The Kingmaker

by Ryan, Kennedy

I glance up and find Maxim’s eyes set on me. It’s a cool night in San Francisco, but when our gazes connect, a blast of heat covers my entire body. His eyes leave mine to fall over me—my breasts and hips and thighs, all the way to my feet. He takes his time retracing the path back up and over each dip and curve until he’s looking into my eyes again. I don’t nod or smile, but I can’t tear my eyes away from him.

  He emanates power—the physical power of his muscles and strong body subdued by the expensive clothing made to mold his form. He carries a magnetic aura that draws senators, congressmen, ambassadors—all want a piece of him for the wealth he’s acquired and the influence he wields. There’s the power of his mind, that sharp tool he’s honed to build an empire from scratch without his father’s assistance through a series of risks only a buccaneer would hazard. And finally, there’s the power he seems to have over me—a visceral, personal force that knows how to tempt me, that fascinates and mesmerizes me. All the others he’s carefully cultivated, but the power he holds over me, I think it’s effortless.

  His assistant tugs on his arm drawing his attention away, and I take the opportunity to move as if released from a trance.

  “Biggest night of the campaign so far,” I mutter to myself. “and you’re mooning over the candidate’s brother.”

  When the moment arrives, it’s obvious Owen was made for it. He takes the stage, his wife and twins standing with him.

  “I want to thank all of you for coming tonight,” he says with a smile that encompasses the entire room. “I’m sure you had a dozen places you could have been to bring in the New Year, but you chose to be here with my family and me.”

  He turns to the right where we have strategically grouped most of the college leaders. I look to the back of the room and catch our producer’s eye, silently signaling him to make sure we get all those young, eager faces on camera for B-roll later. He nods and speaks into his headset.

  “And a special thanks to all the young leaders who came on buses, trains, in caravans from all across the country to be with us tonight.” Owen gestures to the cluster of students who, as I knew they would, cheer as loudly as if Owen is scoring a touchdown instead of making a political speech. “Your energy and foresight and compassion are the things that will secure our future. I just hope us old folks don’t screw it up too badly before you get it.”

  More cheers, and Kimba and I put our heads close together to whisper, identifying which of them it will be good to get reactions from after the announcement.

  “When I started in the Senate ten years ago, I had that same energy and enthusiasm for getting things done,” Owen says, a rueful grin tipping one side of his mouth. “It’s easy to lose sight of our dreams and of the things that motivated us to public service in the first place when we get trapped in bureaucracy and political infighting. Being around you reminds me why it’s so important we never stop striving for the best of ourselves and of this country.

  “Many of you may have heard rumors of my possible presidential run,” he says with a chuckle. “I know. Rumors in DC? Hard to believe. I’m confirming tonight that I have formed a presidential exploratory committee.”

  The room erupts, and even the more staid party-goers seem to be affected by the youthful enthusiasm the students emit, and the energy skyrockets.

  “If we get this much juice from the exploratory committee announcement,” Kimba says from the corner of her brightly-painted mouth, “imagine when he announces that he’s actually running.”

  I nod my agreement, about to speak when I notice Maxim standing against the wall watching me. Before I realize what I’m doing, I take a step in his direction.

  “Lenn,” Kimba says, jerking my attention away from Maxim and halting my steps. “Mark wants you in the back.”

  By the time I speed-walk to the back and answer the producer’s questions, Owen is wrapping up.

  “So over the next few months,” Owen says, “my team, my family and I will continue to kick the tires and see how far this should go.”

  The students start chanting, “ALL THE WAY! ALL THE WAY!”

  Owen smiles and holds up his hand to quiet the crowd so he can land the plane.

  “There’s a lot ahead,” he says. “We hope soon to herald in a new era of politics in this, our great nation. Tonight, though, we’re heralding a new year. Grab a glass of champagne and find the ones you want to be closest to. I’ll be back in a few minutes to count in another great year. Thank you again for coming.”

  I search the crowded room for Maxim, finding him still leaning on the wall with his arms folded, the ambassador’s daughter stuck to his side like flypaper. My hands ball into fists, my fingernails digging into my palms.

  “Just staring,” Kimba says from beside me, “won’t get him.”

  I didn’t even notice her come up, I was so fixated on them.

  “What?” I drag my eyes away from the two glamorous people across the room, him a dark contrast to her fairness. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Come on, Lenn,” Kimba says, her usual no-nonsense tone somewhat gentled. “This is your girl. Talk to me.”

  For a moment, I plan to ignore the frank sympathy in my best friend’s eyes, to tough it out and pretend I’m not in the midst of some kind of existential crisis, but I’m tired of holding this armor in place. It’s slipping anyway.

  “He asked for another chance,” I say after a pause. “Maxim, he said he was young and stupid and made a mistake before. He asked me to forgive him.”

  Kimba nods slowly, dipping her head to catch my lowered eyes. “And have you forgiven him?”

  My laugh comes quick and hollow. “Well, yeah. I guess somewhere along the way, I did.”

  “Praise Jesus. I was gonna give you ’til the end of this campaign, honey, and then smack some sense into you.”

  “That won’t be necessary. At least, I don’t think so.” I glance across the room where he stands with the Russian princess. “If he’s even still interested.”

  “Oh, he’s interested.” Kimba follows my stare. “He’s a patient man.”

  “Not really,” I say with a laugh. “Quite the opposite, but he’s trying.”

  “Then why keep him waiting? Talk to him. Tell him tonight.”

  I glance at my watch. “The toast is in ten minutes.”

  “The hard part is over for now. Owen’ll come back and do the countdown and then the New Year’s Eve toast.”

  “And then the CNN interview,” I remind her.

  She rolls her eyes up to Millie’s glittering chandelier and expels a lengthy sigh. “Screw it. I’ll do the interview.”

  I press the back of my hand to her forehead.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, her expression puzzled.

  “Checking for fever.”

  Her laugh is hearty. “You better go get that man before I change my mind.”

  “You sure?”

  “Girl, what’d I say?”

  “Thank you.” I smile and loop my arms around her neck. “Happy New Year.”

  I draw a deep breath and cross the room toward Maxim, growing more confident with each step. It seems to take forever, but finally I’m standing right in front of him. He glances up, his posture indolent, his hands in his pockets, but his eyes are sharp and questioning.

  I don’t look at the beautiful blonde standing next to him, but address him directly.

  “How do I get rid of her?” I ask, borrowing his question about Wallace that day in the coffee shop.

  She gasps and then chuckles, surprising me into glancing at her. She really is exquisite. Her brown eyes are amused, not offended, and her smile is natural and blinding.

  Maxim tips his head to the side, watching me. “Katya, could you give us a minute?”

  “Of course,” Katya says, her accent thick and sexy. “Also, I told you. I knew what I was doing.”

  Conversations continue around us, but we stare at each other for seconds that stretch into a minute.

/>   “What did she mean?” I finally ask. “When she said she knew what she was doing?”

  A small smile crooks his full lips. “She thought I should make you jealous.”

  “Why would she . . . how does she know me?”

  “She doesn’t.” He sketches a casual shrug with his broad shoulders. “She wanted to suck my dick and I said no.”

  My teeth clench and I swallow around the painful lump in my throat. “Why’d you say no?”

  “Because I don’t want anyone sucking my dick but you.”

  My eyes snap up to meet his, and they’re completely serious. There’s no sign of humor. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” I ask.

  “The garden.” He tips his head toward a large set of French doors. “Through there.”

  I nod, and he pushes off the wall, grabs my hand, and leads me across the room and through the door. I hope the press of bodies hides our clasped hands. I don’t need any rumors getting started, or to field dumb questions from snoopy journalists bored with politics and looking for more.

  Once outside, we’re swallowed by shadows. He’s just an intimidating silhouette. I’d know the shape of him, his scent anywhere, but what do I really know about this man asking me to trust him on a new adventure? One that risks not just something of his, but of mine?

  My heart.

  He pulls me deeper into the garden until a tall hedge of bushes shelters us on every side. We’ve entered a maze of sorts and continue a few yards more until we reach a small stone bench. He sits and leans back, supporting his weight with his hands flattened on the bench and his arms stretched straight.

  “Talk to me, Nix,” he says, watching my face closely in the moonlight. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  I blink at the sudden hot wetness behind my eyes.

  I’m afraid.

  I want to tell him that I can face down Dobermans and tear gas and rubber bullets at a protest. I can give speeches broadcast to hundreds of thousands of people without a second thought. I can lead a team to elect governors and maybe even a president. But the thought of trusting him with so much of myself . . . again, scares me.

  “Wallace and I aren’t together.” I start with the easiest of the things I need to say.

  Maxim’s brows lift and a satisfied grin spreads across his handsome face. “When did this happen?”

  “Oh, about three months after we got together.” I pause for impact. “Almost ten years ago.”

  His smile disappears. “Excuse me? But you said . . . you lied to me?”

  “Not exactly,” I say, my voice offering no apology. “I did what you did. I let you believe what you wanted about the truth.”

  “The hell I did that. What do you mean?”

  “I did start dating him the year I graduated from college. I just left out that we only lasted three months.”

  “You two still seem extremely close. Why didn’t it work out?”

  “We are the best of friends.” I chuckle. “You’ll laugh at this. I told him it was like having sex with my foster step-cousin.”

  He’s quiet while I snicker.

  “You thought I would laugh about you fucking someone else?” he asks, a serrated edge to his voice. “I don’t find that funny at all.”

  My light laughter fizzles into a thickening silence. He doesn’t crack a smile. “You’re being really intense right now, Doc.”

  “I thought you knew I’m pretty intense when it comes to you.” Our stare holds in the moonlight with only the faintest clink of glasses and music in the distance. “I already knew you dated Wallace before because I kept tabs on you through the years. Not in a stalkery way.”

  “Is there a non-stalkery way to keep tabs on someone for ten years?”

  “Yeah, the way I did it.”

  “If you say so,” I say with a tiny smirk. “Why’d you keep tabs on me in this non-stalkerish manner?”

  “I wanted to see how your career was going. I knew you’d do great, but even I never imagined you’d do so well so quickly.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And I was curious if you married or had kids, a family.” He pauses before going on. “What I had with you, I’ve never even come close with anyone else, and that was in only a week. Imagine if it had been more. Now it can be more if you give me another chance.”

  “I don’t know, Doc.” I let the words fall, unsure if I should pick them up again. I know what I want, that I want him, but the fear I hid even from myself still makes me hesitate.

  “Give me another chance, Nix. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “That’s all?” I nearly choke on my disbelieving laugh. “You’re a wolf in wolf’s clothing. You’ll want everything.”

  “Everything.” His agreement comes softly, but his eyes turn hard as sea glass. “There’ll be no one else for you.”

  “See what I mean? You’ll be growly and possessive and demanding.”

  “Of course I will.”

  “You’ll be all mine, mine, dammit, mine and—”

  “Only when someone needs reminding.”

  “I’m embarking on the most important campaign of my life, Maxim.”

  “So am I, and I’m not talking about Owen’s.”

  “Doc,” I groan. “Maybe this isn’t the right time. It’s a lot fast.”

  “Fast? It’s been ten years.” He reaches up and caresses my lips with his thumb. “Any time we can get our shit together is the right time.”

  “There’s something else we need to discuss.” I fix my eyes on the expensive boots peeking out from beneath his pants. “Wallace wasn’t the only thing I hid behind. I think I hid behind your lies.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My therapist has a theory about me.” I laugh humorlessly. “She has several because apparently, I’m a basket case.”

  He doesn’t laugh, but reaches for my hand and pulls me forward a few inches to stand between his legs. I don’t pull back.

  “Tell me these theories.”

  “Mena agrees with her. She always says, ‘you paid a stranger to tell you what I told you years ago.’” I lift my eyes to briefly meet his, but the intensity of his gaze is so much, I look back to the ground right away.

  “Which was?” he asks.

  “She said when my mother disappeared, I shut a part of myself off because I was afraid to feel. Afraid to hope. I understand myself better now than I did when I was younger. It wasn’t hard for me to abstain from sex because I need an emotional connection for physical intimacy, and I allowed myself that with very few people after my mother died.”

  “I get that.”

  “But then I met you again in Amsterdam.” I shake my head and squeeze the bridge of my nose. “And it was like someone took a stick of dynamite to a dam, and everything that had been held back gushed out. I felt everything. More than I had ever felt. When you told me you would walk away, I think I dealt with that prospect pretty well.” A bark of laughter scrapes my throat. “What you didn’t say is you might almost die a few times. I could handle you walking away a lot better than that.”

  A single tear skids down my check and I swipe at it. “I hated that you made me hope, you made me pray again when you disappeared. No one could get to you. We weren’t sure if you were dead or alive. And I just . . .”

  I shake my head and heave a breath, searching for the strength to keep going. He squeezes my hand, silently encouraging me to continue. I reach down to touch his hair, pushing it back to expose the silvery scar where stitches used to be.

  “I had poured all my feelings into protest, into activism, into my studies—those things never let me down. They never disappeared.”

  “But I did,” he says, understanding in his voice. “I disappeared.”

  “Yeah, you did.” I drop my hand from his hair. “You disappeared, and I hoped and hoped and hoped like I promised myself I never would have to hope again. I thought you would die.”

  “But I didn’t,” he reminds me, his voice rising. “Baby,
I didn’t.”

  “But you hadn’t even gotten home and were already planning to go to the damn Amazon, and then God knows where. You love danger.”

  “No, I don’t love danger,” he says, his frown fierce and marring the line of his brows. “I love knowledge, and some mysteries have to be pursued. The greatest innovations, inventions, and solutions don’t just fall into our laps. Some answers have to be hunted down.”

  “And they’re worth the risk, right? I heard the interviews after. You’re a thrill-seeker. You’re reckless. I didn’t have enough hope left for someone like you, and I couldn’t have my heart broken that way again.”

  I close my eyes tightly, but the image of me whispering my mother’s name into the wind won’t go away. “Not like that. I can’t live through that again.”

  “And my lie was the perfect excuse for you to give up on me.”

  “In retrospect, I think so.” I run a trembling hand through my hair. “And it worked until you came back and started demanding that I feel again.”

  He wraps his hands around the backs of my legs and brings me even deeper into the V of his thighs. “We can do this, Nix.”

  “Can we? Is it worth it for someone I barely even know?”

  His head snaps back. “Barely know? I’ve known you since you were seventeen years old.”

  “Technically, yeah, but—”

  “I know your favorite color is blue–green,” he says, tightening his hands on me. “Because they’re just better blended together.”

  I bend my head, hiding my smile.

  “I know you used to want to be a clown,” he continues, “but then decided to pursue the more conventional path of being an astronaut.”

  He palms the curve of my waist with one hand and lifts my chin with one finger, holding my eyes when I raise them. “I know you’re the girl who chases stars, Nix.”

  I smile and push an errant lock of burnished dark hair back from his forehead. The humor fades from his eyes, from his expression.

  “I’ve seen the spot where you whispered your mother’s name to the wind,” he says, lacing his fingers with mine, drawing me down, unresisting, to perch on his leg. I snuggle into him, tucking my head into the strong slope of his shoulder and neck.