“Just leave it to me, okay?”
“I’m not lying to win. I won’t let anyone lie to help me, either. It’s a deal-breaker.”
“Tom will infuse your campaign with a new approach,” Dad says, dismissing me. “Get some rest, and we’ll talk soon.”
The line goes dead, and I exhale deeply. Lexi is giving me a sympathetic look.
“Tom?” she asks, already knowing the answer.
I just nod.
“We can handle him,” she says. “Don’t worry, okay?”
She walks over to the fridge and digs to the back, taking out a bottle of champagne. I break into a fit of laughter.
“To celebrate the debate win?” I say with a small snort.
She shrugs. “Or to commiserate. The beauty of booze is that it works both ways.”
“Definitely commiserating.”
Lexi opens the bottle and pours a red Solo cup for everyone onboard the bus but our driver.
“To fightin’ Titan tomorrow,” my speechwriter, Shawn, says with a wink.
We clink our plastic cups together and down the sweet peach champagne. Lexi digs out another bottle, and by the time we get to our hotel for the night, we’ve knocked both of them out and the mood on the bus is lighter.
Lexi hugs me in the elevator on the way up to the eighth floor, where our rooms are.
“Take a nice hot bubble bath and watch some trash TV,” she says. “Tomorrow’s a new day.”
“Thanks. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
The elevator doors open, and I find my room, tossing my bag on a chair and kicking off my heels as soon as I walk in.
Lexi’s suggestion of a bubble bath sounds nice. I dig through my bag and find a bath melt. The bathtub in my room is small but extra deep. I undress and run the water until it’s filled with steam and bubbles.
Sinking into the tub feels like heaven. I’m still pleasantly buzzed from the champagne, and my worries feel far, far away. I scroll through news sites on my phone, avoiding coverage of the debate.
I look up Jude’s website and see a photo of him in his military dress uniform. His somber expression touches something deep inside me. He didn’t have to put his life on the line for his country; hechoseto. I think back to his friend’s letter, and tears pool in my eyes. I can’t imagine what they went through. Even those who came home will always carry a heavy burden.
There are other photos of Jude: shaking hands with a smiling woman as her friends look on adoringly—shocker—dressed in hunting gear and holding a rifle, and listening to a man in a hard hat talk, his brow creased slightly in concentration. His sleeves are rolled up in the last photo, and I admire the dark ink on his muscled forearm.
Jude Titan, you’re going to undo me.
On cue, he texts me, making my pulse quicken.
Jude: You alone?
Me: Yes.
Jude: What r u doing?
I’m sure as hell not telling him I’m admiring photos of him. Even the thought makes me roll my eyes.
Me: Taking a bath.
