a part of him also admitted having her home while he was on the stump was almost a relief. That didn’t make him his father. He wasn’t walking away from her. She needed treatments and rest and the healing being home could bring. Things would be fine. He’d see her tomorrow, hold her in his arms and remind them both of what they meant to each other. One more day wouldn’t matter. Or so he told himself.
* * *
That one more day had turned into two, and then more because the pressure of the campaign kept him away—at least that’s what he’d told himself. Then he’d flown to Miami for a fund-raising dinner and Giselle was there, looking cool and elegant, and...friendly. For the paparazzi. When he saw the stories and pictures, he’d called Georgie. She didn’t answer. He’d tried to call later but she’d blocked his number.
He’d finally dropped everything and come home to see her. He’d driven to her dad’s ranch, found her in the barn but when he tried to kiss her hello, Georgie pulled away from him.
“Don’t, Senator.”
“Senator? When did we go back to being so formal, sweet pea?”
“When I realized I’m a liability and just an employee. Only I’m not even that anymore. I quit.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, looking at him as haughty as an English duchess. “I’m not a starry-eyed girl anymore, Senator. You remember her, right? The one who lived in your campaign office. The one who moved to DC your second term and lived on ramen noodles so she could work for you. Yeah, she’s pretty much dead and gone now. So is the girl who got swept off her feet like some heroine in a romantic movie. What an idiot she was.”
“Georgie—”
“Georgie what? I love you, Clay. With my whole heart. Have for ten years. I believed you. I believed in you. What a complete and utter fool I turned out to be. Pretty sad for someone with an IQ of a hundred and fifty-seven.” She leaned against the horse she’d been brushing, her cheek resting against his arched neck as she smoothed her hand along the animal’s muscled chest. “I thought we had something special. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think you truly love me—you’ve never said the words. I’m so not your type and I’m sure not good enough to be first lady, but I thought you cared. At least a little.” She sniffled and rubbed her sleeve across her nose. “You said you cared. Said you wanted to take care of me, anyway. I guess your father was right. You need a woman like Giselle. Not someone as sick as a dog who probably won’t see next Christmas.”
Clay didn’t know what to say. This woman had always given him the words to speak. Clueless, he didn’t understand why she
was having a meltdown.
“Go away, Clay. You don’t belong here.”
He reached to touch her, but she ducked away, sliding under the horse’s neck to peer at him from the other side. “Just go. I don’t have the time or energy for your games, Senator.”
“This isn’t a game, Georgie.”
She laughed, a deep, rolling burst of sound that quickly edged toward hysteria. “You’re right, Senator. It’s not. It’s life or death. Mine. Go. You’re not welcome here.”
She pushed away from the horse’s side and strode toward the barn’s exit, leaving Clay standing flatfooted. As she slipped between the doors, she whipped off the baseball cap and the bandanna beneath it. Her once luxurious hair—the silken fall he loved to run his fingers through—was gone. Only peach fuzz remained. The potent cocktail of chemo and radiation she’d endured hoping to save her breasts had taken its toll. Just as it had with his mother.
Heat flashed through his body followed by a chill so frigid he couldn’t breathe. Clay wanted to fall to his knees in the dirt and empty the contents of his stomach. Georgie didn’t look back, didn’t see how she’d devastated him. Instead, she marched off, head high, shoulders unbowed, her long-legged stride as graceful as a Thoroughbred racehorse’s.
He watched her walk away and in that moment, Clay came to two realizations—both of which paralyzed him. He was as despicable as his old man had ever been, and he’d lost the only woman he’d ever love.
Nineteen
“So what are you going to do about it, Clay?” Cord, as always, functioned as the family’s Jiminy Cricket.
Chance watched him, his expression shuttered, but anger simmered beneath his poker face. “It’s been a month, Clay. She won’t take calls from any of us. The girls drove down. Evidently, she was out in the barn when they got there. By the time her dad walked them down, she’d saddled up a horse and taken off. They waited all day. She didn’t come back.”
Clay stared at his brothers, remembering that first family intervention when everyone had ganged up on Chance, and the next when everyone but Chance had lined up against Cord. Both of his brothers had found women who loved them. Women who made them better men. In all honesty, Georgie was his touchstone. She settled him. Balanced him. Kept him centered in the crazy political storm that made up his world.
“You need to face the truth, bud,” Cord chimed in.
The truth. Yes. Truth was something he’d been running from lately. He’d screwed up. Royally.
“You know who and what she is, right?” Chance’s expression softened. “Because we do. She writes the words you wish you could say. She puts them in your mouth and makes not only the world believe them, but makes you believe them, too.”
“She’s my heart.” Had he admitted that out loud? “But I’m not the man for her. I’m not good enough. Not for her.” He forced down the bile burning his esophagus. “God. I don’t deserve her. I...aw, hell. I didn’t go after her. Not until it was too late. I ground her feelings into the dirt and then just let her walk away from me because I didn’t know what to do.”
Chance, ever the voice of reason—except now—gripped his shoulder. “What have you done?” His harsh voice grated in Clay’s ears.
Swamped by self-loathing and helplessness, he stared at his brothers. “You saw the pictures from Miami, of Giselle kissing me?” Their expressions darkened with anger. “She was just there. For the speech. Cyrus’s people set it up. Made sure of the photo op. She kissed me. I didn’t kiss her back.” He pushed his fingers through his hair, leaving it tousled. “And I didn’t call Georgie to tell her to brace for the publicity. By the time I got around to it, she refused to talk to me, then blocked my calls.”
“Dammit, Clay.” Chance’s curse came out as a whisper.
“That’s not the worst.” His brothers leaned closer. “She refused a mastectomy.”
His announcement was met with silence. Chance and Cord exchanged uneasy glances before their gazes refocused on him. Chance pulled him to a chair and pushed him down to sit. A moment later they sank into their own chairs.
“Tell us.”
Clay couldn’t face them, despite the compassion in Chance’s voice. He stared at the tips of his boots, searching for the words. Georgie. She put the words in his mouth. Always. But not this time. He inhaled and held his breath for what seemed like hours, but was only seconds. His lungs burned before he finally let the air out. He still couldn’t look at them but his mouth opened and words tumbled out.
“Y’all were so little. Hell, I was only eight. One day Mom was fine and the next, it seemed like she’d faded away to nothing. The old man was never around. You know how he is. Couldn’t stand to be around sickness and Mom was. Horribly, terribly sick. The doctors did a lumpectomy because the old man—” His voice broke.
Chance’s expression turned harsh. “He told her she wouldn’t be a woman if she had a mastectomy, right?”
Clay nodded, unable to voice the affirmative as his rage built. He swallowed around the anger and continued, his voice flat. “She tried everything. Chemo. Radiation. Homeopathic. She went to every crackpot loonytoon who hung out a sign promising a cure. She lost her hair. Her skin was paper thin and every time one of us hugged her, we left bruises.”
Clay had to stop speaking, his nose and throat burning with tears he’d never been allowed to shed. Real men didn’t cry, right? The gospel according to Cyrus Barron. His brothers waited as Chance placed a quiet hand on Clay’s clenched fists and Cord gripped his shoulder. With their added strength, he found a way to continue.
“I brushed her hair until it all fell out. I held her head while she puked her guts up. I begged her not to die. Not to leave me alone with the old man because I swore I’d kill him.” He finally glanced up but his brothers’ faces swam through a wet prism. “She made me promise to take care of you two. To love you like she couldn’t anymore.”
“You made sure we got to say goodbye.” Cord squeezed his shoulder. “I remember her getting so thin, she looked like she was fading away. And I remember the scarves she wore.”
“I remember that hideous wig. Freaked me right the hell out. I thought it was some crazy animal, alive and sitting on Mom’s head.” Chance lifted one shoulder in a shrug as the corner of his mouth twisted into a wry slash. “Hey, I was only four.”
“Man, those scarves. I bought them with my allowance. I wanted to make her smile so I bought the most colorful ones I could lay my hands on.” A dry chuckle erupted before Clay could call it back. “They were god-awful.”
Chance punched his shoulder lightly. “I thought they made her look beautiful. But then anything was better than that damn wig.” He shuddered—an exaggerated move meant to bring a smile to Clay’s face. It worked.
But his smile faded all too soon as reality smacked him upside the head again. “When Georgie told me? I lost it. But I never let on. She needed me. She wanted to come home so we came home.”
When he ran his hand through his hair again, it was shaking. “She talked to the doctor alone. I was right there but she didn’t call me in for the consult. I found out later from her dad that the doctor recommended a mastectomy. She refused it. Because of me. Because of the campaign, I guess.”
“What the hell, Clay?” Cord stared at him.
“She didn’t say anything beyond requesting a stop at the pharmacy for her prescriptions. But I didn’t push for info. I wanted her with me. Taking pills? That meant she could travel with me. I told myself that chemo’s not as bad now as it was back when Mom went through it. I wanted to believe it would work. It didn’t. The radiation was harder on her. I watched her get sicker, but I didn’t ask. I couldn’t deal with it so I built up walls and ignored what was happening. When we were in Pittsburgh, I heard her crying, walked into the bathroom...”
He couldn’t say the words, scrubbing his face wi
th the heels of his hands instead. He hated himself, well and truly. “She was holding a hunk of her hair. I sent her home alone because I had the debate.” A series of raw cuss words erupted from his mouth. “I’m as big an ass as the old man. I royally screwed up and hurt the woman that is the best part of me.”
“Do you love her?”
He wasn’t sure which brother asked, not that it mattered. The question was on the tip of both their tongues. He didn’t even think about it. “I do. Yes.”
Chance pulled out his phone and dialed a number as he stood up and walked across the room. He was the master of hushed conversations. Moments later he turned around. “You need to tell her that, Clay. Boone says she had a treatment this morning. She’ll be at her dad’s ranch now.” When Clay didn’t respond, he continued. “I’ll call Cassie. We’ll go with you.”
Staring at his younger brother, Clay wasn’t sure he’d heard Chance correctly. “We?”
Cord nodded. “You don’t think we’d let you do this alone, do you? Jolie and I are coming, too.”
Chance hauled Clay to his feet and hugged him tightly. “Family, Clay. The Barrons might be dysfunctional as hell, but we’re learning.”
He couldn’t speak, the lump in his throat tight and burning. Family. How in hell had his brothers figured it out when he’d been so clueless? He clung to Chance and felt Cord’s arms wrap around them both.
“You were there for us, Clay, when we were growing up. You diverted the old man’s attention and we owe you for that at the very least. Most of all, you’re our brother and we love you. We’ll get through this. All of us together.”
He blinked back tears and focused on Cord’s face. His brother’s expression radiated determination. And compassion. What Clay said next was something he’d never voiced aloud. “I love you guys.”
