“We’ll get a few drinks in you, and you’ll calm down.” He smiles and pushes his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I reach down, thankful for the distraction from Tyson. Reagan’s name flashes across the screen before going black. This is the first time she’s messaged me since she boarded her flight to DC. For a moment, I’m hopeful. Maybe she’s going to call a cease-fire, and we can put the entire shitty episode behind us. But as I slide my finger across the screen and take in her words, I know she’s digging her heels in deep.
Reagan: Spoke to a DNC friend last night. Stay far away from Marino.
I drop my phone onto the seat next to me, and Tyson makes a noise in the back of his throat. “What?” I ask, my voice dripping with anger.
“I just sometimes worry about how that girl affects you.”
“That girlis my wife,” I remind him. “The love of my life, actually. You should really watch how you talk about her.”
“You should really watch how you treat her, then,” he replies and sets his lips in a firm line, staring at me over the rim of his glasses, judging me.
His words don’t sit right with me. I played right into his hand on that one, but Tyson seems to know how to get under my skin and my opponents’. I let out a deep growl as I grab my phone and type a quick message to Reagan.
Me: I’ll take your words under advisement.
Not the most romantic message, but at least I didn’t tell her to go fuck herself like she did to me before she got on the flight. I couldn’t give her more than that. Her ability to walk away, even if I technically left the house first, wasn’t something I could just let go so easily. She knew what the few days’ break meant to me, having been on the campaign trail herself, but she didn’t care. Everything seemed to be about one-upping the other, no matter the cost.
“I’m going to get some rest in the back.” I stand, taking my phone with me in case Reagan has more to say or I feel the need to tell her anything more. I want to call her so badly. Hearing her voice always helps put shit in perspective, but I can’t let what happened slide so easy.
“I’ll wake you when we hit Springfield. Get some rest. You look like shit, and I need the golden boy in front of the crowd and working the room tonight.”
I grumble under my breath as I head to the back of the campaign bus, closing myself away before collapsing on the bed. I never dreaded being on the road as much as I do this time. Being away from Reagan, especially when we’re fighting, is hell on earth. I close my eyes and sling my arm over my face, blocking out the faint glow of the sun and pray for enough hours to feel like myself again.
“Mr. Titan,I’d like you to meet my wife,” Mr. Carter, a major donor for the Illinois Republican political party, says as he tightens his grip around his wife’s waist. “She’s been excited to meet the new face of the party.”
My smile’s soft as I take her hand in mine and brush my lips against her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”
She blushes right on cue, staring at me with dreamy eyes as she stands next to her husband who looks well over twenty years her senior. “The pleasure’s all mine,” she replies and licks her lips, looking like she wants more than a simple hello.
Mr. Carter pulls her backward, staking his claim on the younger woman as her hand falls away from mine. “I was impressed with your speech earlier at the NRA rally. I think you’re just what we need to breathe new life and secure the future of the party for many years to come.”
The man’s all business, but then, everyone is at these events. The evening is supposed to be about veterans and the issues they face, especially how I can help make their lives better. But politics always gets in the way. He’s dressed to the nines in a tuxedo with his hair slicked back, stinking of wealth.
“Thank you, sir.” I dip my chin, keeping the fake smile that already has my cheeks aching securely plastered on my face. “We look forward to doing everything possible to help the veterans and the Republican Party in the great state of Illinois.”
“Our contribution will be large,” Mrs. Carter says, not waiting for her husband to respond to my statement. “Almost obscene.” She grins as she rakes her eyes up my body, not trying to hide her desire in front of her husband.
“My wife and I appreciate your support.” I throw that in, reminding her I’m a married man, but she’s a married woman and that fact hasn’t stopped her from undressing me with her eyes.
“Where is Mrs. Titan?” Mr. Carter asks, glancing around the room.
“She’s on business in DC,” I tell him as I wish Tyson would find his way to me and pull me away from the Carters. Knowing Tyson, he’s leaving me be, praying like hell that the amount of the Carters donation will be in the high six figures.
“I don’t know how you do it, Titan. Marriage isn’t easy, and marrying a liberal has to cause major problems.”
“It’s not that difficult. We don’t discuss politics.”
It’s a lie, but the words sound good rolling off my tongue. The very foundation of our relationship is built on politics and our down and dirty race so many years ago.
“Smart man,” Mr. Carter says as Tyson finally weaves his way through the crowd to come and stand at my side.
“Ah,” Tyson says, placing his hand on Mr. Carter’s shoulder, deflecting some of the attention away from me. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Fred.”
“We were just talking with your man here.” Carter eyes me like I’m property.
I tuck my hand into my pocket, rubbing a stone Reagan had given me to keep my anger in check. She said it helped her in tight situations and thought it would be a useful tool for me on the campaign trail this season. Standing in a crowd of veterans, but having to schmooze with the wealthy instead, didn’t sit right with me. There was no greater cause, not even a contribution, that meant more to me than my fellow Marines.
