Sway (Landry Family 1)

“You sound like Lincoln.”

“Well, Lincoln sounds smarter by the minute.” I take a deep breath and try to calm down, to focus on the problem at hand. “You’re here. I’m here. I’m giving you this chance to tell me about the abortion article.”

“It’s complete and utter bullshit.” His voice is unwavering. “She’s trying to extort me, and I won’t pay her off because it’s a fabrication.”

“How do you know for sure?”

He shrugs. “I guess there’s no way to know if she was pregnant, but if she was, she didn’t tell me. If she had, I would’ve stepped up and taken care of the baby. I never would’ve pressured a woman to do something like that. Ever. It’s a child . . .”

He stops moving, stops fiddling with his tie. His hands drop to his sides and he looks at me, his green eyes crystal clear. “I can’t lie to you. I also can’t make you believe me, but I’m telling you the truth.” His gaze softens. “I’m glad I didn’t have a child with her.”

My breath stumbles, my eyes going wide because I can read into what he says. There’s so much innuendo laced through that handful of words that I’m afraid to even touch it.

“Having kids is something I’ve never really given a lot of thought,” he says, his voice soft. “I suppose I’ve always considered I would eventually, but never in the foreseeable future.” He takes a quick breath. “Until now.”

“Why now?” I ask, afraid to both ask it and not ask it, fearing the answer either way.

“Because you’re the only person I can imagine having my child.”

“Barrett . . . Don’t say that. Don’t use words like that to try to make me forget what happened. I’m not one of your constituents you can charm with a smile and baby kissing.”

He takes a step towards me, his eyes on fire. “I’m not. I mean it.”

“Why would you want to think those things about a helpless girl you have to protect?” I bite out.

“Alison, stop it.”

“No, you stop it. I feel like I’m dealing with the mayor right now with your game face and pretty words and not my . . .”

The air stills as his eyes remain as steady as his tone. “Your what?”

I don’t respond. I walked head-on into this and I don’t know how to backtrack out.

“It doesn’t matter how you fill in that blank because, like you said, they’re just words. And no word could ever fill the spot you take up in my life. So call me your boyfriend or the mayor or an asshole for what happened today, but I’m still yours, however you want to define that.

“You don’t have to like it or like me or take me back until this election is over, if you don’t want. If that somehow proves I’m not using you, then fine. You can humiliate me by saying that was all bullshit. Think of what you can do to my campaign, and you know what? I won’t care.”

“You know I’d never do that to you,” I say.

He takes a small step back and hangs his head.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers, more vulnerability in his tone than I’ve ever heard. Gone is the confident man I know him to be, and in his place is a man that needs something that maybe I can give him. The sincerity in his voice pulls at me, tugs at my heart strings. I believe him because there’s no way, even a master politician like himself, could fake the genuineness of those words.

“I had to be separated from Nolan this morning. I was this close to losing it on him, Alison. Trust me when I tell you that is not what he was authorized to put out there, and if we weren’t this close to the election, I’d fire him. But the reality is, we are and I’m trying to be rational, to think about the big picture.”

Looking away from him because the hurt in his eyes is too much to see, I allow the pain of seeing the words in black and white pierce me again. I don’t want to feel it and it would be so much easier to pretend like it never happened. Falling into his arms, under his spell, would be head-and-shoulders more fun. But I can’t. Because I know where that leads. Because I promised myself I would be stronger. Because I deserve more than this.

When I look in his face, I can’t help but feel my heart break. I want to heal him, reassure him, but I can’t. Not yet. Not until I’m sure I can withstand whatever the future could hold if this doesn’t work out, because this pain? This is the tip of the iceberg if everything starts to melt.

“I know I come with a lot of ‘extras.’ I just . . . I’m sorry,” he says again, the puffiness around his eyes making me wonder how much sleep he’s getting.

“I believe you.”

“You do?”

I nod, but take a step back. “I don’t think you knew about this. Not really. But you know what? It hurts all the same, Barrett.”

“I know. Let me fix it.”