She nods, but I can see the fear in her eyes, the exhaustion. I wish I could take it all away, but all I can do is hold her hand a little tighter and hope she feels it.
“When is this press conference?”
“Sunday morning,” she says cautiously.
The last thing I want is for her to feel like she can’t talk to me. I force myself to unclench my jaw, roll my shouldersback, and let the tension drain from my body. My thumb traces slow circles over the back of her hand before I lift it and press a kiss to her palm. “I’m here, Andi. I’m not going anywhere.”
She hesitates, fear flickering in her eyes. “I need to tell you who he is, Luke.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, the words more confession than statement.
I squeeze her hand, trying to anchor us both. “You could tell me he’s the President, and I’d still be right here.”
She winces, her gaze dropping to our joined hands. “You’re not far off. He’s one of the most powerful men in the state.” Her voice shakes, and I can feel her body trembling.
She swallows, and I see the fear flash in her eyes before she finally says it. “His name is Congressman Jackson Rhoades.”
The name hits me like a blow to the ribs. I feel it in my chest—a cold, heavy certainty. I sit back, letting the truth settle as I replay every odd moment from the last few weeks: the gray sedan outside the gym, the white SUV idling near her house, the black pickup parked too long on my parents’ street. Each one seemed harmless on its own. Together, they form a pattern I can’t ignore.
“I was hoping you weren’t going to say that,” I admit, my voice coarse.
Her eyes search mine, desperate for reassurance. “You knew?”
“I didn’t know,” I say. “But I’ve been watching.”
I tell her about the gray sedan first—how it’s been idling outside the gym more than once, long enough to feel deliberate. Then the restaurant after karaoke. The white SUV with the roof rack parked a couple of houses down from hers, not pulling into a driveway like someone who belonged there. The black pickup with tinted windows parked near my parents’ place in a neighborhood where everyone knows everyone. I explain how I told myself each one was a coincidence until I saw the sedan again outside my apartment and realized coincidence doesn’t repeat itself that precisely.
As I speak, she goes very still, her breaths become shallow, and her fingers tighten around mine, absorbing each detail instead of interrupting.
“I ran a partial plate through someone I trust,” I continue. “The sedan is registered to Southbridge Holdings LLC, newly formed with no physical office. The registered agent is Hollis & Brent Legal Group. It’s two degrees removed, enough distance to deny involvement if anyone asks. But it’s not random.”
The truth settles between us without theatrics. This isn’t paranoia. It’s design.
She lets out a shaky breath, her lips pressed together. “No one will believe me now. And you can bet he’s behind the smear campaign—the photos, the headlines, the youth center being targeted. It’s not random. They moved faster than I expected.”
I nod, sensing the weight of it all. “They’re not just attacking your reputation. They’re mapping us—our routines, our friends, every place we go. They’re looking for a weakness.”
A heavy silence settles between us. I see the fear in her eyes, but also something else—guilt, maybe, for dragging me into this. I reach for her other hand, holding on tight.
“They followed me initially,” she whispers, her voice breaking.
“No,” I say, my voice fierce. “They followed both of us. They want to see if we’ll break.”
She looks at me, really looks, and I know she’s searching for doubt, for hesitation. But I’m already in this with her, and I won’t let go.
“You didn’t tell me,” she says, her voice trembling faintly.
“I didn’t want it to be real. But we can’t pretend anymore. We’re in this together, Andi. Whether we like it or not.”
The room feels colder, the air charged with dread and determination.
“They’re not just watching,” she whispers. “They’re testing us. Seeing what rattles us.”
She closes her eyes, and for a moment, I see how tired she is—how much she’s carried alone. When she opens them again, I’m closer, not crowding her, but steady.
“You don’t get to push me away to keep me safe,” I say quietly, my voice heavy with feeling. “Not when I’m already in this with you. I’d rather face the danger than lose you to it.”
She swallows, her voice barely audible. “You shouldn’t be.”
“I am. With you. No matter what comes.”
