Sway (Landry Family 1)

"And it's not great either. And what I want for you is a great life." She sighs and shakes her head, and I feel like a twelve-year-old boy again. "You've done an excellent job as Mayor, and I'd be thrilled for you to do the same things for the people of this state as you've done for the people in Savannah. You've gone up against some serious odds during your terms and you've beaten them all. But you've also managed to not lose yourself in the process and I'm worried that's going to happen." She eyes me curiously. "If it isn’t already starting to happen."

She folds her arms and narrows her eyes. "I've watched my father work in this business and I’ve stood beside your father, through thick and thin, as he navigated this very same thing. None of them were as successful as you in a lot of ways. I like to think it's because you are part me," she teases.

"Probably true."

"You'll get as far as you want to. And I know your daddy pushes you, wants you to succeed in the ways he couldn't. But Barrett, my sweet boy, don't kill yourself for this unless you're sure it's what you want."

"I am sure."

"Are you? Are you really? I used to think so, but now . . . I look at your face tonight and I'm not so positive anymore."

I bury my head in my hands. "I made a deal with Monroe."

"And?"

"And I didn't want to make it. I did it because I thought I had to. But now, I have doubts, and I know it's not one I can follow through on."

"Barrett . . .”

"I know. But I'm responsible for all of these people that work for me, Mom. I feel obligated to do everything I can to make sure I win so they can feed their families."

"That's Nolan talking—"

"That's me talking," I cut her back off. "I have the opportunity in front of me that so many want, and I can do it! If I win this election, I can be in the running for a shot at the White House in a few years. If I don't do this, isn't that just stupid? To just quit on a dream so many have?"

"Not if it isn't your dream."

"It is my dream," I sigh. "I'm just stressed. I need a drink or something." I stand and walk to my dry bar and pour myself some Scotch.

I hear my mom stand and feel her walk towards me. She places a hand on my shoulder, and I look at her sideways.

"If this is your dream, I will help you achieve it. I will push you, pull you, put on events of every kind to get you to where you want to be. But if it isn't—" She shakes her head as I start to interrupt. "If this is your dad's dream or Nolan's dream or some crazy idea in your head that you have to do this, don't do it, honey. There's so much more to life than campaigns and legislature and politics."

"Is there? For a guy like me, is there?"

"Of course there is," she huffs. "There's happiness and vacations. There's falling in love with a lady, note I said lady, and having beautiful grandbabies that I can shop obsessively for." She winks, but I know she's not totally kidding. "You can have a tremendous life, Barrett, and not live in this world. And there's nothing wrong with that. I would be just as proud of you, and your father would deal. Trust me."

My mind starts to go down that path—of weddings and babies and strolls down tiki torch-lit paths, and I shake my head.

“What if I was already in love?” I ask, watching her for a reaction.

Her eyes light up and she places a hand on her hip. “That would make me very happy if it makes you happy.”

I can’t contain my grin, which makes hers grow wider.

“I’m not going to push. I’ll just say that Camilla has met her and told me she’s a delightful girl.” She looks me over from head to toe before laughing. “This explains a lot.”

“What does that mean?”

She shrugs, a grin still tugging at her lips. “You’re rounding out, as a man. Thinking things through, considering ramifications for things on a broader scale than you would’ve before. It’s nice to see. Now if we can only get Lincoln there . . .”

I laugh and let her pull me in for a quick hug. "You're making me feel like a little kid."

She squeezes my cheek for effect. "You are my little kid. And that's why I'm here at," she glances at her watch, "eight o'clock in the evening."

"Have you had dinner?" I ask.

"No. Your father is working late tonight with Graham, so I'm on my own. I'll probably just heat up some leftovers from last night."