by Aubrey Irons
“Look, Hunter, I’m not cold hearted, I’m just a realist when I have to be.” She’s shaking her head, almost sadly at me, “I’m sorry, but I can’t; not if I want a second term, and not if I want to get anything done with Congress during this one.”
“You can’t keep me away from her.”
Because I just managed to pull my head out of my own ass and see what this really is.
“I can,” she says, her voice suddenly like a whip-crack. “I can and I just—”
“I love her.”
Eleanor’s mouth drops.
I’m standing from the hospital bed then, wincing at the pain in my side but shoving it away as I stand tall and meet her eyes.
“I love her, Madame President,” I say thickly, feeling my pulse thunder inside my chest.
It’s the first time I’ve really thought it, and certainly the first time I’ve said it out loud, and suddenly, I never want to stop saying it.
“Dad,” I turn to him, meeting his bold stare with my own. “Dad, I love her.”
He shakes his head. “Son, you don’t know what you’re talking—”
“You did.” I’m pushing past the line here but I don’t care. “You knew it with mom.” His face darkens and he starts to say something more but I’m putting a hand on his shoulder and meeting his eye. “And you were lucky enough to know it again.”
I turn towards Eleanor. “And you were smart enough to see it with my dad.” I take a deep breath. “I love your daughter, Eleanor, more than anything in this world. And nothing is going to keep me away from her.”
She sighs heavily, “Hunter—”
“You could throw me in Guantanamo for treason, you could lock me away forever, or send me back to Iraq, or fire me off in a rocket to fuckin’ Mars, and I’d still come back for her.” I swallow the lump in my throat as I take a deep breath. “She’s it,” I say, glancing at both of them. “She’s it, and I love her.”
There’s silence in the room as Eleanor holds my gaze in a way I’ve never seen personally before. It’s the look she held opponent’s with in her debates; the ice-cold, rock-solid stare of woman who runs a country.
And then she nods, the ice starting to crack. She looks at my father, and she’s reaching out to hold his hand before she looks back at me, her eyes softened. “You know, you’d make a damn good politician, Mr. Ryan.” Her lips curl into a small smile, and she’s squeezing my dad’s hand and nodding her head. “I suppose you’d better go get her, then.”
I start to grin when her eyebrows raise slightly. “But Hunter?” The smile drops as her face grows serious. “If you ever hurt my daughter in any way, I will see that your treason offer holds true.”
“Agreed,” I say with a grin.
The door flies open then to the sound of Dexter’s voice, “Dude, you know who I am, fuck off,” he says, flipping off the poor Secret Service agent outside as he slips inside. His eyes dart around the room to Eleanor smiling, and to my dad holding her hand. “Well, shit did I miss the part where he gets chewed out?”
I grin at him. “Perfect timing as always, Dex. Give me your jacket.”
He frowns. “What? Why?”
“Just let him have it, Dex,” our dad says, rolling his eyes. I’m yanking my pants up over my hospital gown, and then tearing if off as Dexter sighs and hands me his jacket.
“Thank you,” I say, turning to Eleanor and then nodding at my dad. “Mom would approve, you know. Big time.”
His jaw tenses, but then he’s smiling at me and slowly nodding his head. “Thank you.”
I clap him on the shoulder again with a quick nod before I grab Dexter and start to tear out the doorway.
“Hey, wait, where are we going?”
“To steal a Secret Service SUV,” I mutter under my breath as we march down the hospital hallway.
Dexter nods enthusiastically as the grin spreads across his face. “Sweet!”
“Oh and I need you to drive.”
He looks at me sharply as I punch the buttons of the elevator. “Dude I have a suspended license after that last ticket, remember?”
“Nope,” I turn and gin at my brother. “Not ringing a bell. Look, just push your foot down and don’t stop until I say so, okay?”
Because like said, nothing in the world is going to stop me now from going after the girl I love.
39.
The lights come up, the cameras start rolling, and every eye in the room is on me. There’s a hum of something ringing in my ear as my head swims in the lights and the attention and the blur of it all, but here we are.
Here I am exactly where I never wanted to be: in the spotlight, letting all my secrets and dirty laundry hang out for the world to see.
The media Q&A is supposed to be about the veteran’s rights non-profit that I’ve put my support behind. Except, I know as soon as the crowd of hungry reporters with their probing microphones and blinding camera lights hunches forward like a pack of hungry wolves that the non-profit is the last thing I’m about to be asked about, two days after the world saw me with Hunter.
And the questions come quick like driving rain.
‘Where is Hunter Ryan now? And why isn’t he here?’
’Is there another woman?’
‘Did YOU stab Hunter, Ms. Adams?’
They get more and more ridiculous, until I feel my head start to swim under of the farce of it all. They’re so wrapped up in the drama of my life that they’re about to drag me down with them. Because that’s all I am here; a public figure, a photo op, a story, something to discuss and dissect.
Which is exactly why I’ll be announcing later to my mother that I’m leaving and heading back to law school.
It stings. It feels like running away, but I know there’s nothing left for me here. With Hunter presumably forced and threatened away, and the whole world knowing about us anyways, there’s nothing for me to do except crawl into my hole and let the whole thing fall into history.
I sigh and raise my brow arbitrarily at one of the hundreds of reporters waving their pens in the air.
“Okay, fine. First question?”
She stands, straightening her glasses. “Yes, Ms. Adams, you haven’t commented yet on how long this affair with Mr. Ryan had been going on for? Was it before the election or was it something that came—”
“Next question,” I say with a roll of my eyes, frowning as the room erupts into chaos again. I turn and look pleadingly at Emma.
“Any further questions that do not in any way relate to Mr. Ryan?” She says, more sharply than I’m used to from her.
The room goes quiet.
Yeah, that’s what I thought.
I take a deep breath and look out over the gaggle of reporters. “Look, to settle it here and now so we can move on, it was…”
It was what?
The reporters lean forward, microphones ready, cameras rolling, lights flashing as the click of cameras echo through the room.
It was nothing I was looking for and everything I’ve always wanted. It was wild, and freeing, and made me feel alive.
It was love.
And I know that now, now that I can’t have it, and that might be the deepest cut of all.
I breathe in again. “It was complicated, so I believe we’ve decided to go our—“
“Yeah, I’ve got a question.”
The voice booms across the room, and everything else drifts away at the sound of that voice.
His voice.
Just like that, the sea of reporters parts, and a murmur rumbles through the crowd as people start to recognize him.
Hunter stands in the back of the room by the door, with his brother panting and wild-eyed behind him. He’s standing there with his arms crossed over his chest and that cocky, smug grin on his face. “My question is, what if no one gave a shit?”
The room erupts into titters and chuckles as I feel my cheeks burn and a smile starts to spread over my face.
Hunter arches an eyebrow as he starts to p
ush his way through the crowd. “What if no one gave a shit, would that make it less complicated?”
I’m standing before I can stop myself, and grinning like an idiot as I step off the stage and start pushing past cameras and reports.
“Decidedly,” I say, feeling the rush of it all start to erupt out of me. And then we’re face to face, and we just stand there, holding our breaths, lost in the moment.
“Oh, good,” Hunter says, nodding nonchalantly as he looks around at the hundreds of cameras and microphones shoved in his face. “Anyone here give a shit about complicated?”
“Fuck no!” Dexter crows out from the doorway, and the crowd starts to laugh as Hunter shrugs. “Good, because I love this woman and I sure don’t give a shit what you all think about it.”
The reporters and everyone else in the room start to go nuts as he turns back, and reaches to pull me into him. “Guess I should have run that past you first.” He grins, “I love you, Maddie.”
“Damn do I love you too,” I manage to get out before I’m falling into him and melting as those lips sear across my own as the cameras click and flash and the questions come pouring out.
“Oh the hell with it!” The sound of Emma’s voice has me whirling back to the stage in time to see her bolt out of her chair, sending it tumbling behind her.
“Dexter Ryan,” she says loudly, her cheeks flushed and her hands clenched at her sides. “I love you!”
It’s absolute chaos, and I’m laughing as Dexter starts shoving and sprinting his way through the crowd, just in time for Emma to squeal and jump off the ledge of the stage into his arms.
“I…” Hunter furrows his brow, a smile creeping over his lips and he holds me close. “I did not see that coming?”
I laugh. “Right?”
He turns back. “Of course, I never saw you coming either,” he murmurs.
“Well how could you, with that mask on?”
“Exactly,” he grins at me. “Half blind. I’m calling a technicality.”
“Motion denied.”
“Good.”
And then he’s kissing me as the lights flash, and the cameras clicks, and the questions scream, and the crowd surges around us.
The whole world is watching; the whole world knows about my perfect, wonderful secret.
And I just don’t care.
EPILOGUE
The masks that we wear come off.
Contrary to popular opinion and what people might tell you, we can change who we are. We can change, and maybe sometimes, if we’re lucky, we can let someone else take the mask off us and show us who we really are.
The aftermath of San Francisco wasn’t all fun and games, I’ll say that. The story caught like wildfire after that picture went to print, and Hunter’s very public declaration at the press conference only fanned the flames. From there, the story sparked into a million directions, and the rumors ran wild.
Some of them, like the one where people actually believed I’d stabbed Hunter in some sort of lover’s quarrel, were comical. Others, like the one where a special interest group raised millions to investigate my mother on possible impeachment charges, were not. People can act like heroes, or people can act like garbage, and unfortunately, this world is full of both types.
The thing is though, Hunter’s very public words - albeit crude - hit a nerve. Because really, who does give a shit? And as it turns out, aside from the people who were going to hate everything anyways, the answer was “no one”.
There was a whirlwind of interviews and appearances, and the PR team even managed to convince me to go back on “Good Morning to the Nation” and sit there smiling while the three hosts fawned all over Hunter. There were articles in everything from highbrow political blogs to trashy celebrity magazines analyzing our relationship; articles that analyzed our relationship in terms of democracy and the free world to the latest trends on chunky bracelets a juice cleanses.
Yeah, people are weird.
Someone even wanted to opt a movie script about our story, to which Hunter replied at the meeting with “only if he could do his own nude scenes”, while I groaned into my hands.
“Not a chance,” I’d whispered to him in the hallway after they’d hastily wrapped the meeting when Hunter had started unzipping his pants. “That’s a private viewing only, thank you very much.”
“Heck of a jealous streak you’ve got there, doll.” He’d grinned at me, his hand pinching my butt as we walked out the building.
“Oh, you really want to see me when I get jealous?”
“Absolutely,” he’d growled in my ear.
But after all the interviews, and the pageantry, and all of that, things calmed down. I went back to law school, and finished, and now I’m back in D.C., working on veterans rights reform. Yeah, I know; back in D.C. and back in the place I never wanted to be in the first place. But honestly, I like it here. My family’s here, my work is here…
Oh, right, and my husband lives here. I mean, he has to, at least when Congress is in session.
Like I said, the masks we wear can come off, and it just may surprise you - or really everyone - whats on underneath. Because underneath the hot-headed bossiness, the scars, the tattoos, and the armor, was a whole new part of Hunter Ryan waiting to come out.
Congressman Ryan I should say, representing the fine people of his home state of South Carolina and on his way to becoming the youngest Speaker of the House in United States history.
You see, as it turns out, that mix of cocky swagger, home-grown charm, and maybe just a touch of ego does wonders with pig-headed and stubborn members of the House. It turns out a decorated war record, a touch of a dominant streak, and a downright criminally charming smile is some sort of magic formula when it comes to making feuding members on both sides of the aisle shake hands and agree on things that actually benefit the country.
Dexter did end up going back to school, majoring in business and programming at Stanford. He’s already been offered an absolutely ludicrous position in Silicon Valley when he graduates.
“Hey, the rest of you suckers can save the world and lead the country. Somebody in this family has make money.”
Yeah, he’s pretty fond of that joke. Oh, he stopped smoking; Emma’s work.
Emma herself tried to insist on her own firing - firing, not even resignation; I’m telling you, she actually thinks like this - but my mother wouldn’t have it. She and Dexter are doing the distance thing with her still in D.C., having now moved up to head PA for the Office of the President.
I gave her a glowing reference.
My mother and Alec went right ahead and got married that summer, as planned, on the lawn of the White House, and without a single care given to the naysayers. They received a standing ovation at “I do” from ten presidents, prime ministers, chancellors, and heads of state that were in attendance, and it was the media event of the summer.
Months later, when she finally had to go testify at her own utterly absurd “obstruction of national security interests” hearing, she answered exactly three questions before she stood, chastised the committee on the “disgusting” waste of time, efforts, and taxpayer money, and walked out of the room.
She was acquitted on all charges.
Well, obviously, since she’s about to be sworn in for a second term.
That brings us to now, right back where we started on the freezing cold January afternoon on the steps of the U.S. Capital. Only this time, there’s no past nipping at my heels, no memories of masks and dark rooms and strangers lingering in the back of my mind, and no secrets.
This time, it’s all out in the open, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. This time, I’ve got the man I love standing beside me, with our daughter in his arms, for all the world to see.
…Well, ok, we’ve got one more secret, but I don’t think anyone but Hunter needs to know I’m not wearing any panties.
The End
Also by Aubrey Irons
Sports Romance:
Player: A Secret Baby Sports Romance
Score: A Stepbrother Sports Romance
Standalone Stepbrother Romance:
Secret: A Military Stepbrother Romance
Cockney: A British Stepbrother Romance
Crude: A Stepbrother Romance
Soldiers of Fortune Series:
Heat
Burn
Scorch
Roar
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About the Author
Aubrey Irons enjoys writing about bold, sassy, and intelligent women and the dominant, cocky, and quite typically forbidden alpha males who love and lust for them; gripping stories, happy endings, and enough heat to keep things extra steamy!
In the real world, Aubrey is kept plenty entertained by her own tattooed Marine husband, their precocious and adorable three year old, and one very ill-behaved puppy.
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Cockney: A British Stepbrother Romance
Cockney: A British Stepbrother Romance
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