Lieutenant

by Lesli Richardson

  “Governor,” Carter says. “In ten years.”

  Her perfectly shaped eyebrows slowly arch. “Wow. Not sure any candidate can take two county terms all the way to Tallahassee that soon in this political climate. Much less a third-party candidate.”

  “One term county, one term Florida Senate. Then governor.”

  Now she can’t hide her shock. “Benchley’s seat?”

  “I’m endorsing him,” Daddy says, and I don’t miss the way he glances at Carter. “For this race, and for my Senate seat, when he runs.”

  Rebecca frowns. “You’re going to endorse an Independent candidate over a GOP candidate for your Senate seat? Very likely over a GOP incumbent, at that point?”

  Daddy shrugs. “I believe in Owen.”

  “I mean, it’s easy for you to get away with that for a county commission race, especially for your old seat, don’t get me wrong. People are writing that off as you doing a favor for your daughter’s friend. Besides, no one likes the GOP candidate. Carlisle was turfed out in the primary, but Buchanan is fucking dirty, and everyone knows it. I know damn well the local GOP won’t take his loss very personally or hold it against you too much. No one wanted him to run in the first place. Won’t take much to make him look like a lost cause. But you do that for a Senate race? It’s political suicide.”

  Daddy shrugs again.

  She lets out a low whistle. “Benchley, with all due respect, if you do that, you’re going to have a screaming pack of rabid demons—and rabid PACs—coming after you when you run for governor. You do realize that, right?”

  He nods. “I’m not concerned. I have the support for that, too, where it’ll really count.”

  She snorts. “How many ratfucks is that going to cost you?”

  Daddy simply smiles.

  “Here’s the plan,” I say. As is usual in these situations, Carter lets me take the lead, going over polling numbers, districts, trends—all the minutiae and data that Owen and I thrive on consuming. Carter is more a big-picture kind of guy. Give him the results once we crunch numbers so he can go from there. Our tactician, the mobile response, seeing the overall trends.

  He’s the one who doesn’t panic or rejoice over a jog in poll numbers a point or two in either direction.

  I include the long-term plan of getting me elected for a state office, too, then running for governor following Owen’s incumbency. Once I finish my part of the presentation and hand it off to Carter, he settles in chatting with Rebecca while I sit back to listen. Owen is intently absorbing everything, asking smart questions. From the way Daddy nods on occasion, I can tell he understands why I want to back Owen as a candidate.

  Once we go through all that, she sits back and needs a moment to digest everything. Then she looks at Daddy. “Maybe this isn’t as crazy a plan as I first thought,” she admits as she slowly nods. “Father-daughter governors. There’s a nice bit of symmetry in that.” She sighs. “If I didn’t think it’d get me drummed out of the GOP, I’d offer to come on board for Owen’s state Senate run. But I already have two different GOP hopefuls with their sights on it. Different districts, but still.”

  Carter grins. “You could still come work for us.”

  “Yeah, but I’d never get hired by another GOP candidate, and the Dems don’t pay worth shit in this state.” She smiles. “But before I sign an employment contract, maybe I can look over some info for you and give you a few pointers. Unofficially, of course.”

  “Of course,” Carter agrees. “For now, tell us how to best guarantee Owen a general election win in this race.”

  We spend the next two hours discussing tactics she is certain will give Owen a leg up. She also shares deep background info she has on Buchanan, and on Fleming, the Democratic candidate. Combined with Daddy’s endorsement, Owen should be a shoo-in.

  The afternoon, as far as I’m concerned, is a success.

  We finally break for dinner—pizza that we’ve ordered, since neither Daddy, Rebecca, nor Carter want all of us spotted out and about in public together—plus her father, her husband, and the kids join us.

  I know that Rebecca’s husband isn’t Eddie’s biological father, but I’ve never really heard the story about all of that, either. It was something Daddy and Momma never openly talked about around me. Obviously, I’m not so tactless that I’d ask that here, but in the car on the way back to Daddy’s, I broach the subject.

  “Whatever happened to Eddie’s biological father?” I ask. I have a suspicion who the boy’s father might be, but have never heard that spoken aloud.

  I think it’s my imagination that Daddy and Carter share a glance. It’s probably more Carter being Carter, and him watching my father to see his reaction. Carter loves to pick up stray nuggets of information here and there, especially anything he thinks he might be able to put to good use later.

  “What do you mean?” Daddy asks.

  “I mean, was he her boyfriend in high school or something?” I fudge. “I know John’s definitely not that boy’s father. He was born before they got together. Besides, he looks nothing like John.”

  “I don’t know, SusieJo,” Daddy says, even though he knows how much I hate that nickname as an adult. “Never thought it was my place to ask. She ended up living in Orlando, for a while, when she had him.”

  My bullshit meter goes off but I know better than to pry. Daddy’s dancing around the issue. No way in hell will he tell me now. Besides, I’m deep enough in his debt as it is for him arranging this meeting for us today.

  I do the smart thing and let it drop.

  Although I am a little surprised Momma doesn’t chime in. A conversation like this, usually she’d be shushing one or both of us, telling us it was impolite. Right now, she’s staring out the window with a tense set to her neck. I only see this because I look around Owen when I realize she’s not saying anything.

  “Are you all right, Momma?”

  “I’m fine,” she lies. “Just a little headache.”

  I’m desperate to smooth this over. I know she still hates Carter for how we got married, and spending several hours with him today has probably been about as much as she can handle.

  “Thank you both for doing this today,” I say. “I love both of you so much. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t believe in Owen as a qualified candidate.”

  “Not too late for you to change your party affiliation back,” Daddy says as he stares out the passenger window. “You don’t need to work this hard, SusieJo.”

  I ignore the nickname. “You always told me to be my own person, Daddy. That I need to work hard to make a name for myself.” I decide to address the elephant—sort of literally and metaphorically—in the car with us. “Momma’s a Democrat, and you never hounded her to change parties.”

  “Because she’s my wife, and she’s not running for office.”

  And because it suited him, I’m sure, having a “liberal” wife. Made him look more centrist and appealing to socially liberal Republican voters.

  Believe me, I know my Daddy.

  “You just don’t want to admit you were wrong about Carter,” I hear myself say, horrified that I actually said it aloud. It takes everything I have not to clap my hand over my mouth like a little kid.

  Carter’s wearing sunglasses, but I see him glance in the rearview mirror, and I know I just earned strokes.

  “Hmph,” Momma says.

  Fuck it. I opened this closet, might as well clean it out for good. “Six years,” I say.

  “You’ve barely been out of law school two years,” Daddy shoots back. “You went and eloped.”

  Carter remains silent. I drew this incoming fire—I know I need to be the one to return it. “You taught me to go after what I wanted, Daddy. To be ruthless. Brutal, even. I wanted Carter. I’d think you’d be happy I married someone who not only celebrates the fact that I’m a strong woman, he doesn’t try to tear me down. He wants to help me make my dreams come true. If it was up to Carter, we’d be practicing law and settling in
to a quiet life. I’m the politician. Me. And Owen,” I quickly add. “You always told me to marry a man who’d value who I was and not try to change me, and that’s what I did. I married exactly that man. And you know what? He reminds me a lot of you.”

  “Touché,” Momma quietly says.

  At the same time, Owen softly mutters, “Yikes.”

  And Carter says, “Ouch.”

  But Daddy laughs. “Fuck me, hard to argue against that, I suppose.” I know from the sound of his laugh he’s genuinely amused. I’m not sure which part he thought was funny, but at least the tension in the car has eased.

  Unfortunately, I can’t leave things well enough alone. “Besides,” I clumsily add, “Owen wouldn’t have let me go through with it if he didn’t believe in Carter, too. Would you?”

  I know I’ve put our boy on the spot and I’ll owe him a massive apology later.

  But he’s our good boy, and he lies for me.

  Sort of. “I trust Carter,” Owen quietly says. “And I trust Susa. They took me in and became my family. I wouldn’t have reconciled with Dad the way I have if it wasn’t for them helping me. They taught me it was okay to trust people again, after my mother ruined my trust. I don’t think I’m out of line to say that you and your wife raised an amazing woman, Senator Evans. I’m proud to call her and Carter my best friends, and even my adopted family. I have never had the feeling that Susa didn’t know exactly what she wanted or how to go about getting it. She’s an old soul, and she’s going to be an amazing governor, one day. I’m simply glad I get to be a part of it.”

  Daddy sighs, and Momma finally looks at Owen, then me.

  “Just don’t go getting her pregnant yet, Carter,” Daddy admonishes.

  “That’s not going to be a problem, Daddy,” I say, feeling mixed emotions about that truth. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

  * * * *

  To Carter’s credit, he waits until it’s just the three of us again and we’re almost home to finally bring it up.

  “I don’t think that was the best way to approach things, pet.”

  “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

  He points over the back of the seat at Owen, who’s now sitting behind me, on the passenger side.

  Carter’s message is clear—it’s not him I owe an apology to. It’s Owen.

  I turn. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

  He’s looking out the window. “It’s all right, Ma’am.”

  “No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have asked you to lie for me.”

  “I didn’t lie, Ma’am.” He’s still looking out the window.

  Technically, he lied by implying he was at our wedding, when he knows damn well he wasn’t. He didn’t find out about that until well after the fact.

  And I forced him to make that implication by dragging him into the discussion.

  “I mean, I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s all right, Ma’am.”

  I feel even worse now. It’s bad enough that I can never openly admit who he is to us. He will forever be playing the third wheel, so to speak. We have to pretend he’s just a really good friend, not a third of our love. Meanwhile, he gets his face inadvertently rubbed in that fact every time we’re all out together somewhere, especially with my parents, or in any kind of professional situation.

  I glance Carter’s way. He removes his sunglasses when he has to slow and wait for the gate to our development to open for us.

  He shoots me an angry glare.

  That’s the kind of glare that means I’d damn well better fix this before he has to, because if he has to fix it, I won’t be sitting down for a week.

  At least.

  Chapter Seven

  We arrive home moments later, and Carter pulls the car into the garage. Even though I know Owen wants to open my car door for me, I get out first, before he can, and stand there with my hand out, waiting. The garage door is already rolling down behind us, meaning we are safely concealed. He finally reaches out and takes my hand and lets me lead him inside after I disarm the alarm.

  This house is our refuge. Owen’s house is next door, but he essentially lives here, with us. If he drove separately to work, he parks his car in his garage, lets the door roll shut behind him, changes into a T-shirt and shorts, and then walks through his side door and into our home, concealed by a tall privacy fence that spans the side-yard gap between our homes. In the morning, he reverses the procedure, usually showering with Carter after their morning run or work-out, then pulling on shorts and a tee to go get dressed at his house. If he rides in with Carter, he gets dressed over there and returns to our house.

  Most of his clothes and his personal items are there, but only what he doesn’t need on an immediate basis. Everything else is here.

  This is our home, the three of us, and where we sleep nearly every night—together. There are plenty of pictures of all three of us on the walls, so Owen isn’t some faceless ghost in our marriage whose presence isn’t noted except when he’s physically here.

  He’s all around us, part of us.

  He is us. There would be no us if it wasn’t for Owen, and don’t think I don’t recognize that.

  I love him every bit as much as I love Carter, and I need to remind him of that right now after my thoughtless words earlier. It’s instances like this, where I make time to center him in my world, that will live in his heart and sustain him through the lonelier times ahead of us.

  When he starts to pause in the hallway just inside the garage door so he can strip, as per the rules, I don’t let him. I tug his hand and make him follow, leaving him snatching his chain collar from on top of the shelf there and carrying it with him.

  My good boy.

  He’s always been my good boy.

  Could I have settled for Owen instead of marrying Carter? Probably. I know we would have been reasonably happy together, Owen letting me do my political thing, following me around, the dutiful husband.

  I wouldn’t have cheated on him, because that’s fucking douchey.

  We probably would have had a couple of kids, at least. I can envision Owen being an amazing dad, and it makes me sad in some ways to know he’ll never realize that dream.

  It’s one of the few things I regret about all of this.

  He wears a stainless steel necklace as his day collar, something innocent and unrecognizable to the average person as anything other than jewelry. I have a matching one, as well as a bracelet, that are my day collars. I can wear either—or both, if I choose. When I wear the bracelet, I do so on my right wrist. Carter also wears a matching bracelet, on his left, as our Master and Owner.

  It’s a subtle reminder for me and Owen.

  This is in addition to the matching tattoos we all have, Carter’s on the inside of his left wrist, and Owen’s and mine inside our right wrists, a small symbol for infinity. Carter’s is usually concealed by his dress shirts or blazer, Owen’s by his shirt, or a watch, when he’s wearing short sleeves, and mine I don’t bother hiding.

  I don’t care who sees it.

  When in our home, Owen usually wears the stainless choker chain collar that was his first day collar, and it’s locked around his neck with a small padlock.

  I take that collar from him now and set it on the dresser before I grab his tie and pull him in for a kiss. I want to do this as Owen and Susa, not as Ma’am and boy.

  I need to remind him he means far more to me than merely being my property, even though that’s all he wants to be.

  I need to remind him he’s part of my heart, part of our marriage. That I consider him my husband every bit as much as Carter is.

  His arms slide around me as I press my body against his, releasing his tie so I can drape my arms around his neck. At six-four, he’s a good six inches taller than Carter, but Owen’s body is every bit as familiar to me as Carter’s is.

  Finally, his hands slide down my back, to my ass, and squeeze as I feel his cock harden against me in his s
lacks. Carter always rescinds the no-underwear rule when we have to deal with my parents. Today, I chose panties.

  Owen, however, is always our good boy, and did not. I grind against him, feeling his kiss intensify, the hunger growing there as I rock my hips against him. Not until I hear the soft, needy sounds he’s making, borderline whines, do I reach down and unfasten his belt and slacks. My gaze, however, remains fixed on his sweet green eyes. When we’re like this they always get darker, hints of steamy jungle colors coming to mind, fertile and verdant.

  I almost think he’s not going to release his grip on my ass so I can sink to my knees, but he finally does. When I go down on him, swallowing him all the way to the root, I never break my gaze with him.

  Now he’s gone. His hands tangle in my hair, finding and unfastening the barrette holding my hair in a loose bun. He tosses it onto the dresser with his collar and runs his fingers through my tresses, fisting my hair as his hips begin to rock in time with my movements. I slide his slacks down his thighs and cup that firm, gorgeous ass of his and hold on tight.

  Sometimes, it’s difficult to coax Owen to take control. He’s always happy to be the bottom, to be on bottom, or to default to doing what he’s told.

  Today I want him to remember he’s not a passive piece of furniture—he’s mine.

  Ours.

  The fact that Carter hasn’t joined us yet is further proof the bastard extraordinaire is completely right.

  Owen needs me like this, right now.

  I hear his breathing become more ragged even while his taste begins to spill over my tongue as he grows closer.

  “I love you, Susa,” he grits out. I sense him trying to hold back, wanting to make this last, and I don’t rush him. I don’t know if he’s going to finish like this, or bend me over the bed, but it’s his choice right now and he knows it.

  When he slows his thrusts moments later, my heart races because I know what he’s chosen.

  He grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet, immediately pushing me back and onto the bed, where he shoves the hem of my dress up.