The President's Secret Baby: A Second Chance Romance

by Gage Grayson

  “What did you do before you hit the joint, Old Dog?” I ask softly, ready to move my knight.

  We’re sharing some candy, biscuits, and booze. We picked up another pack of smokes, and there’s a bit of a party feel in the air. One of the guards even found us a radio.

  “English professor.” Old Dog chews on a smoke.

  His teeth are yellow, and so are his fingers. He likes to roll his own cigarettes and smoke them right down to the skin.

  I smack my leg, laughing. “No kidding? Really? I never would have guessed.” I take in his long, lanky grey hair, his tough skinny build.

  I move my knight, taking a piece, making him hiss through his teeth. I’m trying to imagine him with a haircut, shave, and decent suit. It’s difficult.

  “How long you been in here, Old Dog?”

  “Twenty years.” He rubs the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “Thereabouts.”

  “You ever getting out?”

  “Nope.”

  “What did you do, Old Dog?”

  He looks up at me, clear blue eyes steady. “I killed one of my students.”

  “Well, mother fuck me. Care to tell the story?”

  I can tell he doesn’t want to, but he also knows I’m just looking for an excuse to beat on him again. He still has a nice purple bruise across his neck. The chess is not quite occupying me as much as I’d hoped.

  “I disciplined the little fucker.” He moves pieces on the board. “I can’t remember rightly. I caught the little shit egging my car. My wife had just divorced me that day. I don’t rightly recall, but apparently, I beat him to death with my briefcase.”

  I start laughing, slapping my knee. “You’re kidding? A briefcase?”

  “Yup. As I said, I don’t rightly recall, but they showed me the footage.”

  I’m laughing so hard now, tears are leaking out of my eyes. “You…you were caught on camera?”

  “Yep. Whole school was covered by cameras. Not like I was thinking.” He looks up, grinning. “The final shot was the briefcase to the throat. The little fuck was probably dead already, but the last hit almost took his motherfucking head off.”

  “You don’t say.” I’m still laughing. “Well, I’m impressed, Old Dog. You miss anything from outside?”

  He studies the chess board. He probably misses everything.

  “Hey, Lummox!” I bellow.

  He’s standing by the door like he’s Old Dog’s personal assistant. Maybe he is. Maybe they’re boyfriend and girlfriend. Anything is possible.

  “What you in for?” I call out.

  “Robbery,” he speaks over his shoulder.

  “What did you steal?”

  “Shoes.”

  I’m laughing again. Oh, this is too good.

  “You’re in jail! For stealing shoes!” I roll back on the bunk, roaring with laughter. “It’s not the answer I expect from a fat cunt like you, but maybe you have fine taste in fashion. What the fuck do I know?”

  Lummox turns around. Looks right at me. “Hey there, Mr. Covington. You don’t know what it’s like. To not be able to afford decent shoes. Your feet hurt everywhere you go. You get cold and wet, and if you can’t afford good shoes, you can’t afford to get sick. And sick is what you get if you walk around in holey shoes.”

  I wipe the tears from my eyes, sitting up. “You know what, Lummox? That actually made a certain kind of sense.”

  He doesn’t turn around. Just grunts.

  I’ll have to ponder this at some length. People too poor to afford shoes. Huh.

  What about socks? I don’t even know who buys my fucking socks. I usually have some say in the shoes, but it’s all put together by a tailor. And sometimes stuff just arrives for free.

  What a world.

  I look down to the board and mop up Old Dog with my final move. He exclaims in surprise.

  “I didn’t even see that coming, Mr. Covington!”

  “That’s the whole idea.” I waggle a smoke at him.

  I don’t let him call me Jaxon yet. But maybe soon.

  I already had some respect for Old Dog. Finding out his crime has only impressed me more. Maybe he’s a bit crazy.

  I like that.

  “May I go now?”

  “You got a date or something?”

  “I suppose not. We can play again. Or I can get some cards. You like poker?”

  “I do like poker.”

  “Then we should play. Unless you want us to fuck off for a bit. I know you like your space.”

  “Yeah, sure, Old Dog, you and Lummox can fuck off. Hey, what have we here?”

  Benny’s at the door with a skinny-looking kid. New guy.

  I gesture at Old Dog and Lummox to stay. Benny hangs in the doorway.

  The two guards nearby raise their heads, and we share a second of eye contact. I wish some of my criminals were as dependable as these guards.

  “He demanded to be brought to the big boss, Mr. Covington.”

  “Did he now?” I take a hard drag, squinting through the smoke, “What’s your trouble there, young man?”

  He’s twitchy, looking at walls furtively and scratching the back of his arm. His eyes dart around before falling on me.

  “I’m crazy, you see.”

  “Uh-huh.” This should be good.

  “Like really nuts.” He looks right at me as if this should mean something.

  “Go on kid. I’m losing patience with you, but what the hell.”

  He twitches some more. “I need to speak with the boss guy. Let him know I don’t mean nothin’. Don’t go stabbing me in the shower for mouthing obscenities and such. I can’t help it.”

  I’m starting to think the little fuck is trying to intimidate me. I don’t believe he’s that crazy, not for a second. I think it’s an act.

  How do I know this? Because I see crazy every time I look in the fucking mirror. It doesn’t look like this.

  Crazy isn’t what you think it is. It doesn’t show, not on the surface. Not the real crazy.

  The real crazy lives so deep in the mind, it hides itself. It’s like it has its own survival instinct. It blends in.

  It’s not as obvious as this poor little fuck.

  He takes a step forward, looking at my face, eyes jittering back and forth.

  “Is this supposed to scare me? Little Punk. Little crazy. Hold on. I have to find a name that sticks.” I puff my smoke, looking at the ceiling, trying to come up with a decent word. Something descriptive that I’ll remember.

  “My name’s Mike.” He looks confused.

  “No, it’s not. Its Mozzie. Because mosquitoes are little and annoying and fucking useless. Get out of my cell, Mozzie.”

  “I told you!” He takes two steps towards me. “I’m fucking crazy and dangerous, and my name is Mike.”

  He looks desperate. Maybe this act works on the non-crazy. I’m sure it does.

  It would probably work on Prof. And Charlie, shit, he’d run scared!

  Wouldn’t work on Ali, though. She’d stare him down with icy calm, just like she does me.

  Maybe there are grades of crazy. Me and Ali, we’re at the top. More human than human.

  Calmly, I hold out a hand.

  “Jaxon Covington. You have one minute to get the fuck out.”

  “I don’t give a fuck who ya are! I’m tellin’ you to watch out for me!”

  “Why exactly did you come here, Mozzie? What’s the thinking, of asking to be taken to the big boss? Just so you can quiver like a piece of shit and disgust me?”

  He stares at me. His eyes really are jiggling around.

  Maybe he’s coming down or something. We’ll have to get Old Dog to shoot him up so he’ll calm down and we can have a decent conversation. Or bang him up with a briefcase.

  Mozzie’s mouth works. He even spits a bit.

  “You are a disgusting creature, Mozzie. Get the fuck out.”

  “You gonna make me, Jack old boy, huh? You gonna make me?”

  I don’t move.
>
  The only movement in the cell is the smoke pouring from my cigarette.

  I feel cold down the spine, my muscles going tight and hard as I stare Mozzie down, a deep, dark smile creeping across my face.

  His crazed eyes bore into mine, but he has no fucking idea what crazy even looks like.

  Lummox, Old Dog, Benny, and the two nearest guards throw themselves on Mozzie and start beating the fuck out of him.

  I feel a crackle of power through my body, and I start laughing as I watch them punch the shit out of little Mozzie.

  Alison

  As I step into my boss’s office, he closes the door behind me. I walk around and sit in the chair across from his desk and wait for him.

  I have no doubt I’ve been called in on behalf of Jaxon. I’m sure he’s looking for some kind of update on my progress for the case.

  With coffee in hand, I look across the desk at my boss. He’s got a stern, serious look on his face—the kind that can make you uneasy if you’ve got something you’re hiding.

  “It’s good to see you this morning, Alison,” he says. “How’s the Covington file looking?”

  “It’s coming along, sir.” I sit back and take a sip of my coffee.

  Fuck. They gave me hazelnut. I hate hazelnut.

  “Is it now?” he prods. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard yet.”

  “Heard what, sir?” I counter him, taking another sip of my unfortunate cup of coffee.

  “There was an incident involving Covington. We had to send a man in his cell to the ICU. He’d been nearly beaten to death.”

  “Oh my god,” I blurt, coughing coffee onto myself. “No, no, sir. I had no idea.”

  My stomach is suddenly woven into a gigantic knot inside me. I don’t know what triggered such a violent outburst, but I realize I’m not so surprised it happened.

  He takes a tissue from his desk and hands it to me. I pat my clothes as he explains the details of what happened to me.

  “He didn’t do the heavy hitting. He had a couple of other inmates in his cell, and they beat the ever-loving shit out of this guy. We’ve already questioned the guards, and they knew nothing of how or why. But it seems Covington’s making it known that he’s powerful and influential, and others are either on his side, seeking protection, or against him, wanting to take him off his fictitious throne.”

  I’m just in utter disbelief, even though it’s all so believable.

  Jaxon is unstable. Every effort I’ve made with him has been futile. He’s still as manipulative and unapologetic as he was on day one.

  He’ll always be like this. My heart pounds in my chest as I try to take in another sip of coffee. The hazelnut-flavored bean water is serving more as a crutch than an enjoyment.

  “Alison?” my boss calls out.

  “Yes, sir?” I return quickly as I swallow the sip.

  “I don’t question your efforts on Jaxon Covington. I’ll make that known. You’ve been dedicating a lot of time to his case, and I just wanted to be sure you’re aware of the latest development.”

  “I see, sir. Well, thank you,” I respond coldly. “If you’ll excuse me, I do need to get this into my case file on Covington.”

  “Of course, Ms. Hughes. You’re excused.”

  I step out of the room, and tears immediately well up in my eyes.

  What the fuck am I even doing?

  This entire case rides on me, and the news I’ve just received tells me that any progress I’ve made with Jaxon isn’t sticking.

  He’s regressed. He’s angry. He’s pent up.

  And it’s all my fault.

  If I’d spent more time actually being his fucking doctor than his little fangirl, I’d be able to actually fix him. I’m the worst person to help him, because I don’t even know if I can help him anymore.

  He trusts me. And I trust him. But outside of that room, when it’s just the two of us, how am I supposed to control what’s going on?

  This outburst is certainly going to come up in his trial. And I’m going to have to come up with some kind of explanation of what’s happened.

  I can’t just say, “Oh, he’s fit to stand trial,” and then look like an idiot when this gets light shed on it.

  My shoes clack along the linoleum floor as I walk through the halls, my head turning to peer into my co-worker’s days for just a moment, catching a glimpse of anyone’s experience here other than my own.

  I don’t want to think about the Covington file anymore. I’m so thrown and so discouraged and just…heartbroken that I want no part of any of it.

  As I turn the corner, just a couple doorways down from my own office, the image of Jaxon orchestrating a prison attack drifts back into my mind. And once it’s there, it hits me hard.

  I know I have work to do here. And there’s still time to do it. But how?

  I finally approach my desk. As I plop down into my chair, I log in to my computer and start noting his file.

  Violent outburst inside prison cell.

  Orchestrated; did not actually make physical contact with victim.

  More details will be added upon session with Covington.

  I pull my hands away from the keyboard and let out a sigh. I roll myself to the side of the monitor and stare out at the rest of the building, watching everyone do their objective, unbiased work while I sit here, squirming over Jaxon.

  I realize I can’t deal with it at all.

  I’m assigned to such a complicated case. It’s my first case. I have a two-week deadline. I think I’m in love with my fucking patient.

  I’m a goddamn mess.

  I’m quick to stand back up, grab my purse and my coat, and just leave.

  I don’t know what I’m doing or what’s supposed to come of it, but I need a fucking break. I push through the door, walk down the pathway, and get in my car.

  With tears in my eyes and a thumping in my chest, I start my car and pull out the parking lot, just getting away from all this bullshit for the day.

  Fuck my entire career today. I’m going home and cooling the fuck off, because I know without a damn doubt that I’m not myself right now.

  Maybe I’ll have myself figured out when I take myself away from the situation.

  Jaxon

  I’m beaming as we walk through the halls. Bear escorts me up to Alison’s office and leaves me there.

  I’m so excited, I can’t sit still. I wander around, touching her stuff and looking at her books.

  I wonder when she first read The Art of Psychology. When did she decide she wanted to get into people’s heads? She certainly got into mine.

  I make myself a coffee and sit in her chair. I look over the papers and computer, but I don’t pry.

  I’m not that kind of guy.

  Sitting in her chair is giving me a kick, though.

  I grin as I sip my coffee, wondering who might’ve sat in the cushy armchair across the desk since we fucked in it. I put my weight back in Alison’s chair.

  It’s a wheelie, swivel chair, big and comfortable. The leather squeaks as I put my weight back in it.

  I wonder if we can fuck in this one. We might tumble out of it, or break the chair. Either way, it’ll be fun.

  I think about her clothes and what she might be wearing today. She seems to favor tight, close-fitting business skirts that come to the knee, and smart blouses that button up the front. She likes little jackets that pull tight at the waist, showing off her shape and yet hiding the true size of her breasts.

  She likes those shiny black heels.

  Sometimes with stockings, sometimes without.

  Always with wild, tousled hair.

  I breathe deep for a moment, imagining Ali under my nose, in my arms. The sweet, thick smell of a woman.

  Ali is so delicate, so perfect, and I know I’ve never felt like this before.

  I see her coming in the door in my mind, wearing the little suit, smiling at me, closing and locking the door.

  She starts taking off the shoes and jacket, th
en she reaches the desk.

  She unbuttons the blouse and makes a wise crack about me sitting in her chair, as if she’s the patient.

  In my fantasy, I watch her boldly take off the blouse and bra. She walks toward me with her breasts swaying, sitting on my lap, kissing my lips.

  I realize I’ve been in this chair for some time. I sip my coffee, and its getting cold.

  Shouldn’t she be here by now?

  I don’t actually know what time the appointment is. Not that I have a watch. I enjoy the timelessness of prison, but at times like this, knowing the time could be handy.

  I drum the fingers of my left hand against the desk, finishing my coffee.

  I need to see her. I’m trying to stay calm. My whole life has been on hold since we fucked.

  I need her. I now see how the great design of my life was intended to bring me to this moment.

  To meet Ali.

  I considered getting busted and thrown in jail a large inconvenience. It’s not something I couldn’t handle; a learning experience, definitely, but an inconvenience.

  Once I got in here, I realized the experience might have its own merits.

  Then Ali. Everything in my life has led to Ali.

  I picture her again, under me, her sweet smell clinging to my face. I want to spread her out on the floor, see that wild red hair fanned out as she writhes. I want get those gorgeous legs open.

  I wonder if I could tease her so much that she would take me and tackle me like a wild animal.

  My cock’s standing up nice and hard now. She’s so real I can almost smell her…taste her, too.

  Where is she?

  I try to be good. I try to restrain my thoughts, just like Ali would want me to.

  I think about all the dresses I’ll buy for her when I get out of here—magnificent gowns, perfectly tailored, so she can sweep around like a princess.

  I still don’t know all her favorite food. I can’t wait to take her out to eat.

  To the opera, or to Italy. Anywhere. Just me and Ali.

  I get up from her desk and start to pace. The sun has changed its angle through the one shitty little window, and I know it’s definitely late now.

  Why would she be late?

  Did something happen? A car accident? A personal emergency?