Page 100 of Main Event

I turn my face into her hand.

“Beach,” I say. “After this is over. You promised.”

“I promised,” she says. “Sun. Salt. Sand. Unlimited umbrella drinks. No governance councils within a hundred miles.”

“I’m holding you to it.”

“I know you are.” She leans up and kisses me—carefully, on account of the chin—and then less carefully, because it’s been twelve weeks of careful and tonight is not that.

The second kiss lands deeper, unquestioning. It’s heat and relief and recognition all at once, the kind that doesn’t rush because it doesn’t have to. Her hands come up to my jaw and then hesitate—adjusting automatically, instinctively—before resting there anyway. She knows where I hurt. She chooses to touch me anyway, which only makes me crave her more.

I make a quiet sound I don’t bother to stop.

She pulls back just enough to look at my face, her thumb brushing the unbruised side, her eyes searching like she’s confirming something is still real now that the noise is over. The arena. The lights. The months of holding back.

“You did it,” she says without hiding the pride in her voice or her eyes. Not loud. Not triumphant. Certain.

“Because I had you in my corner,” I say.

Her mouth curves—not exactly a smile. Something steadier. “I know.”

The space between us closes again, slower this time. Foreheads together. Breathing syncing. Her hand slides to the back of my neck, grounding, familiar. This isn’t urgency. It’s arrival.

For the first time in weeks, there’s nothing pulling us in different directions. No difficult schedules. No listening devices. No hired thugs. No camp timeline. No vigilance humming under the skin.

Just us.

Still.

Together.

And for tonight, she’s all mine, I’m all hers, and we will enjoy every possible meaning it holds. And for tonight, that’s enough.

Later, we order dessert from room service because we can, eat it at the window looking at the Vegas skyline, and don’t talk about the investigation, the licensing complaints, or what Monday brings.

Tonight, we’re just this. A couple who loves each other more than life itself and is willing to live it, breathe it, and show it—not just say it.

ANDI

At two in the morning, I’m awake.

Not from worry—just the leftover vigilance of a body that’s been on alert for a long time and hasn’t fully understood yet that tonight is different. I lie in the dark, listen to Luke breathe beside me, and let my mind move where it needs to go.

The story runs at six a.m. Monday morning.

Forty-eight hours from now, the investigative piece goes live—the financial network, the institutional suppression operation, and the witness-elimination pattern documented over eighteen months. Daniel’s documentation provides the foundation. Three journalists are coordinating the release so no single outlet can be pressured into pulling it.

And underneath it—something Evelyn doesn’t know about yet.

Bill told me last Thursday. The man who died at Grady—no ID, false name at intake, stolen phone—his fingerprints came back on a federal wanted watchlist. The FBI took the case from the Atlanta PD immediately. They’ve linked him to deaths in four other states, all initially ruled accidents but with extenuating, suspicious circumstances. All are now under review. An active federal investigation, already open, already staffed, already building before Monday morning arrives.

That means everything we hand them on Monday—the documentation, the financial network, and Daniel’s files—goes directly into a case that already has subpoena power. Evelyn can’t reposition herself within her usual institutional channels because those channels are now part of the investigation.

She thinks she’s been managing the situation.

She has no idea what’s already in motion.

I gaze at the ceiling of the Vegas hotel room, contemplating what lies ahead. It’s not with dread or the alertness of someone in survival mode, but with a fragile feeling, perhaps anticipation. It’s the calm readiness of someone who has prepared for a long time and now senses it’s within reach.