Clare pffftd and flopped her hand. “Please, I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve been in this business a long time, and I’ve seen it all. I could smell the deceit like stale Chanel.”
“So . . . we haven’t been convincing?”
“On the contrary, you’ve done a wonderful job.” Her eyes shimmered with perception. “So good, you bought into it yourself, didn’t you? You’re in love with him.”
Lucy wanted to curl in bed, pull the covers over her head, and never leave. “Maybe.”
“And by maybe you mean—”
“That my heart stopped beating today, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to rot and decay right in my chest.” She was a rambling idiot. Nothing made sense right now. It was supposed to—she had done all the right things. Shaken off the lies and stepped into the woman God wanted her to be. And she just felt . . . empty.
“You get a good night’s rest, and then in the morning I have a feeling your Alex will be here before Julian can flop the pancakes, begging to have you back.”
No, she didn’t get it. “He doesn’t love me.”
“Nonsense! How could he not?” Clare’s outrage almost made Lucy smile. “You are charming, beautiful, intelligent, and you have a heart of gold—though sometimes your head for historical facts can be a bit lacking. But—I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” She patted Lucy’s cheek. “That boy loves you. Maybe he just doesn’t know it yet.”
“He’s a smart guy. I think he’s pretty clear on how he feels.” And he had shared that insight with Lucy word by heart-wrenching word.
Clare gasped with a new idea. “We should pray!”
Lucy just wanted to collapse into bed.
“My pastor told me I’d be faced with moments like these.” Clare’s face filled with steely resolve. “My first chance to pray for someone in need. I can’t wait to tell Julian. Let us go to the Lord. ”
Lucy hoped it wouldn’t be one of Clare’s long-winded entreaties.
“Jesus, Alex is an imbecile, and you need to fix it.” Clare nodded once. “Amen.”
Chapter Forty-two
He was nineteen again.
Alex drove toward his parents’ house, remembering the time in college when the offensive coordinator had suddenly died. Dropped dead of a heart attack, completely rocking the young team. While the players had gathered at Joe’s Bar and Grill, a favorite hangout of Coach Reilly’s, Alex had driven eighteen grueling hours to Charleston, wanting the comfort only his family could provide.
Pulling into the driveway, Alex turned off the car, staring at the home of his youth. He missed them—his folks, Finley. And Will. Man, he missed Will.
Would they think it was strange he had shown up on their doorstep two hours before his final debate with Robertson? Would they think he was erratic? Immature? Addled?
He was all that. And he didn’t know what to do.
But home was where things had always made sense. Filled with people he could count on. Who loved him. Who didn’t just up and leave him when he needed them most.
Like Lucy. It had been two weeks since Morgan and Chuck’s wedding. She had said she’d continue to hold up her end of the deal, but she’d missed almost every event since giving back his ring. Marinell’s brother had taken another bad turn, and Lucy spent all her free time with the family at the hospital. Only a total pig would fault her for that.
And some days, he did consider reminding her of her contractual obligations—just to pick a fight. To see her again. Laugh with her. Argue. Tell her the election was coming down to the nose, and he was scared to lose. It all hinged on this last debate. But he and his team had worked hard, and Alex knew that smell in the air was victory.
Which still didn’t explain why he was at his parents’ home instead of reviewing his notes.
Marcus Sinclair answered the knock on his door. He took one look at Alex’s face and shook his head. “I’ll get the coffee. Meet you in the living room.”
Alex paced along the hardwood floor as his mother walked in the room. “Alex.” Those gentle eyes took quick inventory. “We were just getting ready to go to the university for the debate. Is everything all right?”
His father came back in, carrying two mugs. Glancing at his wife, he gave a small shake of his gray head. Donna Sinclair walked to her son and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Marcus handed Alex his cup of coffee and sat down on the love-seat. “Polls are looking good. I’ll come down to the office this week and help make some calls. Your mom and I cleared a few days so we can join your door-to-door campaign. Gotta make the next seven days count.”
Alex sat down on the adjacent couch and just stared at his hands. “Do you ever look at your life and wonder if any of it’s worth it? If you even know what you’re doing?”
Marcus took a slow sip and swallowed. “Well, now, I guess we all think about that. But normally I just look at your mother, at you kids, and then I know what it’s all about.”
“And your job,” Alex said.
Marcus shook his head. “No. Maybe in the early days when I was obsessed with building the company. But what’s the purpose of having all we do—of having any success—if you don’t have people to share it with? If I didn’t have your mother cheering me on, it would be meaningless.”
“Will got that.” Bitterness burned the back of Alex’s throat. “He was just born with a sense of purpose.”
Marcus studied his son. “Doesn’t mean you weren’t. Life took you in a different direction. You’ve been living your Hollywood life, then God got a hold of you and brought you back down to reality. Of course it’s going to take some time to adjust.”
“Lucy left me.” He couldn’t tell his dad about the engagement. It was too much. It was humiliating and so far beyond what a child of Marcus Sinclair would ever do. “Two weeks ago. Said I couldn’t commit.”
“I’d say the ring on her hand is a pretty good commitment.”
Alex left that alone. “I couldn’t tell her I loved her.”
“Do you?”
Leaning into the couch, Alex let his head loll back and covered his eyes with his arm. “Since I was in high school, it’s been all about football. About being the best. And I didn’t have to work at relationships. They were always just . . . there.”
“But Lucy’s different.”
In so many ways. And he missed every one of them. “She’s the last person I would’ve picked for myself. She’s independent. She’s smart and she—”
“Doesn’t worship you?”
Alex peered at his father. “No.”
“And I’m guessing she doesn’t care about all the things the other women did—your money, your looks, your fame.” Marcus smiled and ran a hand over his stubbly face, a habit passed down to his son. “And that scares you.”
“She’s so . . .” He couldn’t even put it into words. “She’s just so good.”
“And how is it a son of mine thinks he’s not worthy?”
“It’s not that.”
“Isn’t it?” His father’s voice was stern, like he was warming up to ground him. “You look at Lucy and see all that you’re not.”
The truth settled in, and Alex let it spin in his head. “She and Will would’ve made quite a pair.”
“No,” Marcus said. “She chose you. Because she sees what the rest of us see.”
And even though they had staged an engagement, Lucy had chosen him. And he’d thrown it right back in her face.
“Life is fleeting, Alex.” His father’s tone darkened. “Look at Will’s life—cut so short. If you died today, would you go happy? Without regrets?”
He could fill a football stadium with his should-haves. Was Lucy one of them?
“When I look at you, I still see the son I love more than my own life. But I also see a man who has become so far removed from what matters that his perception is skewed. Family is real, son. A home to settle into—that’s real. People who love you and care about you. You’ve had a phe
nomenal career, and I’m proud of you. But it’s time to stop basing your worth on championships and endorsement deals. You can’t buy happiness. You can’t earn it. God isn’t counting all the deals you’re racking up—and neither is your family.” He lifted his brow. “And neither is Lucy. For the first time someone’s looking at the person inside—and you have to decide if you’re going to let her in and be the man she needs you to be.” His father turned his head toward a family picture on the mantel. “It’s a risk. But one I’ve never regretted.”
But he had goals. A timeline. “This doesn’t fit with my plan.”
His dad laughed. “I love it when God takes a big stirring spoon to plans. That’s when life gets good.”
Alex could hear his mother in the kitchen. She would be rummaging through her cookbooks like she always did when she worried. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around, Dad.”
He smiled. “We’re all going to be okay. As long as we hold on to the things that really matter. And you’re going to have to decide what that is.”
Alex glanced at his watch. “I should go.”
“We’ll be in the audience. Praying for you. Cheering for you.” His father stood up and clasped him on the shoulder. “Believing in you.”
Alex’s pocket buzzed, a small sound magnified in the quiet of the room.
“Better get that,” Marcus said. “Might be your girl.”
And what would he do if it was? Alex lifted his phone from his pocket and checked the display.
Clare.
If she was calling him to get another box of Sinclair for Congress pens, she was fresh out of luck. “Yes?”
“It’s Lucy,” Clare said. “She’s gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Marinell took a bus to Tennessee to find her dad. Carlos is fading fast, and his father is a donor match—”
“What does this have to do with Lucy?”
“She’s trying to intercept Marinell. But it’s dangerous, Alex. Mrs. Hernandez is frightened at what could be waiting for them if they go looking for her husband.”
“When did they leave?”
“Marinell caught the four o’clock bus. Lucy must’ve left about an hour later. Julian just found her note.”
“I’m on my way.”
Alex headed for the door. He would have to stop by the hospital and get the location from Mrs. Hernandez. Corral his security team. Call his campaign managers.
“Alex?” His dad followed him to the porch. “Where are you going? The debate starts in an hour.”
“It’s Lucy.” Alex said. “She needs me.”
And God couldn’t make it any more plain that he needed her.
Alex didn’t explain. Didn’t say good-bye.
Just ran out like a man possessed.
A man in love.
Chapter Forty-three
Nashville. Who hid out from Mexican drug lords in Music City?
It had taken Alex half an hour to get the address out of a hysterical Esther Hernandez. Another hour to charter a private jet for him and his five-man security team to Nashville International. The pilot had robbed him blind, but Alex would’ve handed over every cent he had. Whatever it took to get Lucy and Marinell safely back home. And with any luck, he’d bring back Mr. Hernandez as well.
“This is career suicide,” David Spear had said.
Lauren, his other campaign manager had agreed, going so far as to threaten to quit. “You won’t recover from this, Alex.”
They were both right. But it was a chance he had to take. Carlos’s nurse had painted a grim picture. If Jose Hernandez could save the boy, then Alex had to get the man to Charleston.
While the security team conferred in the back of the plane, Alex sat up front, watching the clouds go by. The debate would be in progress right now. His opponent would be using the time to rehash all the reasons why he was the man for the job. And why Alex wasn’t. David was standing in for Alex, and he would do a good job. But he wasn’t Alex. And unless the Lord blessed the local TV network with a power outage, the viewing audience would definitely notice the substitution.
The campaign was over.
Alex took a sip of water from his bottle and then dug into his messenger bag. He bypassed his Sports Illustrated, his New York Times, and even his laptop. His fingers closed around familiar leather binding, and he pulled out Will’s worn Bible.
He flipped through the filmy pages, his eyes drifting over the verses his brother had highlighted, written next to. Alex could almost feel Will. Sense him near.
He came to the pages marked by a frayed blue ribbon and stopped. The book of Luke, written by a healer. His brother had touched these pages. Underlined them. Committed them to memory.
For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
Words written in red, circled by Will. And lived.
Jesus, I’ve listened to the lies too long. They’ve filled my head and led me on a long chase of things that don’t matter. I bought into what Satan was feeding me until I barely recognized my own face in the mirror. It took Will’s death and Lucy’s leaving to show me where my priorities should be.
I want to live for you.
I just . . . want to live.
“Buckle up,” the pilot said. “We’re ready for takeoff.”
Nine hours in a car.
Lucy’s nerves were completely shredded, and her butt was numb. In the dark of the early morning, she pulled into the bus depot, a prayer on her lips. She picked up her phone and tried to call Marinell again. Still no answer. She supposed that’s how Alex probably felt about now. According to her display, he had called over twenty times. And she hadn’t answered once.
It had been tempting, though. To pick up the phone, tell him what was going on. Hear his calm voice tell her he was going to fix it.
But she couldn’t do that. Couldn’t run to him just because she was scared and needed someone to make the trouble go away.
Her flats slapped on the pavement as she ran toward the Greyhound station. Though it was a warm eighty-two degrees, Lucy’s flesh crawled with chill bumps as she tried not to look at her surroundings. The old buildings seemed to lean in and stare at her from the darkness.
She swung open the entrance door.
And found Alex Sinclair.
Lucy blinked twice to be sure. But there he sat, lounged back in a ripped blue seat, his elbows resting on his knees. And those brown eyes trained right on her.
Relief swooshed through her every cell. Safety was just a few feet away.
But so was heartache.
It hurt just to look at him.
“What are you doing here?” She tried to keep her voice even.
He pushed to his feet, drawing himself up tall. “Waiting for you.”
Fatigue made her thoughts thick. “Why?”
“Just decided to take a little evening flight.”
“Clare called you.” Piece by piece, the shapes began to fit together. “Alex, the debate—”
“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t come after you?”
She looked at the clock on the wall. After all they’d been through, he’d skipped the main event? “What are you thinking—just walking away like that? After everything you’ve put into that campaign? After all I put into that campaign!” She drilled her finger into his chest. “I wore coordinating pantsuits for you.”
“If anyone has any explaining to do, it’s you.” Alex didn’t even try to lower his voice among the handful of people. “You’re going to help Marinell hunt down a man with a death sentence on his head? You thought it would be okay to intercept an eighteen-year-old kid, then go visit a guy who’s basically a walking time bomb?”
Lucy blinked twice. “Did you get the part where I said I made bad clothing choices for your campaign?”
“I love you, Lucy.”
Her eyes widened, and she took a step back. “Don’t do this, Alex.”
“I know this isn’t the time or the place, but you have to know I am cr
azy about you. I was wrong. This whole time I’ve been wrong, and I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out.”
The words somersaulted through her heart but crashed in her head. “But I think you were right,” she said in a hush. “We’d never work. I’m never going to be that perfect woman you think you need.”
“What I need is you.”
A small crowd had gathered behind them. “You tell her, Playboy.”
“I want you,” he said. “Just the way you are. With your crazy dresses and hot pink shoes. Your weird sci-fi books. And your laugh. And that hideous car.” Alex reached out that strong hand and cupped her cheek. “I love your heart for your girls.”
“Stop,” she said, finding her voice. “I can’t do this.”
“I need you to understand—”
“What I know is that we’re over. I was stupid to tell you I loved you. Out of my mind to think we had a future.”
“You love me, Lucy Wiltshire.”
“Yes.” Hope pushed to the surface, but she shoved it right back down. “But what you feel for me isn’t love. You just can’t stand to lose— with me or the election.”
“There’s a very good chance I lost that Congressional seat tonight. And I don’t think I even care.” His voice was a balm to all the rough places in her heart. “Because it’s nothing without you. All this time, I’ve had it so wrong. I’ve been trying to measure up, prove myself to the world.” His hands moved to clasp her shoulders, draw her closer. “All I want to do is spend the rest of my life proving myself to you.”
Between the smell of the man two rows over and Alex’s early morning confession, Lucy’s eyes stung with tears. “I don’t even know what to say,” she whispered. “I’m afraid you’re going to keep talking until you hear yourself. And then you’re going to realize you’re making a huge mistake.”
His eyes never leaving hers, Alex pushed aside a McDonald’s wrapper with his foot.
Then went down on one knee.
His hand reached for hers, held it tight. “Lucy,” he said in the middle of the Greyhound bus station. “In front of Lou, Squid, ten travelers, and one hobo, I’m asking you to become my wife.” His smile dimpled his cheek. “A few months ago we crossed a line, went too far. And somehow God still used it for our good. I can’t do this life without you. Please,” he said. “Please marry me.”
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