Rogue Hearts

by Tamsen Parker

  “I like Adam,” she said, knowing what she felt wasn’t so anodyne. “But he doesn’t know what he wants, and I’m too old for games.”

  She went home and tried to work, but mostly, she ended up pacing. A few hours later, she bundled herself up and went to the fanciest hotel in town for a victory party. Her margin over Hoagland ended up being substantial: more than twelve hundred votes out of seventy-five hundred cast. That leeched some of the suspense out of things, though it also made everyone giddy.

  “I still can’t believe this,” she told the crowd. Everyone cheered, and she had to take a step backward so the mic wouldn’t amplify the sob in her throat.

  She was going to be a state senator. Holy shit.

  She thanked her family and parents, and she had to pause for a much-deserved Clark-led round of applause. She talked about how the volunteers had inspired her. She told the voters she was grateful for their support, and she promised to listen to them even if she disagreed with them. She even thanked Mike Hoagland for fighting a good race. It was easy to be gracious in victory, she supposed.

  “Finally, he’s not here, but I have to recognize Adam Kadlick. Everyone at Montana Tomorrow has been incredible, but I wouldn’t be speaking to you tonight without Adam because he’s the one who convinced me to run. Wherever you are, Adam: thank you.”

  You broke my heart and I feel lost without you, but you have my gratitude. She was glad he wasn’t here to see this. Her voice was quivery and she couldn’t hide that she was shaking.

  She sped up as she tried to get through it. “I didn’t have any ambition to go into politics. But Adam believed in me. He was—”

  The doors to the dining room opened, and Adam came striding through them, covered with a non-trivial layer of snow.

  “What happened to you?” she almost shouted that into the mic, and it reverberated off the walls.

  He pushed his scarf under his chin, and his skin was red from the cold and glazed with melting snow. “I left Helena six hours ago. The highway is a disaster. Once I finally got here, I couldn’t find parking, and I had to walk three blocks. It’s really coming down.” He grimaced apologetically before pulling off one of his gloves and holding out his hand to her. “Congratulations on your big win, Senator Clark.”

  No one had called her that yet, and it made her lightheaded. She was Senator Clark. And the man she loved was standing right in front of her.

  She jumped off the riser, and they didn’t shake so much as take hands.

  He was here. In the not quite frozen flesh. Clinging to her with so much hope in his face.

  People were taking pictures and talking and slapping Adam and her on the back, but all she could see was the question in his eyes.

  They couldn’t do this with an audience. She turned on her heel and towed Adam after her. “Sorry,” she called. “Play some music or something. We’ll be back.”

  Out in the hallway she found a quiet corner. “Are you okay?”

  He was watching her, not smiling but not not smiling. “Yes. I’m fine. But in a larger sense, no. No, I’m not.”

  “You’re not?”

  He bit his lip. “I told my firm today I wasn’t coming back.”

  Her heart sputtered. He wasn’t running back to California. “Uh-huh.”

  “For months, I’ve thought about whether I’d freaked out in LA because I was having an early midlife crisis or if I had meant it. About whether I should stay. Life there is easy, you know? There’s money and it’s comfortable and it’s nice, and it would be…painless. But it doesn’t make me happy. It doesn’t excite me. It’s not—it’s not here. I want to be here.” His eyes were laser focused on her, willing her to believe him.

  She nodded, encouraging him to go on.

  “I thought about what you said, about how certainty didn’t happen all at once. I think I was waiting for fireworks or a bolt of lightning. But the truth is I’ve been happy this year. Like legitimately excited for every day. The only dread I felt was about going back to my firm and pushing paper at a job that bores me. And at losing you.”

  She huffed.

  “That’s my fault,” he said quickly. “I’ll live with that. But the calmness I’ve felt grew into sureness. Just like you said it would. I emailed my firm and quit this morning. And at lunch, I told Chad the job wasn’t done, and I was going to stay until it was.”

  She constricted her grip on his hand. “Only until then?”

  “No.” He shoved his gloves in his coat pocket, and then he wrapped his free hand around her neck. “I’m going to stay. Permanently. This place has what I want. It’s enough. More than enough.”

  He didn’t blink when he said it. He didn’t hesitate.

  When he’d asked her to run, he’d been asking her to take a risk. Now he was doing it again. This was personal, but it felt every bit as a weighty.

  “Then I got in my car and tried to drive straight here, but the weather kinda got in the way. But I had to tell you, face to face, that these races have made my life feel worth it.”

  “Adam, I…” She could feel herself swaying into him. She already knew she was going to kiss him, to ask him if they could try being together again. She just wanted him to understand the stakes first. “You really hurt me.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t need him to be sorry as much as she needed him to understand why she’d been crushed. “Most of all because I depended on you, and then you were gone.”

  His fingers dug into her for a moment. “If you can see a way to forgive me, Maddie, I promise I won’t leave again. I did it once, and it was almost impossible. You’re the person I want to talk to when I have a shitty day. I want you to tell me when I’m wrong about policy, and I want to help you take over the world. I want to make you dinner when you’re having a long day and laugh together about all the bullshit. You make me believe the system can be better. You make me want to make it better. And I love you.”

  He did. She knew he did. And someday, like probably when they woke up together tomorrow, she’d give him the words back.

  But for now, every bit of her softened, relaxed. “When you showed up in the spring, I didn’t think I could do this. Maybe I had sort of…not settled but narrowed myself. You believed in me so much, who would I be if I couldn’t believe back? I grew because you told me I could.”

  “You’re going to be the governor someday.” His confidence was potent—she could become addicted to it. She probably already was.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you’re going to be incredible.”

  She wasn’t certain about running for governor—honestly, the fundraising alone made her want to cry—but she was certain about him. She took hold of his jacket and pulled him toward her. “You’re just saying that because you want to kiss me.”

  “No, I want to kiss you because I think that.”

  “Flatterer.”

  When he lowered his mouth to hers, he tasted of snow, cold and fresh. But together, she had to trust they were fire and hope and change.

  The End

  Also By Emma

  Series

  Fly Me to the Moon with Genevieve Turner

  Star Dust (Book 1)

  Earth Bound (Book 2)

  Round Midnight (A Holiday Set)

  Star Crossed (Book 3)

  A Midnight Feast (Book 4)

  Free Fall (Book 5)

  The Easy Part

  Special Interests (Book 1)

  Private Politics (Book 2)

  Party Lines (Book 3)

  Standalone and Anthologies

  The Rogue Series

  “Kissing and Other Forms of Sedition” in Rogue Desire

  “The Fourth Estate” in Rogue Affair

  “Free” in Sight Unseen

  Brave in Heart

  Acknowledgments

  This one started rough, but it became the story I’d envisioned because of the notes and support of my critique partner, Genevieve Turner; I’m so grateful t
o her. Additionally, Olivia Dade gut checked (and guy checked) the story for me when I was waffling about it, and her insight improved it tremendously. Finally, Kimberly Cannon’s proofreading caught my many, many errors. I appreciate them, and the rest of the Rogue crew, so much.

  It bears repeating that the characters and locations in Run are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to reality and Montana politics is purely coincidental.

  About the Author

  Emma Barry is a novelist, full-time mama, recovering academic, and former political staffer. When she’s not reading or writing, she loves hugs from her twins, her husband’s cooking, her cat’s whiskers, her dog’s tail, and Earl Grey tea.

  Website: www.authoremmabarry.com

  Newsletter: https://tinyletter.com/authoremmabarry

  The Rogue Files

  Stacey Agdern

  About This Book

  Hockey Reporter John DiCenza wants to go back. To New Jersey, to his life, the team he covers and the fan base he’s proud to know and support. Back to before he had the ’Rogue Files,’ documents rumored to be the final nail in President Crosby’s term.

  Journalist Sophie Katz wants to move forward. Towards her new TV show, and a life where what she films will make a difference. She needs the ‘Rogue Files’ and the story behind them to get there.

  But when life comes at them, John and Sophie realize that the true story behind the files is standing up for the truth right where you are.

  Dedicated to: Dan Rice, Sean Hartnett, Dave Shapiro, Erica Ayala, Marissa Ingemi, Jashvinah Shah, Beth Machlan, Eric Wollschlager, Ian Maclaren, David Pendrys, Joe Fortunato, Matt Falkenbury, the Bloggers of Blueshirt Banter, Hannah Bevis and the bloggers of the Ice Garden, Adam Herman, Melissa Geschwind, Tanya Rezak, Stephen Ellis, Mike Murphy, Michelle Jay, Kate Frese, Meredith Foster, Nicole Haase, Angelica Rodriguez and so many brilliant others.

  I get my hockey news from some brilliant bloggers and reporters who don’t cower for a second when people complain they don’t stick to sports. This story is for all of you. Keep writing, and keep fighting.

  Also, to Keith Olberman, who throws and has always thrown the phrase ‘stick to sports’ to hades. And to Kurt Bardella whose brilliant ‘Morning Hangover’ provided the inspiration for the ‘Blue Chorus.’

  Background Files

  UPDATE: ‘The ROGUE FILES’

  What:

  In September the revelation and exposure of President Crosby’s long reaching blackmail notebook started a firestorm of committee hearings and investigations, forcing the Justice Department to appoint a special prosecutor, as policy decisions made lined up with notes written in the notebook.

  Denials were issued on a regular basis, partially because all the information needed to ‘support’ this document had been gathered by sources found to have a political stake in the situation. Investigations continued, and information gathered, but none of what was found seemed able to corroborate certain important aspects of the notebook.

  But in December, rumors of a document written by an uninvolved political neutral began to arise. Multiple leads were followed, yet nothing served as politically necessary.

  Rumors started again in early February, and this time journalists had more focused eyes. Nonpolitical reports are, in fact, written by non-political people and the rumor here is that this set of corroborating documents were pulled together and written by a guy who has worked as an usher for a hockey team for over forty years. Will this set of documents, already dubbed the ‘Rogue Files’, be the revelation people expect them to be? Or will they be as dead a lead as any of the others have been?

  Why does this matter?

  Because it’s been said by an increasing number of officials that once the last section of the notebook (which as it stands is the most unbelievable) is corroborated by outside evidence, it would sway their votes towards an impeachment proceeding. Also?

  The files, whether they end up important for impeachment purposes, will for sure play a role in the upcoming custody battle for the guardianship of youngest First Daughter Jessica Crosby, now that all legal hurdles have been cleared.

  More soon.

  From: BlueChorus political

  Hockey For Hope is Run By:

  Max Wilcox and Adam Klein

  Sophie Katz

  Deborah Taubman (with assistance from Sam Moskowitz)

  (from H4H.com)

  One: Monday

  Sleeping in an RV in the middle of February far away from home was not John DiCenza’s first choice. But Uncle Steve had offered his prized Georgetown (because nobody went camping in February, not even in ridiculously extravagant and expensive RV’s like Uncle Steve’s Georgetown), so that was where John went.

  It wasn’t the creature comforts that he missed. He was an outdoorsy kinda guy; he liked hiking and camping and sleeping under the stars during the offseason. It was the job he missed. The people he worked with, the people he met because he covered the Hockey League’s New Jersey Palisades for both the Record and Reporter and HockeyNet. He also missed the Palisades.

  But when you gain possession of documents that can put a final nail in the presidential term, you leave no matter what the cost.

  John checked the clock on the tiny bedside table, realizing she was going to arrive in just over an hour, pending traffic.

  She was Sophie Katz, a rising star of a political journalist, leaving print for television, and in search of a new story. That would be him, the documents, and his way back to Newark.

  No more watching his back, no more looking over his shoulder for the damn shadows in the corner. Sophie would be his way out, his lifeline.

  That was the most important part. Not the memories of a party hosted by their mutual mentor five years ago. Definitely not visions of a night filled with questions, darkened rooms and possibilities, where John learned what Sophie tasted like and never forgot. He was going to be the conduit that got her to a breaking story, nothing else. And then he was going to go back to his life and not look back again.

  Dammit.

  Which was the perfect cue for a phone call from a New York number. He didn’t have to glance at it long before he recognized it. The aforementioned mentor, of course. Last minute prep. “Hello?”

  “You ready for this?”

  “No, “he said as he sat up. “Not in the least. I’m stressed as hell and I have no idea what to expect.”

  Ezra Baum groaned on the other end of the phone. “You’re kidding, right, John?”

  “No, “he said as he sat up. “Not kidding.”

  “All you need to know is that she’s top notch and she’ll listen.”

  He wondered if Baum was trolling him; forcing him to focus on the matter at hand, as opposed to the other things that were running through his mind. But there were other things he’d discovered once he’d allowed himself to look, namely “She’s leaving print for television and wants a story.”

  “Did whatever research you did tell you why?” Baum quipped back in his customary fashion. “Probably not, so I will. She can be a better political journalist on television than for that grey gardens nonsense she’s been twiddling her thumbs for. “

  “I get it,” John replied. “I’ve watched that particular paper go downhill on the news side recently, and I’m not only saying it as someone who works for a paper based across the river. I also get the pressure to produce, especially the pressure of a first TV show stint. I guess I’m asking you, is she up to this?”

  “Of course, she is. She’s one of mine.”

  John snickered; of course, Baum had to get one of those in there.

  “But seriously, she’ll treat this story, Paul and these files, the way they need to be treated.”

  That was the most important part. Paul Nunzio and his over twenty years of notes on now President Crosby were the reason John found himself in the middle of nowhere, waiting for Sophie and his ticket home. He couldn’t screw this up, especially by acting on old feelings and memories. “Anything el
se?”

  “For fuck’s sake, John. She doesn’t like assholes. Don’t be one. Now get your shit together.”

  Ezra hung up the phone in his version of a huff, leaving John alone and still not prepared for the important conversations that would follow.

  Sophie Katz parked the car in the parking lot and walked along the path of the RV park.

  An RV park. February snow in Virginia Beach. What was her life?

  She didn’t believe in signs and portents when this whole strange trip had started, but right now, locking her car and preparing to head towards the biggest story of her life, she realized she might have to start.

  Back in September, she’d been a lowly international correspondent, on a DC desk for the New York Chronicle. Then one of her contacts at the Canadian Embassy, Adam Klein, not only put her in position to break the story of the President’s Blackmail notebook, but also put her in charge of his charity hockey project shortly thereafter.

  Weird as it was, that that wasn’t all. In fact, on the same January day her editor returned a piece because it hadn’t placed enough emphasis on the sad childhood experienced by the Nazis who desecrated a DC temple, Sophie had received an official offer from LIB TV to join the network. It was so easy to say ‘screw you’ to the paper that didn’t feel like home anymore and jump to television.

  Except she had no breaking story to take to the network. They were okay with all of it; after all, the executives told her, the gal who brought the blackmail notebook to the world would find a story in no time.

  It took two months, during which she negotiated her exit from the paper and continued working on her newsletter. The story? It came from her mentor. According to Baum, this was from another of his mentees, a guy who apparently had a nose for stories.