Chapter Five
Now
Eventually, we leave bed, take a long, leisurely shower together, and head downstairs to cook breakfast.
Let me clarify—Declan and I head downstairs to cook breakfast, and George follows like an adorable puppy who sits in the kitchen to stay out of the way while we cook.
The man is many things, but a cook isnotone of them, and he damn well knows it.
“Thank you,” he says. “Both of you.”
It’s his tone more than his actual words that make me and Declan both turn.
George is wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt, and he’s staring at his hands, which are clasped on the table. Right now, with his hair a little wonky, and without his glasses, he doesn’t look like a governor.
He looks like a man who’s lost his way, his footing, his bearings.
His heart and soul.
The center of his universe.
This version of the man breaks my heart every time he appears, no matter what else might be going on at the time.
And we’re the only two people George feels safe enough with to show this side of him.
“For what, honey?” I ask.
“For everything. For putting up with me and being patient with me.” He meets my gaze. “For not giving up on me. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the two of you.” His breath hitches. “I would’ve killed myself by now. I should be stronger, and I’m not.”
I walk over and he turns in his chair so I can stand between his legs and hug him, his head tucked against me. “You’re stuck with me, asshole.” He chuckles. “Besides,” I continue, “just like no one else would put up withyou, it’s not like anyone else would put up withme, either.”
I gently scrub his scalp with my nails. “We’re going to get you four more years.”
He nods against me and I hear him sniffle. “For her.”
I sigh. “Yeah, sweetie. For her.”
After breakfast, Declan still ends up working, talking on his phone in speaker mode with the consulting team, and me and George listening and chiming in. It’s a quirky sight—Declan naked, except for his collar and cuffs, with his work laptop in his lap, and discussing election return numbers while propped against George’s side on the couch.
George has me sit on the couch on his other side and pulls my feet into his lap, smiling as he rubs them for me, obviously amused by me trying to stay quiet despite how good it feels.
How many times over the years did I watch him rub Ellen’s feet, especially when she was pregnant, and wistfully think about how much he obviously loved her?
Now…
Now Iamher. Except I’d give anything to have her back.
Maybe I could get used to this. I don’t know. It’s simultaneously appealing and terrifying to me.
So many bad things could happen if this goes really wrong.
Soooo many bad things.
Like blowing up our careers, for starters.
Is itreallyworth the risk?
Maybe I’d be better off walking away and trying to find someone else.
