Lieutenant

by Lesli Richardson

  Then my world shifted again when I found out surviving wasn’t the best news I could receive.

  It’s hard to pound it through my skull that I’m going to go to sleep in my own bed in Tallahassee tonight. I know Carter won’t be able to talk Owen into returning to the mansion, either. Carter won’t have the heart to.

  Neither will I.

  Even the bastard extraordinaire has a soft spot or two hiding in there, somewhere, when it comes to his beloved pets.

  Especially for our beloved pet.

  For the first time in my life, I’m overwhelmed by the press and the crowd. I offer a tepid smile and hold up a hand. I’m sure I look like shit without makeup, and my hair’s a disaster, but this story will lead every newscast in Florida tonight and tomorrow, and I guess I need to make it count before the news cycle spins on and leaves us in the dust.

  “Thank you, everyone, for the well-wishes,” I say. “I just want to get home and get back to work. We have a state to run.”

  Hopefully that will carefully straddle the line between authentic and orchestrated. I wish I’d known about this, or I’d have had Carter prepare me something to say.

  He leans in and whispers in my ear. “That was perfect, sweetheart.” He kisses my cheek.

  I reach up and pat his hand.

  Fortunately, we’re able to get out of there in under ten minutes, and we’re quickly moved to a private lounge area while they finish prepping the plane Daddy chartered for our flight home. They’re going to load us on golf carts to drive us across the airport to where the private jet awaits us.

  If Daddy has arranged for reporters to accompany us on the flight home, I’ll fucking kill him, and Carter for not stepping in and putting his foot down about it.

  Apparently, even Daddy knows when not to push me. No press. It’ll be the five of us, Connie’s sons and daughters-in-law, and a two-person paramedic team.

  I eye them and then glare at Daddy. “We were cleared to fly and travel, Daddy.”

  He shrugs. “Your mother insisted. For you two, and for me.”

  Momma firmly nods. “Damn right, I did.”

  “They’re not staying in the house with me tonight,” I say, then it hits me.

  Oh, fuck.

  They’re probably going to want to stay at their townhouse tonight so they can be with me.

  I need alone time with Carter and Owen. I’m sure Owen desperately needs that, too. I shift in my wheelchair to look at Daddy. “You and Momma can’t stay in the townhouse tonight,” I softly say. “You need to go home.”

  He looks like he’s trying to get huffy with me. “Bullshit, we can’t.”

  I sigh. “Daddy, I need to decompress. You guys can come over in the morning and stay all day, if you want, but I’m putting my foot down about tonight.”

  He glares at Carter. “Tell her no.”

  Carter snorts. “You tell her no. I’m going to be yes-dearing her to infinity. Sorry, but you’re on your own, Benchley.”

  Thankfully, Momma intervenes. “Benchley, I think she’s right. I warned you she and Carter will want to be alone.”

  Well, okay, let’s go with that. I just won’t tell them about Owen. Or, if they find out about him being there, I’ll claim it’s work-related, an excuse Daddy can’t argue with.

  Carter leans in to whisper in my ear. “Can Owen and I go—”

  I pat his hand. “I’ll wait for you.”

  He kisses me. I’m aware that Owen’s already slipped away to the lounge’s men’s room, and Carter quickly follows him.

  Probably won’t put him on his knees there, but Carter can at least rub his head, talk to him.

  Give Owen a moment to suck in a deep breath without a dozen people around him.

  Especially when I know all our boy wants to do is kneel in front of me, put his head in my lap, and feel me rub his head.

  * * * *

  We make it on board the chartered jet. I pick a set of three seats in the very back—making it harder for others to spy on what we’re doing without being obvious, because they’d have to turn around—and Carter helps me strap in. I think Daddy’s a little perturbed at me that I ask Owen to sit on my other side instead of him or Momma, but he’ll just have to suck it up.

  After what I’ve been through, I don’t think anyone has the right to tell me who to pick to be my seatmates.

  I don’t bother to hide the fact that I’m holding their hands, either. There’s no press with us now, and Carter instructs the flight attendant to let him know if she sees anyone taking pictures of us with a camera or phone.

  We have relative privacy.

  As we rumble down the runway and pick up speed, I squeeze their hands, hard. Carter and Owen lean in, their heads tipped close and touching mine, as Carter whispers to both of us. I know how hard this is for our husband, considering Carter hates flying way worse than we do. That he’s being so strong for us now is one more small thing in the infinite universe that is Carter’s strength and love.

  Although, to be honest, I pretty much despise flying now. I’ll be going back to the I-75 commutes between Tallahassee and Tampa via car for the foreseeable future. If it wasn’t for the fact that I don’t want to spend a week in a car now, I’d have demanded Carter rent an SUV and drive us home to Florida.

  Also, if it wasn’t for the fact that we need to get Owen back to work ASAP, I would have asked Daddy to fly us into Tampa so we could go to sleep in the Brandon house tonight.

  Once I have a couple of weeks to recover, I know I’ll feel better, more steady, but if Owen was to kneel in front of me right now and beg me to let us retire from public life…

  Despite my earlier declaration to him when he first arrived at the hospital, I might just say yes.

  * * * *

  Home.

  It’s two a.m. Tallahassee time when our security detail pulls up in front of the townhouses. They know Owen’s staying at “his” townhouse tonight, and probably will the next several nights, at least. So once Carter literally carries me inside and sets me on the sofa, the officers on duty tonight set up a cordon to keep the press out and away.

  Dray and Gregory met us at the airport, along with a bunch of other people, state employees and the general public, but I told him he didn’t have to come back with us to the house. It’s late, and I’m exhausted, and I know he and Gregory need to get up tomorrow to work. Especially Dray, who’s still doing his job and much of Carter’s.

  And I know Carter and Owen will sleep in a little tomorrow, even if I need to play dirty and beg them not to go jogging.

  I told Daddy that he and Momma could come in for a few minutes, so their driver is waiting outside in the SUV they rode in.

  “We might as well get this over with,” I say to Carter. Behind him, Owen’s gaze darts to me, then away, before he stands off to the side, out of the line of fire.

  “Over with?” Carter asks.

  “Yeah.” I look at Momma and Daddy. “I’m pregnant. You breathe a word of that to anyone before the general election, and I’ll ratfuck every GOP candidate I possibly can, regardless of what office they’re running for.”

  Carter snorts.

  For the first time in my life, I see Senator Benchley Evans truly at a loss for words. “You’re…pregnant?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Due in March.”

  Momma starts crying and hugs me.

  Then Daddy frowns.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  He clears his throat and levels “a look” at me.

  I level one of my own at him. “I’m not dropping out of the race, so don’t even think about lecturing me to quit!”

  He bursts out laughing and leans in to hug me. “I was going to lecture you not to drop out!”

  A long, deep belly laugh rolls out of Carter, and even Owen starts to chuckle.

  “Oh. Well, okay, then. Glad we understand each other, Senator.” I give him a sharp nod.

  That makes Momma laugh. When Daddy glares at her, she shakes her head. �
��Don’t you start with me, Benchley. She’s your daughter.”

  “Yeah, I guess she is.” He hugs me again. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. And I love you so damn much.”

  “I love you, too, Daddy. But I mean it. I don’t want this getting out yet. We’ve got more than enough juice right now to coast through the primary and the general. I don’t want it rebounding on me, that people think I should be staying home and not running.”

  “Oh. Yeah, that’s a good point. I didn’t think of it like that.”

  I stick my tongue out at him. “I have a good idea every once in a while. So will you stop hating Carter, please?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve enjoyed having an archenemy all these years.” But he walks over to Carter, and they hug. Then he hugs Owen. “I guess if she can put up with you boys for all these years, you two can’t be all bad, huh?”

  I feel a little twinge of fear that maybe Daddy knows more than he’s letting on, but he smacks Owen on the shoulder in a friendly way. “We need to get you out and dating, son.”

  Owen shrugs. “I’m married to my job, Senator.”

  He waves it off. “Benchley, when we’re alone.”

  “Go home, Daddy. Your meter’s running.”

  “Okay, okay. But we’ll be over in the morning.”

  “No earlier than nine.”

  For sure, I think he’s going to argue with me, then he laughs again. “Nine, sweetheart.” He kisses my cheek, then Momma gives me another hug and kiss, and they leave.

  Owen leaves with them, goes to his townhouse, and is back in the living room in under forty-five seconds.

  I don’t think I’ve ever heard him run up those stairs so damn fast in my life.

  Now that we’re alone and locked in, Carter lets Owen carry me upstairs to our bedroom. Instead of bed, though, I want a damn fucking shower, in my shower.

  We take one together, and they tenderly scrub me, help me shave everything…

  And then the three of us curl up together in our bed, naked, with me in the center and my hands clasped around theirs and pressed against my tummy.

  This is absolutely the most perfect moment in my life.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Now — Election night.

  Tonight, we’re watching general election returns in our usual suite in the downtown Tampa hotel.

  Hey, why screw with what works?

  Yes, I know that’s superstitious, but after what I survived, I think I can be cut a little slack in that department.

  Owen won his primary, but based on the number of votes he received, he likely would have won even if it was the general. There’s been a huge influx of voters registering as Independent ever since my ordeal, both new voters and people changing their party affiliation.

  It’s left the Dems and the GOP scrambling to plug their sinking ships, Daddy chuckling over his sneaky daughter’s shameless politicizing of her “ordeal,” and Carter confident we’ll win tonight’s general election.

  This has been a crazy four years. Especially the last several months. Okay, it’s been a crazy twenty years, if you count from when I first met Carter and Owen in college.

  Admittedly, surviving a plane crash and being shipwrecked adds to the crazy factor, just a smidge.

  I don’t know how Carter’s kept my pregnancy a secret for as long as he has, but he’s done it.

  Somehow, I suspect Daddy had a hand in helping with that. I wonder how many favors he’s had to call in. Not much longer before I’ll be really showing. The loose, flowing blouses and dresses I’ve been wearing will only help so far after a certain point.

  At least one thing’s for certain—my plucky story of survival has likely guaranteed Owen’s re-election.

  The fact that I only took an additional two weeks off after my return—and even then was working from home despite Carter trying to overrule me—shamed our opponents, who could easily be silenced by simply referring to the time I already “took off” due to almost dying in a plane crash and then having to fight for survival for several weeks…just to literally put myself back on the campaign trail.

  And bringing Connie home with me. Even she’s publicly said in interviews that if it wasn’t for me, she would have died. No, I didn’t ask her to say that.

  Can damn sure bet I’m using it to our benefit. Yeah, I’m shameless when it comes to exploiting even the tiniest advantage. I won’t deny it. I get it honestly, from Benchley, and from Carter.

  The ruthless politician in me revels in the leverage my ordeal gave us, and in the state-wide fifty-point exit poll lead we’re currently enjoying over our closest rival.

  Doesn’t mean it’s a slam-dunk tonight. Never assume that until all the ballots are counted.

  But even Daddy’s relaxed and not stressing. If he’s not stressing over election results, then it’s as close to a guaranteed result as you can get without the actual votes being counted.

  Owen, bless his heart, wishes we could scream from the rooftops that we’re going to be parents. Maybe in a different timeline we could do that. But this is the path we’ve chosen, and that means there are concessions to make. Instead of a public celebration, he has to pretend not only that I’m not pregnant, but that it’s not his baby.

  In private, either in the mansion or in our townhouse, he spends hours happily curled up with me on the couch, with his head in my lap and his hand against my tummy.

  Carter, the bastard extraordinaire, usually sits on the other end of the couch, with Owen’s feet in his lap and an amused smirk on his face as he watches his two pets together. With Carter’s presence, it means no questions will be asked about the three of us being together. Especially at the townhouse, because everyone thinks Owen’s next door.

  We’re having a boy, and he is, so far, healthy and developing normally despite what I went through.

  Owen’s already named him Peter, after one of Carter’s brothers who were killed in action.

  Peter Benchley Taylor Wilson.

  Taylor was my requirement.

  Yeah, I know, but Daddy puffed up when we told him, sooo…

  #happygrandpa

  Then again, just to prove what a bastard my hubby is, he gave me a little stuffed crab toy after Connie first told our story publicly…

  #gotcrabs?

  My goddamned office is overflowing with motherfucking crabs. It’s apparently my “thing” now.

  I guess there are worse things to be known for.

  Like dying.

  George—excuse me, Governor Forrester—sent me a large picture that I immediately had hung in my office, a blown up print from the scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, where Eric Idle and John Cleese are arguing about taking away the not-dead-yet guy.

  Only George had piles of crabs Photoshopped over the bodies in the cart and John Cleese’s shoulder, and scattered all around them, and a dialogue bubble from John Cleese says, “It’ll be stone crab in a moment.”

  I laugh to the point of tears when I unwrap it. Of course he found wrapping paper with crabs on it.

  Even my sweet, gentle boy jumped on Carter’s sadism wagon and seems to find me a new crab-themed something-or-other every dang week.

  Sigh.

  What I went through was almost enough to break me and make me beg to pull out and return to private life.

  Almost.

  Thank god I didn’t. This…this is pure political gold. On top of all the good we’ve already accomplished during our first four years, I can’t walk away now. We’ll announce my pregnancy tomorrow morning, win or lose.

  Owen isn’t happy about this, but we’ll make Kevin Markos our first interview. He literally gets two minutes, live, downstairs in the lobby, just him and one photojournalist walking with us out the back hallway to our waiting car, and that’s all. And with only me and Owen, not Carter.

  Markos isn’t getting the scoop about me being pregnant, which is the only reason Owen agreed to let us talk to Markos in the first place.

  Markos th
inks he’s getting a scoop, a foot-up by being able to have first cameras on us in the morning, ahead of our afternoon sit-down.

  Heh.

  One journalistic ratfuck, coming up. I’m sure it’ll piss Markos off, but Carter suggested doing this, despite how Markos and FNB will likely paint a target on us as a result, because it sends a message that only took us four years to finally be able to deliver.

  Fuck you and your shitty network over that goddamned live interview after the school shooting, you assholes.

  Ice-cold revenge still tastes damn good. Daddy thinks it’s a genius move, and even gave Carter an attaboy when we told him.

  When the inevitable questions arise as to why we cut FNB out of the info about my pregnancy, Carter will take the incoming fire on that one and claim he was still half-asleep, and oh, darn, it was over so fast, and we were moving so quickly to get to our next interview, that it totally slipped our minds.

  Whoops.

  Carter and I both are going on-air during all the other scheduled sit-down interviews with Owen. If anyone comments about us withholding the news about my pregnancy until tomorrow morning, we’ll shamelessly play the “Gee, I almost died, don’t you think I deserve happiness?” card.

  Four more years, and then it’s my turn.

  Owen might end up retiring for a while after he leaves office to stay home with the baby—who will almost be ready to start school by then—and that will work out better for all of us, anyway. Owen will be happy, our baby will be safe and cared for by his daddy, and it’ll keep Owen off the media’s radar for a while.

  A friend of Daddy’s approached Carter for help finding a long-term beard for his daughter, who’s ten years younger than Owen. She lives with her girlfriend, who is an aspiring politician in the middle of her own bid for their county commission. Since they’re both registered GOP, they figured it’d be easier for her to wait to come out.

  Daddy talked to Carter about borrowing Owen, of course. It makes me more than a little jealous that Carter arranged for her and Owen to have dinner a few times in Tallahassee over the last several weeks, and tipped the press off about it every time.