Sway (Landry Family #1) (39 page)

Graham waves through the window in the door, and I heave a breath. "Dad, I gotta go."

"I want to talk to you about this later."

"That's fine, but I have a speech to give."

I click the phone off and open the door. Graham and I exchange a look, one I can't explain, but one that I know like the back of my hand. Looking at him and seeing it, feeling it, let's me know that even if my father hates me over this, even if Nolan blasts me all over the place, my decision today was worth it. For the first time in a long time, I can be proud of what I’m doing, who I am, what I’m working for—and it has nothing to do with politics or careers or family vendettas.

"You have about ten minutes," Graham says, stepping inside. "They're making sure the microphones and shit work. Do you need anything?"

I shake my head, pulling my phone out of my pocket. "Let's turn this fucking thing off. Fuck it." I glance down and see Monroe's number flashing on the screen. "It's Monroe. Do I take it?"

Graham leans against the wall. "Hey, you're playing hardball today. Let's go big or go home."

I click the button and raise my brows at Graham. "What's going on, Monroe?"

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Landry?"

"Oh, I don't know, taking my campaign back, maybe. That's what it feels like anyway."

"I got a call last night that you are losing your shit. That I should be worried about endorsing you.”

I laugh, for the first time completely uncaring of what he thinks of me. “Maybe you should be. I am kind of reassessing my choices today."

"You know you won't win this election if I recant my support. I have enough time to change my mind on you publicly and I will. Don’t test me.”

"Tell you what, Monroe," I say, noticing a woman waving at us on the other side of the door. Graham slips out to deal with her. "Tune in to the news in a few minutes and you'll find out exactly what I've decided. Then you can feel free to blackmail me, torch me all you want in the press."

“It's time
,” Graham mouths through the glass.

"Talk to ya later." I click the phone completely off and open the door. "It's show time."

Barrett

The room is much fuller than I expected. Chairs take up most of the center of the room, each one with a journalist awaiting my arrival. Camera crews line the floor in front of the makeshift podium, as well as the walls lining the sides and the back of the room. Lights are lit for better recording, and that, coupled with all the bodies crammed into such a small space, makes the air heated, the energy in the room boiling.

Graham goes ahead of me and announces that I'll be on in a few moments. I'm standing in a hallway to the side. The crowd buzz quiets as Graham finishes his remarks and exits the stage. Before I know it, he's in front of me.

"Last chance," he says.

"I got this." I start towards the room, but twist back around. "Hey, Graham?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

I shrug. "For being there for me. This world I live in can feel pretty fucking lonely sometimes."

"You got this," he promises. "Go out there and set the bastards straight."

Popping open the door, I laugh. I'm strangely not nervous. My hands are completely calm as I glance down at the paper with my notes. I take the steps to the podium, feeling the anticipation in the air. I give myself a second to reassess my decision.
Do I want to do this?

I know the ramifications might be ugly. A part of me even believes this will tank my career. If that happens, I have no plan B. I don't know what I'll do afterwards. And I find it very fucking strange that none of that changes my mind.

I stand behind the podium and adjust the microphone. Gazing across the crowd, there are a ton of familiar faces. Journalists I've been interviewed by over and over again. Reporters that have written pieces good and bad, some that have offered services that extend beyond the professional level. A couple of people I've fucked. Memories from my time as Mayor flash before my eyes, and I smile, knowing I've done the best job I could. Even if this is the end of my career, the stopping point of my political adventure, I'm fine with that.

Opening my mouth to speak, I notice the back door opening. My father and Lincoln walk in and lean against the back wall. I study my father’s face, waiting for some indication as to what he's thinking, but it's blank. Our gazes break and I clear my throat, pasting on the mask for the cameras.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice." I look up and smile, giving them a photo op. The cameras flash, taking advantage of me posed behind the podium. I look back down at my notes, take a deep breath, and go for it.

"It's been my honor to work for the people of Savannah. I'm humbled at the trust placed in me to make decisions on behalf of the people of this city. It's been a challenging, fulfilling, successful journey. Together, we have made our city one of the best cities in the country, and I'm proud to have had a hand in that.

“As you well know, there’s an election today.”

That earns a chuckle from the people in front of me and I pause to give them another photo op that they eat up.

“When I made the decision to run for Governor, I thought, 'What if we could take the lessons learned from Savannah and apply them over the entire state?' 'What if we take the Landry formula and turn Georgia into the gem it should and deserves to be?' So I tossed my name in the hat. Looking back, it’s not a decision I regret, but one I wish I would’ve handled somewhat differently.”

The clicks of the cameras along with murmuring fill the air, and I look up at Lincoln. The smile on his face gives me the courage I need to speak again, to bare my soul to these vultures and, quite possibly, end my career.

“Politics has a way of eating people up. So many good men have been sidelined and silenced because of pressures put on them by others in this world. It’s a part of the game, a part of the industry, but I think that’s common knowledge. The part that most don’t realize, I know I didn’t, is how it sneaks up on you. One day you know exactly what you want and the next,” I shrug, “you aren’t sure who you are anymore.”

I look down, crumple my notes, and take a deep breath.

“It’s hard to find people in life that will tell you the truth. That will look you in the eye when things get hard and tell you what you need to hear, not what everyone is saying and not what you want them to say. The truth—it’s a rarity these days.

“Today, I want to make it absolutely clear who and what I am. Because if I am lucky enough to be chosen by the constituents of Georgia to be their Governor, I want you to know what I stand for and what I’ll do on your behalf.”

Cameras click away as I go through the Land Bill, letting them know I will support it and I will lose my endorsement from Monroe by saying as much. I let them know the platforms that mean the most to me—our economy and education—and what I intend to do to make them stronger if I’m in office.

“Some of this is new information, some of this is not,” I say, taking a deep breath. “But at the end of the day, it was important to me that we get on the same page, so, if I’m elected, I know it’s because you want me to do the things I think are best, not what I’m told to do.”

Questions begin to be shouted towards me as they sense I’m finished and a mic is held in front of a woman I’ve been interviewed by a few times. “Mayor, a lot is being said in the last few days about your stability. We’ve been hearing that you’re in a relationship, that you’re having a baby with another woman, and then you were with Ms. Monroe last night. Since you’re talking so off-the-cuff, would you mind addressing this for us?”

I lower the microphone to my mouth and look at Lincoln. He winks.

“Absolutely. I don’t feel I should waste my time or yours with these baby rumors because they’re just that—rumors. As for the third part of your question, Ms. Monroe is a friend from way back and she was with me last night because Ms. Baker wasn’t available,” I say, figuring it’s the truth in a round-about way. “And since we’re having to address my love life, I’d like to ask you to respect my privacy and Ms. Baker’s, as I respect yours. I realize I work for the people and my activities that deal with public policy are fair game. But who I love, where she works, and what we have for dinner isn’t anyone else’s business.”

“So you are still in a relationship?” someone shouts from the back.

“I am. Absolutely,” I say, hoping to God it’s the truth. “Alison Baker is, quite frankly, the love of my life. Let there be no question about that. And she has a little boy that I think the world of and I hope you can understand why he deserves to be left alone.”

More questions are shouted, but my throat is squeezed tight. Saying her name throws me off my game, my stomach rumbling with worry. Graham picks up on my wobble and comes on stage and takes charge, letting them know I have work to do for the election.

I exit through the door off the side and look around. The hallway is empty. I’m not sure why, but I feel incredibly lonely.

Like I just struck out.

Alison

A PLATTER OF PANCAKES AND
bacon is placed in front of me, Hux’s eyes lighting up when he sees his chocolate chip stack.

The server fills our drinks and scurries away to check on her other tables.

The diner is busy, the witching hour that straddles the breakfast and lunch rushes in full effect. We made it just in time for the first meal of the day, even though it’s approaching lunch.

“This looks good,” I say, drizzling syrup over my pancakes. I sound way more excited about this gooey pile of starch than I really am. My stomach churns with a mix of sadness and nerves, my head still not completely recovered from the day yesterday and staying up all night thinking. Regardless of the hundreds of times I rolled everything around, I’m still not sold on what to do.

I miss him. I miss him so damn much. My heart tells me to go back to him, to stop everything and go straight to the Farm. My brain tells me to take it slow, to think it all through, to remember reality. That I’ll know when I know.

But I don’t know.

Everyone is chattering about the election, their buttons pinned to their chests, stickers declaring they’ve exercised their constitutional right to vote displayed proudly. I wonder how Barrett’s holding up, how he’s doing, but I don’t know whether I should call.

Hux takes a bite of his breakfast “How do you feel today, Mom?”

“Good!” I say as brightly as I can. “What do you want to do today?”

His fork hits the side of the plate and he looks at me. “Do you want the truth?”

“Of course I want the truth.”

“I want to go home.”

I watch the tentativeness in his eyes, the hesitation as he watches my reaction. Forcing a swallow, I take a hasty sip of my water.

“I know you think we need a break or whatever,” Huxley says, “and I know that photographer thing made you nervous, but I really just want to go home.”

“Well . . .”

“Why did we leave, Mom? For real.” He waits for an answer but I’m not sure what to say. “I’m not a baby. I’m almost eleven. I can take it.”

“Hux, it’s complicated.”

“Is it because of Barrett?”

Laughing, I take a bite of my pancake. “I’m not discussing Barrett with you.”

“You’re my mom,” he says thoughtfully. “So you know that I pick you every time. But if Barrett made you mad or messed up, you should give him a second chance.”

“What do you know about second chances, you little squirt?” I laugh.

“I know that I broke the vase you had in the living room with my baseball and you didn’t ban me from bringing them in the house. You gave me another try. And I know when Grandma got mad at Grandpa for forgetting to renew the license plates on her car, she gave him another chance. And I gave you another chance when you forgot to sign me up for summer baseball last year, remember?”

“Those things are different than Barrett, Hux.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. But he makes you smile a lot. And he makes me . . . he makes me feel like we aren’t alone and I really like that. And I know that he’s kind of popular or whatever and I know the picture guy was because of Barrett, but who cares, Mom? You tell me not to give in to bullies and here we are, letting the bullies win.”