Chief

by Lesli Richardson

  Michelle wheels on her husband and actually stomps her foot. “Benchley! Will you please focus? She fucking married him!”

  Susa gasps. I’ve gathered from what she’s told me about her parents that her mother, a retired college professor, wouldn’t say shit if she had a mouthful of it. Susa got her mouth from her father, in addition to her cunning, political savvy, and cut-throat instincts. Her mom, however, is usually gentle, soft-spoken.

  That her mother’s dropped an F-bomb likely means she’s the more dangerous of the two, at this moment.

  “When did this happen?” Michelle demands.

  “The weekend before I came up for the fundraiser,” Susa admits. “We took Owen to Las Vegas to reunite with his father, and we did it there.”

  Her mom takes a step forward, but Benchley’s hand shoots out and catches her arm. If the woman wants to take a shot at me—eh, with her fists—I’ll stand there and take it like a man.

  But I’m sure Benchley’s mind is thinking that a) he’d rather be the one hitting me, and b) how horrible a 911 call to their house and Michelle being arrested for battery would look in the papers when he’s eyeing his own run for governor, and beyond.

  Benchley looks at Owen, then me. “You two—out. We want to talk to our daughter. Alone.”

  “No, Daddy,” Susa says, stepping forward, her hands on her hips. “This happens with all of us, or none of us. Owen’s our friend, and Carter’s my husband. I don’t need to explain my rationale to you.”

  “Oh, yeah, you kind of do, Susannah Joleen!” he roars.

  Damn. I watch as she crosses her arms over her chest, a slow, sly smile filling her face, and I realize this is the future attorney, the future politician.

  The future governor of the great state of Florida.

  And I married her.

  “Daddy,” she says, her voice low and slow. “The trust is safe. Everything’s owned by that. We’re going to do a postnup after we pass the bar—”

  “You didn’t even sign a fucking prenup?”

  But he doesn’t rattle her in the slightest. She’s apparently used to this side of Benchley Evans. “—if we feel we need it. I love Carter, and he loves me. I actually proposed to him. We’re all registered as Independents now, we’re going to work on running for lower offices first, then we’re going to get Owen elected governor with me as his lieutenant.”

  “Over my fucking dead body!”

  “That can be arranged, Daddy!” she roars back.

  He flinches, as does Michelle.

  Fair enough, because so do I, and I reach out to Owen to steady him, too.

  I’ve never seen this side of Susa. Fuck, I didn’t know she had this side. Apparently, neither did her parents.

  I also realize I’m now uncomfortably erect, and don’t dare reach down and adjust where my cock’s painfully wedged against my fly at an angle that’s pinching me.

  Thank god I’m wearing jeans and not slacks.

  Susa steps forward and jabs a finger at her father. “All my life, you raised me to be independent, to fearlessly go for what I wanted without apologies, and to find what makes me happy. Well, what I want is Carter, and to help Owen get elected, and get myself elected. That’s what makes me happy.

  “Now, I’m sorry I’m disappointing you and not staying with the GOP, but this isn’t a shocker to you, admit it. I’ve told you plenty of times I’m not happy with them holding on to platform planks that try to limit women’s healthcare rights and the right to choose. Not to mention the disturbing number of racists who seem to be congregating among their ranks. Your GOP is stuck in the Dark Ages, Daddy, regardless of your personal beliefs. It was never my GOP. And you know I do not agree with the Democrats on more than a few of their fiscal and foreign policies.

  “So here’s the bottom line, Daddy—deal with it. I’m not divorcing him, I’m not getting an annulment. I’m nineteen, and you and Momma got married when you were both eighteen, and here you still are.”

  “We were both eighteen,” he counters, “and neither of us had a pot to piss in. How do you know he’s not going to divorce you or rob you blind?”

  “Because he wanted a prenup to protect me,” she lies, “and I said no. Everything we bring to this marriage is exempt from a divorce. I already checked.” That last part is true, though.

  I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that she can so easily lie to her father, but it is a vital skill for a politician.

  Maybe I misjudged my girl, underestimated her.

  “Sir,” I say, taking over as I reach out and touch Susa’s shoulder, “I’m sorry this is such a shock, and happened so quickly. I take responsibility for that.”

  “Damn fucking right you will!” he roars.

  “Daddy.” Susa’s voice bears a dangerous edge that sounds like she’s taken a page straight from Sarge’s playbook. “Settle the fuck down, right now, or we’re leaving.”

  Michelle gasps. “Don’t you talk to your father like that!”

  “Oh, I’m going to talk to the Senator like that,” Susa says, meeting her father’s glare head-on and without cringing. “If I was your son and came home with a wife, would you be acting like this?”

  “If she was, what, ten years older than him and had no prenup? Probably, yeah.”

  “Then I guess if you wanted to make all my decisions for me, you shouldn’t have raised me to be self-sufficient and given me the means with which to do it.”

  “So how much have you blown through of your trust, huh? Don’t you come running to me when you run out of fucking money!”

  She angrily yanks her phone out of her back pocket, opens an app, swipes to something, and jams it in his face. “You see that, Daddy? You see that fucking bank balance? What does it fucking say, hmm?”

  His eyes widen. “What the hell?”

  “What?” Michelle asks, stepping in to look.

  I can’t help it—I’m smirking, and use their distraction to reach down and finally adjust myself.

  I know exactly why they’re shocked, because when Susa showed me and explained it, I was pleasantly shocked, too.

  “In case your math skills are rusty, Daddy, yes, I’ve actually increased the value of my trust by two hundred thousand dollars in the last six months. I did some research and made some excellent stock choices and then sold them. So I’d say I’m doing okay right now.” She shuts the phone off and slides it back into her pocket. “And Carter doesn’t get a say about that, either.”

  She’s right. While we know each other’s finances, one of my rules was that, for the two of us, the actual management of our money is a joint venture with the person whose account it is getting the final say. That excludes purchases. I have veto powers. Together, we support Owen. The other can veto what we feel is a poor decision that will cost money, but as far as smart investment to increase our savings, that’s off-limits.

  In fact, I’ve taken Susa’s advice and started retooling my own savings and retirement accounts. Plus, the small retirement account we started for Owen is already making tiny gains. She obviously knows her stuff. If she wasn’t going to be an attorney, I’d be urging her to think about becoming a stock broker or something.

  Hey, I’m a bastard, but I’m not an idiot. I’m happy to admit Susa is an expert in this area, and both Owen and I are learning a lot from her. Instead of her going out and partying in high school, she spent it learning, researching, and building her trust, which her father gave her control of at age sixteen. It’s part of the reason she was upset at Benchley for overruling her decision to live in a dorm this year. She’d been looking forward to a “normal” life, for a change.

  Fortunately, it all worked out for the best.

  Michelle is crying now. “Honey, can we please talk about this like adults?” She sends a withering glare my way. “Alone?”

  “No.”

  “Are you pregnant?” Benchley asks, full-on death glare at me in progress.

  “No, Daddy, I’m not pregnant. That’s not going to b
e a problem.”

  I ignore the pang I feel over that but refuse to let my emotions show or give anything away.

  “What about school?” Michelle has devolved into tearful pleading.

  “I’m still going to school. We all agree that school is our priority.”

  “Then why did you fucking do this?” Benchley roars, back to thunder.

  “Because time is never your friend, and it’s never on your side,” she softly says. “That’s what you told me. And Nana always told me to take time to make time, or I’d regret it.” She glances at me over her shoulder. “Carter’s a decorated war vet. He nearly died saving his men. He wants to be an attorney, and he wants to help me get elected as governor.”

  “Then why did you quit the GOP? What the hell am I supposed to tell people…”

  And…

  And…

  AND…

  We stand there for the better part of thirty minutes with her parents repeatedly circling around the same issues.

  Honestly? I’m not so sure that Benchley might be more upset about Susa switching party affiliation than he is about her getting married. As I read him, when she showed them her trust’s bank balance, that seemed to mentally slide the man into a different track.

  Michelle is still pleading with Susa to talk to them alone, and Susa’s still refusing.

  Finally, Benchley scrubs his face with his hands and sounds defeated. “If you were a real fucking man,” he says to me, “you would have fucking called me and talked to me about this first.”

  Susa crosses her arms again, her voice returning to that drop-dead fucking sexy growl. “How many years did you spend in the Army, Daddy? How many car bombs did you throw yourself in front of to protect your men, hmm?”

  His eyes widen, and I’m again simultaneously hard and trying not to burst out laughing. She’s got him, and he fucking knows it.

  She steps forward and actually forces the man back a step. “Don’t you ever question his manhood again, Senator,” she says. “Because he’s got a Purple Heart and the scars to prove his bravery. Suck it up. Both of you. I love you, but this is done. Are we having dinner, or do we need to leave?”

  I reach out and gently lay my hand on her shoulder and call my sweet little Hellhound back to my side.

  “Susa,” I say, “as you both are well aware, is very independent. I asked if she wanted to take more time and have a formal wedding, and she didn’t want to waste the money on one. Now, I know this isn’t perhaps how you envisioned gaining a son-in-law, but if it means anything, my parents have been married for over forty years, and I don’t take my vows lightly.”

  “What do your parents think of this?” Benchley asks.

  “They don’t know yet. I wanted to wait until after we told you, which I wanted to do in person, when we both could be here.”

  “And what does your father do for a living?”

  “He’s a retired lieutenant colonel,” I say. “Army. I have six brothers, all currently serving or retired, two of them killed in action while I was still in high school. I’m the youngest.”

  That softens Michelle a little. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. I spent nearly eight years in,” I add. “I always wanted to be an attorney. I’m not going to apologize for falling in love with Susa. We’re lucky, and we know it.”

  Owen’s spent this entire time silently standing there and feeling extremely uncomfortable, from the way his hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his slacks. I know this is a two-pronged issue for him, both the tenor and tone of the conversation, as well as the subject matter.

  He has to pretend he’s just Susa’s friend, just my friend, not that he’s in love with her and belongs to me and Susa.

  Unfortunately, that’s when Benchley finally focuses on Owen. “Well? Do you have anything to say?”

  I tamp down my rage, but before I can move to defend him, Susa steps in front of Owen, her arms behind her to hold Owen in place. Back to the Hellhound growl. “Don’t you dare attack him, Daddy. He’s our friend, and he’s our family.”

  “Family?”

  “We’ve…adopted him,” I say. “His mother’s abusive, and I don’t want him to jeopardize his scholarship by having to get a job. I can afford to pay his share of the bills, and yes, Susa can show you bank statements where I pay in to the household account. We asked Owen to move in with us because we love him. I’m loyal to the people I love, sir. Owen really helped take care of me this semester when I had trouble because of my pain.”

  “What are you, a junkie?” Benchley asks.

  Susa launches another verbal fusillade, but I simply unbutton the top two buttons of my shirt and pull it and my undershirt off over my head in one movement before I turn.

  Benchley falls silent mid-sentence, and Michelle loudly gasps.

  When I turn back, I’m staring the man in his eyes before I pull my undershirt and shirt back on. “Had three guys shot in an ambush. Insurgents rolled a car bomb at us, and I threw myself on top of my guys to protect them.”

  That’s not the full story, but it’s as much as they or anyone else will ever get from me. “No, I’m not a junkie. I can’t tolerate opioids, actually. So I live with my pain.” I tuck my shirttails in. “I believe Susa asked you a question, sir.”

  They’re still both trying to process what I know they just saw on my back. I hate going shirtless around people I don’t know. I only tolerate shorts because while the backs of my legs are scarred, it doesn’t look as dramatic as when seeing the wide swath of scars on my back.

  Owen was the first person who got to see my back, other than medical personnel, since leaving the rehab center. Last year, I never took my shirt off around my roommate, at least not when he could see my back.

  Susa sometimes lies in bed behind me, her fingers slowly tracing my scars, her lips following the contours. I won’t deny that it is one of the things that melts me about her. The first time she saw my back, she didn’t act horrified, or pretend it wasn’t there. She treated me matter-of-factly.

  As my lover and wife, she’s shown me that my physical scars don’t scare or repel her.

  If only I could show her all of my emotional scars and be certain she would feel the same way.

  Michelle’s hugging herself again. “I’ll go check the roast,” she quietly says. “It should almost be done.” She heads off to the kitchen.

  Susa focuses on Benchley. “Truce, Daddy? I promise I’m getting my law degree. I’m going to make you proud of me, I swear.”

  I don’t understand what nerve that strikes with him, but I see him flinch. “I’ve always been proud of you, SusieJo.”

  “Then please be proud of me now. Give Carter a chance.” She smirks. “Hey, I ran a credit and background check on him, if that means anything.”

  He finally laughs. “Goddammit, honey.” He finally opens his arms to her for a hug, but as he holds her, he’s glaring at me.

  He’s not done with me yet, I’m sure.

  That’s fair, because the bastard extraordinaire is going to spend every opportunity I can get to find something I can use against him to get him to back the fuck off. Just because he’s her father doesn’t mean I won’t ruin him if he pushes me too far.

  Or if he tries to go after Owen.

  Chapter Ten

  Now

  Benchley and Michelle are not handling waiting well. As Susa approaches her due date and we cut back all of our public appearances, they’re over at our townhouse nearly every evening after work, and it’s driving Susa crazy.

  She’s actually threatened to move in to the guest room at the Florida Governor’s Mansion, if they don’t back off. Meaning security would be there to keep them out.

  Hey, my sweet little Hellhound is perfectly capable of dealing with her parents without my help. But Susa is their only child, and this is their only grandchild.

  I can’t blame them, but like hell will I contradict my pregnant and very emotional wife.

  #ba
stardextraordinairenotidiotextraordinaire

  Owen’s actually stopped by tonight on his way home from the office, and he brought Chinese food with him because Susa asked him to stop and get it, knowing he’d be dropping by anyway.

  Governor or not, our boy loves Susa, and like hell will he say no to the mother of his child.

  The obstetrician we’re using schedules us after-hours appointments, and we always make sure Owen is there and inside first, his security detail vehicles moved and not visible before we arrive. So far, no one’s caught on.

  If anyone does, we’re prepared to defend our decision to have Owen there, up to and including revealing he’s the baby’s biological father, if we’re forced to.

  Hopefully we won’t need to go to that length. The video loop of Owen breaking down as he gave his statement when her plane first went down humanized him to his state. They saw the distraught friend, not their governor.

  I’ll remind people of that, if we’re ever questioned. It’s no secret that Owen and I are best friends.

  Susa hired a private Lamaze instructor who signed an NDA and came to the townhouse for our lessons so Owen could be a part of them.

  Now it’s just a matter of waiting for Petey to decide he wants to join us.

  Of course our best-laid plans go to fucking shit. I’m out of the office and on the other side of town on a Wednesday afternoon at meetings with lawmakers from all over the state when I get a 911 text from Dray on my work phone.

  I immediately excuse myself and leave the room to call his personal cell from nine.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He’s laughing. “Um, well, Governor Taylor literally just carried your wife downstairs, and we’re getting into a car to go to the hospital. Her water broke while we were in his office and they were on a conference call with Governor Forrester of Tennessee. He says congratulations, by the way.”

  I hear her yell, “Give me that,” and then she’s on the line. “Can you please order someone to let me walk?”

  I laugh. “No. Give Dray his phone back, pet. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”