Sway (Landry Family #1) (26 page)

“I had to be separated from Nolan this morning. I was this close to losing it on him, Alison. Trust me when I tell you that is not what he was authorized to put out there, and if we weren’t this close to the election, I’d fire him. But the reality is, we are and I’m trying to be rational, to think about the big picture.”

Looking away from him because the hurt in his eyes is too much to see, I allow the pain of seeing the words in black and white pierce me again. I don’t want to feel it and it would be so much easier to pretend like it never happened. Falling into his arms, under his spell, would be head-and-shoulders more fun. But I can’t. Because I know where that leads. Because I promised myself I would be stronger. Because I deserve more than this.

When I look in his face, I can’t help but feel my heart break. I want to heal him, reassure him, but I can’t. Not yet. Not until I’m sure I can withstand whatever the future could hold if this doesn’t work out, because this pain? This is the tip of the iceberg if everything starts to melt.

“I know I come with a lot of ‘extras.’ I just . . . I’m sorry,” he says again, the puffiness around his eyes making me wonder how much sleep he’s getting.

“I believe you.”

“You do?”

I nod, but take a step back. “I don’t think you knew about this. Not really. But you know what? It hurts all the same, Barrett.”

“I know. Let me fix it.”

A small smile creeps across my face and he doesn’t miss the sadness in the gesture. His eyes go wide, his face pale, and I think he’s going to lunge at me and hold me against him. A part of me wouldn’t object, but I don’t get the choice because he doesn’t move.

“There isn’t some magic button that can fix this,” I point out.

“I can’t take it back now. I can’t make this un-public,” he groans. “What do I fucking do? What do you want me to do?”

The lines of his face shine in the sun streaming through the window. I see every crease, every line of stress, every pinch of frustration in his handsome face. My lips want to press against the wrinkles, my hands crave to smooth out his anxiety, but I hold back.

“I want you to give me some time to think about this.”

“Why?” he says, his voice now touched with irritation. “You said you know I didn’t do this on purpose.”

“That’s true. But that doesn’t mean this didn’t just change the game for me.”

“This isn’t a fucking game,” he barks.

“No, it isn’t.” My voice stays calm as I watch him pace again. “But it is exactly, unequivocally what I didn’t want. It would’ve been different if the article was right, and people knew who I was and gave me space. Now they’ll look at me like I’m pathetic, and I refuse to be made the laughingstock of another city because of a man.”

“No one is laughing at you,” he gulps. “They’re laughing at me.”

A heavy breath leaves my lips. “The timing of this also makes me worried. Am I going to get asked about it or mocked because—”

“You better fucking not.”

We face each other, the room pushing us closer, but we both fight it. Me out of self-preservation, him out of manners. The clock on the wall ticks softly and every second we stand there feels like an hour.

His chests rises and falls, his lips falling open as his breathing quickens. His nostrils flare just a bit as he bites down and the muscle in his jaw clenches.

“I need to pick Hux up from school,” I say quietly. “He has a dentist appointment.”

“We haven’t finished talking.”

“We have to be finished for now,” I say, forcing myself to turn away from him. On some level, I’m grateful for the excuse to get away. I need to think.

“When can I see you again?”

I pick up my purse off the chair. The papers sit inches away and I make myself not look at them.

He takes a deep breath and blows it out. “If you want time to think about this, I get it. I’ll give you that.”

“I need to make sure this is something I can handle,” I gulp. “All of a sudden, this just got very real.”

His arms come around my waist from behind and I sink back into his chest. I breathe in his cologne and let it carry me away from reality for a few seconds.

“It was always real to me,” he whispers and kisses the top of my head.

Alison

I CURL MY FEET UNDER
me and look up at the stars. The moon is bright and high in the sky, yet the air chilly.

I tug the blanket closer to my body and look at Lola sitting on the other side of the patio furniture. She picks up the bottle of cheap wine and offers me more. I motion for her to fill it up.

“You’ve had three glasses,” she points out, having grabbed some sort of logic on the way over after my frantic call when Huxley went to sleep. “You’re a lightweight. We’d better cut you off.”

“Don’t even start making sense now, Lo. This is not the time.”

She laughs and tosses the now-empty bottle into the trashcan by the door. It hits the bottom with a thud.

“So . . .” She waits on me to stop talking about the research paper I finished tonight and about my early shift at Hillary’s. I’ve discussed why my oil needs changed in my car and how I’m suddenly craving hummus. Anything and everything has been toyed with tonight, except the reason I called her, a reason we both know.

“So . . .” I heave a breath, not sure how to bring it up or what part to bring up or if I even want to bring it up to start with. What I wanted was to not be alone with my thoughts.

“What happened after I left?” she asks carefully. “Did things go okay?”

I nod and down the rest of the wine in my glass.

“Why do I think you’re lying? No, strike that—why do I know you’re lying?”

“I don’t know, maybe because I’m drinking wine like a fish?”

“Good point.”

I sigh and rest my head on her shoulder, the low alcohol content in the inexpensive wine finally adding up to enough percentage to dull my senses. My thoughts aren’t so jammed. They’re clearer if not a little muddled, which makes no sense and all the sense in the world.

“He said he was sorry. He swore to me he didn’t know the statement was going to say that, and the other article about the baby was a shocker.” I shake my head. “No, not a shocker. He knew it was happening, just not today.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Mhmm,” I mumble, letting my eyelids drift closed. It’s a delightful feeling to trust the peace of the dark.

“You do?”

“Yup,” I say, fluttering open my lids. “I do. I don’t think he knew it was going to be so unflattering to me and there’s no part of me that really, truly believes he staged this to happen at the same time.”

“So you don’t think the timing was suspicious?”

I shrug. “Maybe it was a coincidence or maybe his people knew exactly what was happening with the ex-girlfriend or whoever in the hell she is or was. But did Barrett? I don’t think so.”

Her face scrunches in thought as we gaze across the yard. We sit like that a long time, both of us lost in thought, trying to make sense of this ridiculous situation with a man neither of us imagined we’d ever be discussing like this. Maybe it would be easier if we weren’t.

“So boil it down for me,” she requests. “If you believe him, what’s the problem?”

I take a deep breath and look at Lo. She gives me a small smile, encouraging the words out of my mouth. They’re on the tip of my tongue, but I hesitate. She’s going to just tell me I’m stupid and, truthfully, maybe I am. Maybe it’s ridiculous to feel the way I do, but I can’t help it.

Once you’ve been burned by someone, the scars never leave. They become more sensitive to the same type of fire that got you once, tingling when you get too close to the heat. And as much as I’m starting to really,
really
adore Barrett Landry, the sensation is still there that maybe this is another fire.

It’s possible I’m being overprotective of myself. There’s a chance I’m overthinking things. But if I had overthought them a little more with Hayden, maybe my scars wouldn’t run so deep.

My lips twist together, feeling swollen from the wine. My eyes wet, glaze over, and I fight hard not to cry.

“Ali?”

“Tell me I’m being stupid. Tell me I’m being completely idiotic for being scared.”

“Oh, my friend,” she says, amusement thick in her voice, “I’ll never tell you that being scared is wrong. Being scared saves lives. Hell, it saves venereal diseases and unplanned pregnancies,” she laughs. “But that doesn’t mean it’s always warranted either.”

Looking up at the night sky, I try to find the stars that look like a baseball. I don’t find it—the sky still looks like an erratic mess of twinkling lights. But it also causes my heart to beat wildly as I remember my first walk with Barrett.

“He makes me feel like I’m important to him. Barrett looks at me and sees me, Lo. He sees my heart. And he’s so great with Hux. He makes me feel like I matter to him, he asks my opinions. He . . .”

“Sucks grapes out of your hoohah?”

I burst into a fit of laughter. “That too.”

“So what you’re saying here is that he convinced you he’s this great guy, one that was good enough to lay aside your reservations and give it a whirl. And yet, at the first sign of struggle, you’re rethinking everything?”

Gulping, I feel my cheeks heat. “I’m not necessarily rethinking everything. I’m trying to be smart, Lola. I’m trying to make sure I’m not walking into a replica of what I walked away from.”

“No offense,” she says, tipping back the rest of her wine. “But Barrett Landry is spades over Hayden Baker. Okay? Regardless of what Barrett’s done to upset you, let’s not put him on the level with your asshole ex. It’s not like he has paraded up the steps of a swanky hotel with a hooker at his heels.” She groans. “And with a hooker in ridiculously ugly heels.”

I glare at her.

“What? They were. They actually looked Bedazzled, Ali. Who does that? And who fucks that?”

I roll my eyes, grateful for the bit of levity but knowing it’s not enough to completely distract me.

She wraps her arm around my shoulder and snuggles into me like only a best friend can. I wonder absentmindedly what would’ve changed if I’d had her in New Mexico when I was going through everything. I was alone then. Would it have been easier if I’d had her there? Because this is a lot easier with her here.

“I think, in my infinite wisdom, you need to give the disastrously hot mayor the benefit of the doubt,” she says matter-of-factly.

“What if it destroys me in the end?”

“Hey,” she says, tugging the blanket around her waist. “You were the one that insisted on tangling up the heart and vagina. I believe my initial suggestion was to keep them separate.”

“They’re pretty wound together.”

“I think they’re more wound together than you even realize.”

The stars twinkle a little brighter as I acknowledge that she’s right. Every part of me is tangled up in this irresistibly handsome politician and I’m afraid there’s no way out.

I’m really afraid I might not want a way out.

Barrett

The house is dark, just the light over the cook top is on. I sit at the kitchen table and take another swig of bourbon.

The room is full of expensive pieces of furniture from a double oven to a restaurant-style refrigerator. The table I’m sitting at was handcrafted, as were the barstools lining the granite-topped bar. It’s a warm room, the one everyone calls the heart of the home. Most assuredly the most expensive room in this house. Yet, when I think about sitting here or sitting at the little beat-up table at Alison’s, there’s no question where I’d rather be.

And it isn’t fucking here.

My body aches. My shoulders are stiff, my head feels like I’ve gone a few rounds with my trainer. My throat is scratchy from yelling so much today, my knuckle a little ripped from hitting a punching bag at the gym with no gloves. The pain felt purifying, distracting from my true ailment—a blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl that I just might have ruined my chances with.

Not being able to smooth this over with her destroys me. Seeing the pain on her face, the little spec of insecurity in who I am and what I believe about her, hasn’t left me all day. In fact, it’s only pressurized, built, and now is bubbling over.