The lump in my throat swells, hot and huge, and I refuse to release his hand for a second. I throw my arms around him and bury my face in his neck. His skinny arms tighten around me, and I feel his tears on my neck, too.
Don’t go.
I want to make him stay, to beg him not to leave, to not ignore this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach, but Mrs. Stern honks the horn and climbs behind the steering wheel.
I love you, Ez.
It sounds ridiculous even in my own head, in my thoughts. We’re thirteen. What do we know about love? The kiss, these feelings are so new, I can’t make myself form the words, so I say the one word that will always mean the same thing to us no matter what.
“Pact,” I whisper.
Ezra nods, sniffs and slowly lets me go, running his eyes over my face like maybe he thinks it’s the last time, too. “Pact.”
PART TWO
“…It feels less like I am getting to know you
and more as though I am remembering who you are.”
? Lang Leav, Soul Mates
Chapter Eight
Kimba
Present Day
“Would you like to make history, Congressman?”
I’ve lost track of how many leaders I’ve asked that question. They always say yes, the thought of breaking ground intoxicating them into a knee-jerk response. It’s usually the ones who answer fastest who don’t even make a dent. The ones who take their time replying, who ponder it for a second, often have the best chance of changing the world. Phone pressed to my ear in the beats of silence while I wait for Mateo Ruiz, the Georgia congressman, to reply, I can practically hear him counting the cost, weighing his next words.
“Yes,” he finally says. “And I look forward to your support.”
“You’ll have it.” I press through my own hesitation to make the risky play. “I’d love to lead the charge for the first Hispanic governor of Georgia. My firm has a proven track record.”
Understatement, since we just elected the sitting president.
“That you do,” Mateo agrees. “I’m still figuring out the composition of our team, but I’ll keep you in mind.”
Keep me in mind? My phone hasn’t stopped ringing since word got out that I turned down a cabinet position in the new administration. Every candidate on my side of the aisle worth their salt wants me running their campaign, yet the one candidate I actually want to represent will keep me in mind?
“Who else are you considering?” I ask, uninterested in beating around the bush.
“You’re on a very short list, Kimba,” he says dryly. “You know that.”
“Me and…let me guess. Anthony Rodderick?”
His chuckle confirms I guessed right. “Anthony has a lot to offer, and he’s a native son.”
“I grew up in Atlanta. My family’s one of the most influential in the city. You know that. I have a personal stake in seeing the first minority governor of my home state.”
“I know you do, and of course I recognize the weight of the Allen name in Atlanta. You know Atlanta, but there’s Atlanta and then the rest of the state, which we both know is a different demographic.”
“Oh, I see. You think you need a good ol’ boy to win the good ol’ boys. Someone like me couldn’t possibly understand anything beyond Atlanta city limits, even though I just elected a president for all fifty states.”
“I need stability, and your company is in transition. I’m ecstatic to have our first Indigenous First Lady, but Lennix was half of Hunter, Allen & Associates. If we’re honest, she was the face of it.”
No one to blame but myself. I should have nothing to prove at this stage of my career, but I’m still being questioned. Still being tried. To some degree, I shot myself in the foot all those years ago making sure my business partner Lennix was the one on camera. My abhorrence for public speaking, always pushing her out there, led many to believe Lennix was running the show alone. Now that she’s gone, some wonder if there’s still a show.