Jude: I didn’t fucking run away, stop saying that. I just needed a break. We talked about trying for kids three years into the marriage, and now it’s five years and you still aren’t ready. You always have an excuse.
Me: My career is not an excuse, you prick. When we decided that, you weren’t planning to run for fucking governor. I’m so tired of you thinking I can just find a way to balance everything all the time. I don’t have a full staff like you do. It wouldn’t be fair to bring a baby into this chaotic life.
Jude: Can we not do this over text? Come home.
Me: I have to go check in for my flight.
Jude: When are you coming back?
Me: Does it matter? You’ll be gone anyway.
I powerdown my phone and put it in my purse, standing up to head for the check-in counter. I’m so angry with Jude right now, but I’m also hurt.
Mostly hurt, actually. I miss him so much when he’s gone, and then he pisses away hours of our time together brooding.
I knew who I was marrying—he’s domineering, cocky, and strong. He’s also the hardest-working, most honorable man I’ve ever known.
But lately, I find myself wondering if he really knew who he was marrying. He’s a smart man, so he probably did know. But did he think he could change me? Tame the one woman who wasn’t intimidated by him?
We both communicate with people for a living, so why is it so hard for us to communicate with each other lately? Everything seems to devolve into a fight. The only place we completely mesh is in the bedroom, where Jude’s controlling nature works for both of us.
Our bedroom is where I planned to spend most of today, making up for all the sex we’ve missed out on in the past three weeks. Instead, I’ll be sitting at O’Hare for the next two hours and staying in a hotel tonight, away from my husband.
I’m not sorry, though. He needs a dose of his own medicine.
4
Jude
“What the hellare you doing up so early?” my campaign manager Tyson asks as I climb onto the campaign bus and collapse in the booth. “We’re not pulling out for a few more hours.”
I stare at him across the table, tapping my fingers against the Formica as I grit my teeth. I’m still reeling from the fact that Reagan took off, leaving for Washington without talking to me about it first. I had a few days to spend at home, naked and curled up with my wife in bed, but she went off half-cocked without thinking.
“So, I take it your time off wasn’t good,” he says when I don’t answer his question.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I tell him as I turn my face toward the window and stare into the parking lot as the sun starts to rise above the distant trees.
“You better get your house in order.”
My eyes snap to his and narrow as my jaw ticks. “My house has nothing to do with my campaign.”
He leans back, sliding his arm across the back of the booth. “It has everything to do with this campaign. Your entire platform is family values, and if your marriage collapses, so does your chance to win the governor’s mansion.”
“We’re fine, Tyson.” At least, I think we are. Married people fight all the time. Reagan and I are not different from anybody else, but somehow, we’re held to a higher standard, which is completely ridiculous.
I go back to looking out the window as Tyson shuffles the stack of papers in front of him. I’m grumpy, on edge, and in no mood to hit the road to shake hands and rub elbows with some of the most corrupt people in the state. Tyson keeps staring at me, waiting for me to look at him, but I pretend I don’t notice although I can see him out of the corner of my eye. I curl my hand under my chin and close my eyes, wishing I could do the last few days over again.
“We’re heading downstate for an NRA rally, followed by a dinner with a Veterans organization.”
“Hmm,” I mumble, keeping my eyes closed and letting him talk. I’m taking everything in but not really paying attention. I already read over the itinerary for the week and know exactly where I’m going and when, but that doesn’t stop him from repeating everything to me.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He sighs but continues on, knowing I’m in no mood to actually form words until it’s absolutely necessary. “Tomorrow’s not as easy. We’re meeting with some voters who are on the fence. You need to be on point and win them over. Luckily for us, you’re polling really strong with the female constituents, so I think you have them in the bag. Just make sure you show up with a little more smile and a lot less anger, ’kay?”
I open my eyes and stare at him. Tyson’s been a top aide of mine since right after I got elected to the Senate. He’s kind of a nerdy, awkward sort, but he’s hardworking and loyal. I had no doubt I was choosing the right man when I asked him to manage my campaign. This is the first time he’s had such a high-profile role, and we’re both learning as we go.
