Rook (Political Royalty Book 2) (11 page)

The blonde nodded stoically before throwing it back to the field reporter standing in the rain in front of a diner in the middle of God knows where. He tugged at his North Face parka, probably bought for the occasion. It certainly looked new enough. Water dripped off the brim of his hood as he talked about the small community devastated by the morning’s events.
Why did they think the news sounded more authentic if the reporter delivered it standing in the rain?
Honestly, it made it hard to hear, visibility was shit, and who were they trying to convince? Waterlogged reporters didn’t tell better truths.

He’d never understood why they didn’t stay in the studio or hell, even in the diner, interviewing patrons, just not out in the weather. Television’s crazy visuals was one of the reasons he’d stuck with print journalism, despite the fact that it lost an increasingly larger share of the market every year. He appreciated the inherent impartiality of the written word. He also liked staying dry.

“What’s going on?” asked his sister, sitting up in the bed behind him. Her voice sounded rough from sleep and for a moment he wondered if she was going through the same kind of remembering ritual he had.

“A bridge collapsed during rush hour in Vermont.” He didn’t spout the death toll and injured statistics. She could read it herself if she wanted to know. He wasn’t going to hide anything but he wasn’t going to add to the crap either.

“Oh God, that’s awful,” she said, crawling to the foot of the bed to sit beside him.

He glanced from the television to her. Her eyes were shadowed, but some of the color had come back to her cheeks, and she didn’t look as haunted as she had when he found her in the lab the day before. If anything, watching the news seemed to pull her more completely into the present. He’d take whatever small steps he could get and be grateful for them. Even if they came at the expense of some other poor fucks.

“You better get back to work. Your guy is going to have to react to this, right?” She gazed up at him, shrinking into herself a little. “You can’t afford to hang out here with me any longer.”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” he said, more sure of that decision than he’d been of any he’d ever made.

“You’ll lose your job. I won’t let you do that. That fucker’s not taking that too.” She smacked his arm hard enough to sting, and if he hadn’t seen the pain in her eyes, he would have been grateful she felt up to bossing him around.

But she wasn’t up to doing anything. He knew her well enough to tell she was putting on a brave face and muscling through. There were other papers and there’d be other campaigns. He had a tiny nest egg he could live on until he got Becca settled and got back on his feet. Her student loans would take care of her tuition and when he found another job, he could pick up the slack again. Not ideal but doable.

“You don’t get to make that decision for me,” he said, rubbing his arm. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

The newscaster announced that Governor Jenson would be holding a press conference in a few hours and Matt bit back a groan. If Jenson was making a statement, Walker was sure to follow, and if he didn’t cover it, he really would lose his job. His editor wouldn’t give a fuck why he wasn’t there—not that he’d ever tell her—she’d just replace him first chance she got. He didn’t have any illusions about her affections. She let him get away with crap because it suited her, not because of anything to do with him. Maybe he could persuade Jess to send him updates on Walker’s next move.
Maybe hell would freeze over too.

“What are you going to do? Follow me around campus? Sit next to me in the computer lab? No way. Get your ass back to the campaign and do your job. I know how much you like this Walker guy. Personally, I don’t know why, but I could tell when you talked about him that you believed whatever he’s selling. Don’t use me as an excuse to screw things up.”

He wasn’t using what happened to her to justify anything, but he could appreciate the nice little bit of psychology she used on him. Even as kids, she’d been able to twist him around her finger and get him to do what she wanted. All while he believed it had been his idea in the first place. It had taken him years to catch on to her tactics and learn to use them himself.

“Nice try, but no. It’s a nonnegotiable, Becs,” he said, taking her hand and cradling it in his.

Her fingers were so small and white next to his larger rougher ones. His whole life, he’d been holding her smaller hand. From the first time she grabbed his finger with her chubby little baby fist when his mom and dad brought her home from the hospital until he helped move her into her dorm room freshman year. He didn’t need a push, but if he had, seeing her hand in his would have been more than enough. He’d take care of her. Because if he was honest with himself, it was the only good thing about him. The rest of the time he was pretty much a selfish pig and comfortable with it.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You dumb shit.”

She bumped her shoulder with his, but he could tell by the smile catching the corner of her lips that she was grateful. Even if she couldn’t say it out loud. They sat side by side on the polyester bedspread and watched the news unfold on the television as the death toll continued to tick upwards.

“It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it?” she said and he nodded.

A small image of an empty podium with a Jenson sign and the obligatory American flag backdrop filled the bottom corner of the screen. They were clearly waiting to cut live to the governor’s press conference as soon as it started. Matt would wait a couple of minutes and then step out into the hallway to see if he could get a hold of Jess. Maybe she’d be willing to feed him enough to keep his editor from firing him right away.

“There’s another choice.”

“What?” he asked, shaking himself out of his thoughts and back to the present. “What choice?”

“I know you’re not willing to leave me here alone. I don’t agree,” she said, holding her hand defiantly in front of her. “But I’m not stupid enough to try to change your pigheaded mind. If you won’t leave me, why don’t I go along with you? Like a road trip.”

He glanced over to see if she was serious and the expression on her face was almost hopeful. Eager even.

“What about school? Won’t that screw up your studies? I don’t want you messing up your GPA. That kind of stuff always mattered to you.” He’d been the slacker who had to wait to get accepted to college. She’d been the four point two five honor student who got in on early admission.

“Not really. I’m ahead on my project. I already took my only exam until the end of term and the week after next is spring break. A couple of weeks won’t kill me and it could be fun. I’ve never seen behind the scenes of a campaign. Democracy at work and all that. Unless it would cause a problem for you.”

“Hell no,” he said and had the pleasure of watching her smile a real smile, the kind that lit up her face. “I’d love that. We could fly back to Ohio to hook up with the campaign and then rent a car to follow the bus. I should warn you. The food is crap and the hotels are questionable.” He ran through the finances in his head—two last-minute airline tickets, hotel rooms on one expense account budget instead of two, and double the meals. He’d barely be able to cover it, but at least he’d still have a job.

“You can’t pay for everything,” she said. “I won’t let you.”

He gave her the look he’d been using since they were kids to show exactly what he thought of her paying for anything. “Of course I can. That’s a nonnegotiable too. What else are credit cards for?”

She practically beamed at him, not like her old self but he could see her somewhere in there.

“Road trip,” he said, giving her one last squeeze before grabbing his phone to book their flight.

––––––––

J
ENSON WAS SUPPOSED to get out of the race. Walker pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and tallied all the ways his day had gotten fucked. It started with Sandra waltzing back in just as he’d finally gotten a minute alone with Haven and built steadily up to Jenson’s press conference. And that was just the self-indulgent whiny parts. It didn’t include the fact that over thirty people died on their way to work and school that morning. God help him if he ever forgot what really mattered. That things weren’t always about him, even if it sometimes felt like they were.

He had Sandra to remind him, as an example anyway. She’d seen an opportunity for some national press and she’d turned the fucking plane around. Not literally, but close. He glanced over to see his wife cloistered with Abby and the girls in the hotel suite they’d set up as a makeshift war room. They were supposed to be on their way to Illinois but the bridge collapse changed everything. There were speeches to draft and press conferences to hold before he could get back on the bus and back on the trail.

Instead of being on the road with Haven, with at least the chance of some time alone, he was stuck playing the family man again with Sandra clinging to his arm like an accessorized appendage. He was so tired of feeling so alone. Of seeing what he wanted and not being able to get it. He was just tired.

Thirteen days straight on the campaign trail and he could barely remember his name anymore. It would be better for all of them if he took a couple of hours and stole a nap before he did something stupid, like chuck the whole presidential thing aside to drag Haven to his bed for a week or two. What a mess.

Jenson stepped up to the microphone and thumped it a couple of times. After all his years in front of a camera, surely he knew better than to do that by now. Walker held out hope to the last minute that the older man would still suspend his campaign but after the first sentence, it was clear that wouldn’t be the case.

“What happened this morning was a tragedy of the worst kind,” said Jenson, winding up to his subject. “People count on their government to maintain a basic level of safety on our highways and bridges. Losing a loved one at any time is heartbreaking. Losing them to something that might have been prevented is unfathomable.”

“He just blamed Vermont for the tragedy,” said Justin, looking up from the desk where he and Haven had been working.

Walker spent all day trying to avoid looking at his campaign manager, afraid if he made eye contact, everyone in the room would see how much he wanted her. It was damned near impossible in the close quarters and only the presence of his wife and daughters in the suite kept him from blowing it.

“I have been a governor for over half a decade. I understand the difficulty of running a state during challenging budget times. I also understand the public trust and the sacred duty it is to uphold it.”

“Give me a break,” said Haven under her breath.

“The people of the great state of Vermont and the people of the United States of America deserve better than shoddy infrastructure and bridges and highways they can’t trust. And,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect. “They deserve someone who knows how to make sure the things they count on are taken care of.”

He didn’t shout
a vote for Jenson is a vote for the people
, but the way he raised his hand at the end made it clear he felt like it. Watching the governor pimping for votes in the wake of a tragedy solidified something for Walker.

“What an ass,” muttered Justin, barely looking up.

“Shep, darling,” said Sandra, crossing the room to stand beside him. She hooked her hand around his arm and he had to fight to keep from pulling away. “I thought the governor was dropping out of the race. Isn’t that what your campaign staff said?” She waved her hand over her shoulder in Haven’s direction, not bothering to mention her by name.

God, he was so completely screwed.
He might be in a real fight for his party’s nomination, but he’d also ended up stuck in a room with a wife he couldn’t divorce and a lover he couldn’t get enough of.

“Yes, Mrs. Walker,” said Haven with infinite patience. “It looked like Governor Jenson would leave the race this week. He’s obviously decided the bridge collapse gives him some political capital he can cash in on. It’s too soon to know if he’s right or not.”

“How can he be?” asked Justin. “Arkansas isn’t exactly a gold star example of infrastructure maintenance. It’s like a redneck pot calling the kettle black. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Haven turned her gaze on Justin, and Walker could see him swallow and then nod. “Point taken. Crazier things have happened. Truth is relative.”

“What about you?” Sandra tugged on his arm like a petulant child.

When had he started to hate her?
She was the mother of his children and his childhood friend. Granted, she’d never been the love of his life, but still. He owed her better.

“Shouldn’t you be standing in front of the cameras? You have political capital too, don’t you?”

“We’re working on the senator’s response now,” said Haven in answer to his wife.

Seeing the two of them together suddenly made everything very clear. His personal life might be fucked, but he knew what he wanted to do politically.

“I’m not holding a press conference,” he said, ignoring Sandra’s protest to meet Haven’s gaze. She couldn’t look away from him. Not without appearing to avoid the man she worked for. “We’ll issue a statement with our condolences for the victims and nothing else. Tomorrow we can hammer the domestic policy stuff and the way resources are allocated, but not today. I’m not pimping for votes on the bodies of people’s family members. We say we’re so sorry and we’re praying for the victims and the survivors and that’s it. Understand?” On the last word, he turned his attention to Sandra and waited until his wife swallowed whatever she’d been about to say and nodded. She didn’t like it but she’d known him long enough to know better than to try to change his mind. That at least was something.

“With all due respect, Senator,” said Haven, interrupting his thoughts. “That’s a mistake.”

He turned to face her, ready to fight for what he wanted. If he couldn’t make love to her, fighting with her was the next best thing.

“The written statement,” she said, reading his expression. “Not the message. You have that part right, but people should hear it from you, not from a reporter or in the morning papers. You need to do it live.”