Chapter Seven
Now
I’m still feeling a little emotionally off-balance by the time I’m ready to call it a day Friday night and leave the office nearly thirty minutes after George and Declan have departed.
Tonight, George walked down to my office, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him, but he stood there. “Come over tonight?”
I don’t look up from my computer. “We have the fundraiser tomorrow at one,” I remind him.
He crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. “Talk to me, Case.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. That you’ll give me some hint what to apologize for, I guess?”
I finally look up.
Those fucking blue eyes. They’re gorgeous and like a direct line to his soul. Right now, he’s staring at me and they’re full of pain, a look he hasn’t worn…
Well, since him and Declan started living together after the flood drove Dec from his apartment.
I chicken out, mostly because I have no idea what to say to him. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Governor. We have an election to win. Four more years, remember?”
He sighs. “Yeah. Four more years.” He turns to go. “Invitation stands, Case. Please come over tonight.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Governor.”
Once he leaves, I sit back and struggle with my emotions. He seems to be under the impression that the three of us can just fuck around all the time, be a happy little triad, and then, what, some Disney ending where the townsfolk are cheering for us as we set up housekeeping in the local castle?
No. That’snothow this works in the real world, and especially not in the state we live in.
Politics are fucking ugly, and the fallout will be difficult enough to manage once the news breaks that George and Declan are an item. A massive juggling act that will have to be carefully choreographed so I can time it with a prewritten resignation letter.
Which will only take care of quashing an ethics investigation. It won’t help with the PR battle of George being gay.
Because sexual orientation subtleties aside, that’s what Fox News and FNB and everyone else will hammer home—that George was secretly gay, a twenty-plus year monogamous, loving relationship with a woman notwithstanding. Toss onto that flaming Dumpster fire speculations that George’s marriage to Ellen was some sort of sham, and it’s a mess I don’t want to drag the kids into.
Especially Aussie and Ashleigh. Because the irony is that while George is more “gay for you” than full-time gay, it was Ellen who was bi.
And as tempting as it is, I don’t want my cart hitched to George’s romantically. For starters, it means giving up my current job. Then it eliminates nearly all my political credibility, because the assholes around here will assume I’m only powerful because of “my man.”
If it ever came out we’re a triad?
Forget it. Even political allies would butt heads with George just to be seen by their constituents as not endorsing his “immoral lifestyle.” Both Declan and I would be literal mud in this state. It’d make it nearly impossible for us to return to law practice. I, at least, have law licenses in surrounding states, and even in Florida.
Declan doesn’t.
These all seem to be things George is willfully refusing to consider in lieu of his newfound desire to live.
As I drive home, I ponder George’s invite. Can I even take it at face value? Is he being genuine, or is there a game he’s playing that I’ve failed to see? I mean, he’s a fricking sadist, that’s the known variable.
So…what’s theunknown?
Can itreallybe as simple as he loves me and wants me to be with them? The part of me who’s known George for all these yearswantsto believe that.
The part of me that’s been wounded and raw ever since I was a kid refuses to let me believe it can be that easy.
Although I swore to myself that I wouldn’t do this, I end up passing my driveway and continuing on to George’s gate. No chance of any of the kids coming home tonight. Before heading up his driveway, I pause and log into George’s security system from my phone app.
