Chapter three
Pretty Boy
A heart attack, the doctor said.
Our tough-as-nails President had a heart attack. It sounded like some absurd joke, but no one was laughing. This couldn’t be possible. Not our President. Not our redneck, country-born Hillbilly, who drank like a fish, smoked like a pipe, and had the appetite of a horse when it came to his favorite fried chicken and waffles.
This man was supposed to go down fighting. Guns blazing. A fearless leader right to the end.
Not like this. Laid up in the hospital because of some stupid clot in his artery that almost stopped his heart.
“I don’t give a damn about doctor’s orders,” Hillbilly groused. “I want to sleep in my own bed, in my own house.”
Lila plumped his pillows, shaking her head.
“You have to stay overnight for observation. And you need the rest anyway. No strenuous activity and no drinking. The doctor wants you to make healthier choices in your diet, too.”
Hillbilly scowled.
“I’m a fighter, Lila. I can’t live onfucking lettuce.”
She patted his shoulder.
“You clearly can’t live on your current diet, either.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to smother my laughter, watching father and daughter bicker lightly. Since Lila was the only blood relative, she had been allowed to visit Hillbilly. Then he asked to see me, so I slipped off to his room, even though it was against hospital policy. I hadn’t announced my arrival yet though.
Hillbilly finally spotted me standing in the doorway.
“Pretty Boy, help me out here.”
Lila’s dark eyes flicked to me. She pressed her lips together and glanced away. Whoever she’d been talking to on that phone call earlier had clearly upset her. She was subdued in a way that was distinctly not the Lila I knew.
“Sorry, Prez,” I said. “I can’t argue with the doctor. You gave us all a bad scare.”
Hillbilly grumbled under his breath, accepting the fact that he was outnumbered. Despite his blustering, something was missing though. He looked…older. Like that heart attack had aged him and stolen years off his life, putting him closer to his eighties instead of just past seventy.
“I’ll be back on my feet in no time,” Hillbilly objected. “So, everyone can just stop fussing over me like a mother hen.”
Lila kissed the top of his head and perched on the edge of his hospital bed.
“That’s not going to happen any time soon. If you thought I was a pain in your ass before, I’m going to be your worst goddamn nightmare now.”
Hillbilly heaved a sigh, tilting his head to look at her with fond exasperation.
“That’s exactly why I wanted to see Pretty Boy.”
She frowned. Hillbilly gestured me into the room.
“As much as I hate to admit it, I’m going to be out of commission for a while,” he said. “Normally, Ironside would take over as my second in command until I got back. But I’m appointing you as my stand-in, Pretty Boy.”
My eyebrows shot up.
“Me? But I’m just the Treasurer. That…that’s a huge leap, Prez.”
“I know it’s a big ask, but I think you’re ready and I’m confident you will rise to the occasion.”
To my surprise, Lila said absolutely nothing. She brushed at an invisible speck of dust or lint on Hillbilly’s sheets. But she didn’t utter a single word. She didn’t protest. She didn’t voice any doubts that I was fit for the job. No insults. No scathing name-calling.
