"Can you help?"
"Oh yes. I’m already intrigued. The ratings will be insane."
"We’ll need to move fast if we're doing this tonight. We need to get our side out before anyone else does."
"I'll make some calls. Expect to hear from me within the next ten minutes."
The line goes dead. I lower the phone.
"She's going to help," I say.
"Just like that?"
"Georgia has always been a good friend." I pause. "She's also got her own ambitions. She knows who it’s worth having as an ally."
Jamie nods slowly. His hand has resumed its unconscious circling on his belly.
"I should probably unpack," he says. "If I’m not running away.”
“I’ll help.”
He hesitates, then nods.
I follow him to his bedroom, carrying his duffel. It's even smaller than the living room, barely enough space for the bed and a dresser.
I stand awkwardly by the door, feeling too large for the space.
"You can sit," Jamie says without turning around. "You don't have to hover."
I lower myself onto the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under my weight.
"Jamie."
He stops. Doesn't turn.
"Whatever happens tonight, I'm not going anywhere." The words feel insufficient, but they're all I have. "I need you to know that I'm here for both of you."
Jamie is very still. Then, slowly, he turns.
His eyes are bright. Not tears—not yet—but something close.
"I don't know what this is," he says quietly. "Between us. I don't know if it's real or if it's just—" He gestures vaguely. "Chemistry. Biology. Whatever."
"It's real for me."
"How can you be sure?"
I stand and close the distance between us slowly, giving him time to step back if he needs to. He doesn't.
"Because I've spent six months trying to forget you," I say. "I tell myself it was just physical. And every single day, I woke up reaching for you."
Jamie's breath catches.
"I don't expect you to feel the same way," I continue. "I don't expect anything. But I need you to know, this isn't strategy for me. It isn't spin. You're not a narrative I'm trying to control." I stop, close enough now that I could touch him if I reached out. I don't. "You're the only person who's ever made me want to be better than I was raised to be."
Jamie looks up at me. His lips are parted. I can see his pulse fluttering in his throat.
"Carter," he whispers.
