Red Blooded

by Caitlin Sinead

  I look up. “Me neither.”

  He smiles. It’s a small, little thin smile. It’s a vulnerable smile.

  I smile too.

  He rubs his neck and then his forehead. “Why did you come tonight?”

  I take a risk. “I was hoping to talk to you.”

  He nods and paces for a moment. “About...”

  I’m not going to give him that. I look to a mirror hanging where a painting would fit better. In the mirror, we mirror each other. He’s taller, but only by a few inches, and our hair matches except his is brighter, but it’s our postures, slouched, defeated, that really reflect.

  “I think you know,” I say.

  He closes his eyes and brings his hands, palm to palm, to his lips.

  “You must hate me.” He moves his hands away from his face.

  “Why?”

  He paces again, and returns to the chair, pulling at a thread. “I assume your aunt, your mom, they told you?”

  He looks up, and, for the first time, I know it. It is true. Rocks seem to drop inside me. This thing I suspected, I thought I knew but I didn’t really. I thought maybe I was on a wild goose chase, but no. Hot waves crash and burn. He’s my father. Sadness and happiness and a dozen other emotions rush over me and I start to cry again, but only a little. I swallow the burning tears back.

  “I don’t hate you.” I shake my head and move around to the chair. I sit down and clutch my knees. They’re only knees but they’re something to hold onto. “But yes, they told me. You’re my...”

  I can’t say it.

  My dad, no matter what some biology test would say, was and is still my dad. My real dad.

  I wave my hand in the air as though I’m hurtling away all the guilty thoughts. “You’re my biological...”

  Even with the qualifier I can’t go on.

  “I was really young,” he says. “And I didn’t know about you. Well, until...”

  “I know.”

  He looks back at the thread he’s been playing with. “They kept it from me.”

  “I know.” I stand up. It’s silly for me to sit while he stands. We can both stand. “Until they stopped keeping it from you. Four years ago.”

  He raises his eyebrows.

  “They said you didn’t want to have anything to do with me,” I say.

  His face droops, as though I took a nine iron and hit him in the belt-buckle. He opens his mouth, but it just hangs there for a long time. “It’s not that simple.”

  “I know,” I say, rubbing my toe into the carpet and then hugging myself. “You’re married and a congressional leader and—”

  He comes around the chair and takes three quick steps toward me. “No, Peyton, I don’t think you understand. Yes, I reacted badly when they first told me. I was surprised and angry. But then, after I calmed down, I talked to Kaylie about it. She’s an incredibly gracious woman. She wanted me to figure out a way to be part of your life. And I wanted to too.”

  He leans toward me, forehead furrowed. “But a congressman can’t just start taking a Senator’s teenage daughter to baseball games. He can’t just start grabbing a frozen yogurt with the granddaughter of a retired Senator.”

  “So, why didn’t you just come out with it? Say the truth.”

  He straightens his jacket and shakes his head. “I thought about it. I even ran a poll to see if I could still get re-elected, and the advisors said if I handled it right, especially given that I didn’t even know about you, well, it might have been okay. But it probably would have destroyed your mom. She kept this secret from the public, from you, for this long. And Victoria would have had to deal with all the publicity too. It would be too goddamn titillating. There’d be a media circus.”

  I rub my temples with the base of my palms and close my eyes really hard. “They didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “We were thinking of you, too, Peyton. None of us wanted that attention for you. And we didn’t want you to have to keep this a secret, either. We didn’t want you to have to sneak over to my house for dinner twice a month.”

  “You could have asked me what I wanted,” I say, voice strong and face feeling hot.

  He looks at the ground and nods. “We could have.” He runs both hands through his hair. “And I’m not a saint here. I didn’t push them to come out with it. Honestly, I was...relieved that they didn’t want to. But, these past few years have been harder than I thought they would be. Kaylie would welcome you. She’s always wanted a girl. Tate and Jackson would be surprised, but I think they’d be able to handle it too.”

  I didn’t think my chest could freeze and heave at the same time but it does. My mouth fills with water and my eyes pour forth with even more tears.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, coming toward me, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. “Please don’t cry.”

  I wipe the satiny fabric under my eyes, against my cheek. “This whole time,” I say, between hiccups. “I thought I was looking for my biological dad. I didn’t even think about it, till right now...”

  “Think about what?” he asks.

  My mouth is salty, but also grateful. “I have brothers.”

  And there his smile is again, this strange thing that certainly never appeared when he was talking to reporters or lamenting tax hikes next to pundits or criticizing the Democrats’ proposed immigration policy. It’s warm, almost airy. “You have brothers.”

  We share this goofy, weird smile before I look back at the carpet.

  “So...what do we do?” I ignore the tension in my forehead.

  “Two weeks before the election would be the worst time for your mom to come forward with this,” he says. “I don’t think you want that to happen.”

  “Is that a threat?” I ask, tensing.

  He cocks his head. “Peyton, I know you probably don’t think that highly of me, but I’m not always a cutthroat bastard. Just when, you know, the risk is worth it.” He smiles again, not necessarily warm, but mischievous. “I don’t mind breaking a few balls on my way up, but I’m not about to make my daughter’s life hell, and hurt my own reputation in the process, on the chance it would shift an election.” He shakes his head. “There are only two things in life more important than politics, and one of those is family.”

  “What’s the other?” I ask. “God?”

  He laughs. “No, the other is the Harvard-Yale game.”

  I laugh. “Of course.”

  He cracks his knuckles and looks out the window. “If Ruiz wins, and, despite what I’m saying when I’m on the morning shows, it looks like he’s going to, your mom will need to be focused. The country will need to be focused. I just don’t see a good time for this to come out in the near future.”

  “Maybe there will never be a good time?”

  He stops cracking his knuckles, his hands in midair for a second, before he walks over to the desk. He scrawls something on a piece of paper.

  He comes back and holds the paper out to me. Then pulls it back. “I know this is a pitiful offering, but...” He places it in my hand. It’s an email and a phone number. “My personal contact information.” He stiffens. “But don’t use it until...well...”

  “After the election.” I grip the paper harder. Everything must wait until after the election.

  “It’s not worth the risk,” he continues. “After that, I’d like to know what you’re up to, and not just by watching every interview you have.”

  “You’ve been doing that?” I ask.

  “Of course,” he says. “Kaylie records all of your appearances. You’ve grown up into a fine young lady. Poised, intelligent...passionate.” He frowns and waves his hand. “I’m disappointed that you’re a Democrat, of course, but nobody’s kid is perfect.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, yeah.”

  “But I
was really impressed that you chose to address some of the problems with teachers’ unions on Marie Boucher’s show,” he says.

  “I was just speaking for myself,” I say, fingers curling into my palms.

  “As you should have. It was still brave to deviate from your party like that. Independent thought is vital to our society. And despite what I say publicly, neither party has everything right.”

  “No, they don’t.” I fold the piece of paper, carefully putting it into my pocket. “I hope one day we can have more than this, but I understand.”

  “Will you be okay?” he asks. “You have someone here, with you. Right? I think I recognized the guy standing next to you. He’s Dylan, right? Your...boyfriend? How are things going with you two?”

  I shake my head. “Not great. I’ve given him every reason not to trust me. I hate that my mom lied to me, but then I turn around and lie to someone I care about. I’ve dragged him into so much.”

  Roberts scratches his chin. “Well, we all dragged you into a difficult situation to begin with. Hopefully he’ll understand that.”

  “Hopefully.”

  He put his hands in his pockets. “I’m glad you inherited your aunt’s calmness. If I were you, I’d probably be screaming at me for being such a fucking dick. But you’re just like her. Poised.”

  “Thanks.” I turn back, before opening the door. “I do have this tendency though, to be stubborn sometimes. To push my way through to get what I want, make people understand me. And to get really angry. I guess I can be a dick sometimes too.”

  “I wonder where you got that from.” He smiles and, for the first time, I see his eyes glisten. He turns away, wiping his face. When he looks back at me, he says. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Me too.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  When I exit, Dylan, as promised, is standing next to the door, waiting for me. His face crashes and he pulls me to him. “Are you okay? What happened? If he did anything...”

  “No, it was good,” I say, sniffling into his sweater. “It was good.”

  “Are you sure?” he whispers into my hair.

  “Yeah.”

  The guy who brought us rushes by. “Stay right here,” he warns us, before swooping into the office. We wait, not releasing each other until the door clangs open and Roberts bursts out.

  “There’s a reporter outside. A few people Tweeted that they thought they saw you here.” He frowns. “If they see you and can confirm it, well...”

  I looked to Dylan. “What should we do?”

  “I’ve got a driver,” Roberts continues. “He can come around behind the building. The back windows are tinted.”

  Dylan puts his hands behind his head. “Yeah, I think we’ll have to do that. Thanks.”

  Roberts nods to the man with folded arms. “Take them to the back entrance. Have Tony take them home.”

  We head deeper into the building and down a few flights to a loading dock type area. The night is cold and chilly as we get in the back of the car. Dylan gives his address to the driver and then stares out the window, jaw tight.

  I don’t want to say anything.

  When we get out of the car, his house is quiet. Dark.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask.

  “House party.” His voice is gruff as he motions for me to follow him. “Come on.”

  He walks up the creaky stairs and I follow. He opens a door to his room. It represents him perfectly. The shelf is full of political books and there’s a large JFK poster and collection of donkey bobble-heads. I walk to the side of the shelf, near the wall, to read a framed Doonesbury cartoon. I giggle at the punch line and turn around. “This is pretty funny.”

  He doesn’t laugh or smile or even nod.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Was it worth it?”

  “Yeah,” I smile. “It really was, and I am so grateful for all your help.”

  A brief smile crosses his face before he’s back to his penetrating stare. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about waiting,” he says in this gravelly voice as he steps toward me.

  “Yeah?” I say. He closes the space between us.

  “I’ve been patient. I’ve been really fucking patient.” He rubs his thumb along my collarbone and licks his lips.

  “Yeah,” I whisper as I arch my back.

  “I’m done being patient.”

  His hands envelop my cheeks as he presses his mouth against mine. My hands hold his neck as he pushes me into the wall. My heart beats fast against his chest as his mouth makes its way along my jaw before he licks the sensitive part under my ear. I work on getting his belt off as quickly as possible, which is difficult because he’s trying to take my dress off at the same time. I laugh and say, “This isn’t work—” He pushes my arms up and pulls my dress over my head in one quick swoop. He pulls my waist flush against him with one hand as his finger trails slowly along the skin above my bra. He pulls down one of the straps, his thumb gently gliding over my nipple. I press my head against the wall and moan. He smiles as he unclips my bra. He lifts me and takes my breast in his mouth—heat ricochets down my spine. I tug at his shirt and get it over his toned shoulders. Finally, my hands explore all the dents in his abs I’ve been wanting to touch for so long.

  We keep kissing, over and over, as we get his pants off. I slide my fingers into his boxers. As I touch him, his breathing becomes more uneven. “Enough,” he grunts. He picks me up and crashes me into the bed, wet, hot kisses trailing down me.

  Through heavy breaths against my skin, he says, “I want you so much, but I don’t want you to feel any pressure...”

  “Ditto.” I start to shimmy out of my panties. Dylan is rather helpful in this task. Once I’m free, his fingers test me, rubbing slowly, before they push into me. I arch my back and moan. As he moves within me, he watches me like I’m a work of art in motion. It doesn’t take long for the friction to culminate. I clutch him as the world rockets—in a good way. No, wait, in a fantastic way.

  “Dylan,” I whisper.

  “Yes,” he says in a raspy voice.

  “I don’t want to be patient anymore either. I want you right now. “

  He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he pulls off his boxers and grabs a condom.

  He rolls it on and props himself over me. He strokes the tip against me. I stretch and groan. His face morphs as he glides into me. Sparks soar and take flight in my veins. He holds the back of my head as we continue to move together.

  He’s thick and rhythmic and everything else that’s marvelous. I could go on like this forever. It’s where I’m supposed to be. He licks the spot below my ear and I can’t help writhing in his grasp.

  “You like that?” he whispers.

  “I love it.” Now I’m sounding raspy too.

  I feel his wet grin against my skin before he continues to run circles with his tongue along my neck. He thrusts inside me and groans in my ear. It puts me over the edge. I’m gone again. I clutch his glorious-smelling hair and the blankets and I’d probably clutch something else if I had more than two hands.

  He stares at me as I come and soon he’s going to, grabbing on to me, his hands firm around my hips as he arches his neck.

  He falls next to me and holds me close to him. Our hot breaths cascade on our hot skin.

  He takes my hands and rubs my knuckles against his lips. “I meant everything I said.”

  “What?”

  “On Marie’s show. I meant it.” His eyes glint in the soft light as he takes a deep breath. “You’re the person I need. The only person I want.”

  I curl my hands around his neck and bring our faces closer together. Our warm tongues can be soft and gentle in a way impatience wouldn’t have allowed an hour ago. I pull back and whisper, “I need you, t
oo.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  I have days or weeks left. It’s not clear. When I wake up in the morning, I’m never sure I’ll be around to go to sleep that night. But then again, that’s true for all of us.

  * * *

  Dylan is pretty new to this whole not-waiting thing, so he wants to declare his passionate love to everyone, starting with Lisa. Fortunately, before he has a chance to send an embarrassing email, I convince him there are certain things it is okay to wait for. Especially when acting now would help nothing and hurt so many things. We agree to keep our true feelings to ourselves until after the election. So, the way Dylan rubs my knee and smiles at me on the ride home may not look that different to outsiders. But I feel a 180.

  We watch videos of cats flopping around and hamsters eating mini burritos and we burrow into each other’s laughs.

  When we get back, we don’t have much time before we need to get ready for Tristan’s parents’ fundraiser. I thought Dylan looked good in a suit, but seeing him in a tux...my. Let’s just say I have trouble keeping my hands to myself in the limo. And when we emerge from the car and he crooks his arm for me, I can’t help feeling all fluttery.

  It’s silly. It’s girlish.

  I don’t care.

  “Hey, Missy.”

  Bain. My fluffy, fun emotions swirl down the drain. “Hey.”

  “We need to talk.” He walks down the elegant hall and Dylan and I follow. Bain turns around. “Just Peyton.”

  Dylan squeezes my arm before I continue. Bain enters a small, empty reception room. I walk in and he shuts the door.

  “So.” He puts his hands behind his back and eyes me. “You’re against teachers now?”

  Oh, right. He hasn’t seen me since the Marie interview. “I’m not against teachers, or even teachers’ unions. They have an important function in helping teachers. I just think the unions have a lot of bad policies that are hurting education in this country.”

  “Last I checked, that wasn’t one of the positions of the campaign.” He leans forward, his eyes pierce with growling focus.