“Bye. Love you.”
I walk alone on the beach for a few minutes, giving my mom time to talk to Ben and also thinking about what my father could have possibly said to Jude.
He’s got no business coming near either one of us. I tolerate him, but that’s about it.
Some hurt just runs too deep.
20
Jude
By the timeDominic Marino bothers to call me back—two days after I left him a message—I’m out of patience.
“What can I do for you, Senator Titan?” he asks when I pick up the call.
“I think a better question is, what have you already tried to do for me without my permission?”
There are a couple seconds of silence on the other end of the line.
“I’m sure I misheard you,” Dominic finally says. “Because if Iweredoing your dirty work—not that I’m saying I am—you’d be thanking me for it.”
I look up at the ceiling and then step off the campaign bus. I don’t want anyone—even my trusted staffers—hearing this conversation.
When I’m a safe distance away, alone in the middle of a parking lot, I respond. “I took one meeting with you. And in that meeting, I asked you for nothing.”
“But I offered my support,” Dominic says in a cool tone. “Which you said you’d be grateful for.”
“Support means voting for me. Telling others about my platform. Maybe contributing. It doesn’t make you a spokesman for me. What have you done?”
“You have a problem. I’m making it go away. The less you know about it, the better.”
Dammit. Reagan was right about Dominic Marino. I should have known. Guys like him try to buy politicians’ allegiance in crooked ways like this. It’s everything I refuse to be a part of in politics.
“Listen to me, Marino.” My voice is smooth and sure. “Any offer you’ve made to anyone needs to be taken off the table. Not only will I never be your pawn, I’m about to put your name at the top of my shit list.”
“Are you threatening me, Senator?” He sounds amused.
“Not at all. What I’m saying is that if you want a friend in the governor’s mansion, you’re talking to the wrong candidate. I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“I see. Not even if Miss Culbertson is eager to accept…a gift from me in exchange for a full retraction?”
“No. Keep your money. I’m not interested in having anything to do with you.”
I end the call and shove my phone into my pocket, putting my hands on my head. The race between my opponent and me is tight, because she’s pouring millions of her own money into her campaign. I’ve had to ramp up time spent campaigning, and there’s no time left for working out or even a quick morning run.
I’m going to have to build that time back in. With Reagan gone, I have to find another way to relieve stress.
My favorite way to release tension is a couple hours of sweaty sex with her. But until she gets back from Florida, I have to rely on my hand, which isn’t even a close second to my wife’s body.
Her mouth. Her toned legs. Her breathy voice. God, I miss her. I want to talk to her about this shit with Marino, but I can’t because of the secure phone line issue.
There’s no one else in the world I can just let my guard completely down with. And I know her, she wouldn’t say I told you so. She’d tell me Marino’s a dick and everything was going to be okay.
It will be okay. I believe that. But the road’s getting rocky, and I don’t want to cross the finish line without my wife by my side. Win or lose, I need her with me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I take it out. It’s a calendar reminder that I have a meeting with my new communications strategist in five minutes.
Fuck. I don’t get why my strategy can’t be “Tell the truth and work your hardest.” Politics can get convoluted. But the RNC is completely behind me, and I appreciate the resources they’ve sent.
