10
Jude
I shakethe last few hands left in the auditorium. The rally was a resounding success, filling the space to capacity, and having to turn possible voters away because of it.
“Next time, we’ll book a bigger venue,” Tyson says as he stands at my side as he reviews some paperwork.
“Thank you for coming, ma’am.” I smile at the kind old woman as she pats my hand softly.
“My late husband would’ve loved that a man like you was running for office.” There’s a hint of sadness on her face as she speaks of him. “He hated politicians but was a staunch supporter of any veteran. He would’ve been over the moon to see a Marine sitting in the governor’s mansion.”
“I’ll do my best to make it there,” I tell her.
“I have faith in you, Mr. Titan. You have the tenacity for the job and will serve our state well.” She gives the top of my hand a final pat before she pulls away. “I look forward to watching your victory speech on television.”
“Thank you,” I say to her before she turns her back and wanders toward the doorway.
“You poll high with the seniors,” Tyson says. He’s always concerned with the polls and not so much the message.
“Is there a group I’m failing to win over?”
Tyson taps his pen against the papers he’s clutching in his hand and twists his lips. “You’re split 50/50 with women.”
“What? Women seem to love me.”
“Liberal women do not, Jude.”
“I’ll never be able to win over the staunch liberal. That only worked with Reagan.” I laugh and shake my head. “But that wasn’t an easy victory either.”
“You can’t sleep with them all, and it’s such a shame too.”
I cut Tyson a look that says shut the fuck up. “What time is it?”
“A little after seven.”
“Shit, Reagan’s plane landed. I have to go. She’ll be at the hotel soon.”
We’ve only been apart for days, but the time ticked by slowly after the way we left things. Even though we’ve smoothed over the issues that caused her to hop on a plane and me to storm out of the house, we haven’t really solved anything at all.
While she’s excited about her new job offer, I have more questions about the toll it’ll take on our already stressed personal life.
“Go,” Tyson says, but there’s no excitement or happiness in his voice. “I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Not too early,” I tell him with a smug smirk. “My wife and I could use a little private time.”
He reaches into his pocket and fishes out the key to the new hotel he booked for us to stay in. His taste in hotels this trip has been less than stellar, always trying to control the costs for the long haul of the campaign trail still left ahead.
“Stop being a cheap bastard. I’m sick of shitty hotels. The Branch brothers gave us enough money to at least stay in a hotel where I don’t have to sleep on top of the sheets.”
He rolls his eyes. “As a former military guy, I thought you could sleep anywhere.”
“I can, but that doesn’t mean I want to. From now on, make better plans. If we want to win, we can’t seem to be broke as fuck because we aren’t.”
“Yes. Yes. Of course.” He waves me off, basically excusing me because he’s probably sick of hearing me bitch.
A few nights, I slept on the campaign bus, finding the accommodations nicer than the shithole he booked for the evening. Tyson was a great campaign manager, but I swear to God, he’s become cheaper each year.
I rush out of the auditorium, walking the three city blocks to the hotel. With each passing step, the excitement in my body intensifies.
