by Charles, Eva
I have no idea what the government found inside the SOLO lab. I don’t even know whether or not they’ve swept the place yet. That’s how clandestine the investigation is. It’s not unheard of for law enforcement agencies to open an investigation against a president, but it’s extremely rare.
I don’t trust the feds. But I trust Smith’s father implicitly. There aren’t many people I can say that about. He was the only man who took an interest in anything I had to say after my grandfather passed. I had my mother until she died, but sometimes a boy needs a man to guide him.
When I wanted to enlist in the army, it was Smith’s dad who helped me understand that I wasn’t answering a call of duty, I was running away from my responsibilities at home. He was right. “You’ll get your call to serve one day,” he assured me. “Sooner or later, every man does. Be prepared to answer it when it comes. But for now, you have other battles to fight.”
I need to try to keep things as normal as possible so that my father doesn’t suspect anything. I glance at my phone, suck in some oxygen, and call him.
“JD,” he cackles. “Been trying to reach you for more than a week.”
“I’ve been busy. We’re in the middle of a budget. The FDA is looking at approving Verex, and we’ve got a lot of other shit going on around here.”
“I need to approve the budget before it goes up for a vote.”
“There might not be time to get it to you. It’s not as though we can email it to you at the White House. You’re not supposed to know anything about the Sayle budget. But I’ll see what I can do.”
“You could get on your fancy plane and hand deliver it.”
That will not be happening. “I’m not an errand boy. I’ll figure something out.”
We talk business for another fifteen minutes, most of it benign. Except for the fact that he shouldn’t know a damn about Wilder Holdings, or about the drug we’re seeking to have approved by his FDA. A drug that will make us millions as soon as it hits the market.
“I’m sure you need to get back to work,” I say offhandedly. “I know I do.”
“I hear I’m going to be a grandfather.”
His words send an electric current up my spine. The kind that sets your hair on end. My heart stops.
We’ve told our closest family and friends about the baby, and I knew eventually the news would reach him, but I wasn’t prepared for this yet. I wanted to keep our secret pure. Untainted by the evil he spreads.
“I’m going to be a father.” I don’t say ‘you’re going to be a grandfather,’ because as far as I’m concerned, he will never be a grandfather to any child of mine.
“I thought you were smarter than to get yourself roped in by some floozy.”
My blood is at a high simmer, and I spit out the words with as much venom as I can muster. “You will respect the mother of my child, and my future wife.”
“Or what, JD?”
Or I will tear you apart limb by limb, until you’ve spent your last breath. The stakes are too high for me to say everything I’m thinking. I’ll have to satisfy myself knowing Gabrielle is safe, and that with a little luck and some help from the feds, we’ll bring the bastard to his knees.
“I hope it’s a girl,” he says. “I have a special touch when it comes to little girls.” I hear the snicker in his voice. I want to lunge at him and bang his head on a concrete floor until his eyes roll back and blood trickles from the corner of his mouth.
“You will never, ever, get near my child.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be like that. What are you going to do, hide the kid away in that Duval woman’s hotel? Oh wait, it burned to the ground, didn’t it? Damn shame.”
“You sonofabitch. Mark my words, you will get everything that’s coming to you. And you’ll get it in this world.”
“Big talk from someone who can’t protect shit. How many times have I told you, I’m so much better at this than you. You’re an amateur. Always have been. Always will be. You need to learn to fall into line. Life would be so much less stressful for you.”
“You will not get anywhere near my child. I’ll kill you first.”
“They don’t take threats to the president lightly.”
I end the call and grab my keys. “I’ll be out of the building for a couple hours,” I tell my assistant, on my way past her desk. “Unless it’s an emergency, I don’t want to be bothered.”
I drive around for about half an hour trying to clear my head, but all it does is wind me up some more. That man is the devil. He’ll torment me with my child just like he did with Gabrielle, only this time it’ll be worse. Far worse.
I drive to Sullivan’s Island, and change into running clothes in a convenience store bathroom. The wind whips around me as I run up and down the narrow side streets. All I can think about is killing my father.
He’s destroyed a piece of everyone around him. Everyone who’s still alive. I will not let him do that to my child. Whatever is happening with the feds and SOLO is out of my hands. Totally out of my hands. For all I know they’ll find nothing, and even if they find something, it’ll be years before any of it comes to fruition. He can do plenty of damage in the meantime.
Georgie’s journals might not be enough to convict him in a court of law, but they’re enough to convict him in my court. In the place where I’m judge and jury, I sentence him to death.
But how? How do I get close enough to kill him? Poison his food? Nah. He’s likely to survive that. They’ll move fast if he gets sick. It has to be quick and lethal. One shot is all I’ll get. But how do I get a gun close enough to him? The Secret Service no longer checks Chase or Gray going in and out of the White House. But aside from inauguration day, I haven’t set foot in the place.
Plastic gun? Maybe. 3-D gun that you can print out? Maybe. I don’t know enough about those sorts of weapons. All the guns I own are substantial and made of steel. Any one of them would do the trick, but not unless I can get it near him.
But I’ll never succeed unless I change my attitude. Unless I begin to soften my stance toward him. I’m going to have to make nice with the motherfucker. Jesus Christ. I don’t think I have it in me.
But you do JD. You can do anything you set your mind to.
I run until my side starts to cramp, then head back to a bar on the water and order a whiskey. My plan is nothing more than a rough sketch. But it starts now.
My father’s Achilles heel is his need to be surrounded by people who love him. Not real love, I don’t think he even knows what that is. He’s more than content with the sycophants. The people who lick his asshole and tell him his shit smells good enough to eat, all so they can rub elbows with him.
Can I do that? Do I have it in me to pretend he’s the next coming of Christ? I motion for the bartender to hit me again, and while he’s pouring, I scroll through my phone until I find my favorite picture of Gabrielle. She’s smiling at me. Her skin is flushed. Her eyes twinkling with mischief. It was my seventeenth birthday. She gave me her virginity that night.
I down my drink and pull up an image of Gabrielle pregnant. I focus on the tiny bump and imagine a little girl with her mama’s smile. I always imagine the baby’s a girl. Because I can’t bear to think about a little boy who grows up to be like me. A son who looks to me for guidance. I’m a fuck up, a lost soul, depraved. Call me what you want.
But my father will not destroy another generation.
On the way back to the office, I call him. He’s the damn president so I don’t expect him to answer his cell phone, but he does.
“JD. Twice in one day. What’s on your mind?”
“I’m calling a truce. I want things to be different between us. Better. I’m about to become a father. My life is going to change, and I need my attitude to change too. I want the next generation to be born into a real family that’s not always feuding.”
He says nothing at first. My father isn’t stupid, but he’s a classic narcissist, and his urge to believe I want to be close to him
will overcome everything else. “I won’t make you say the words, because I don’t say them either. But is this your way of apologizing?”
Stupid asshole. “Yes. I’m sorry that things got so bad between us.”
“Never too late to change things, son. We’re a lot alike, that’s why we butt heads all the time. But I’m the father. What I say goes. You’ll understand better once the baby is born. It’s how God wanted it.”
How God wanted it. “I’m late for a meeting. But I wanted to call while it was weighing on my mind.”
“Let’s talk again tomorrow.”
I hang up the phone and roll down the car window to spit out the bile that collected in my mouth while I groveled to that son of a bitch.
By the time I get back, my assistant’s gone for the day, and I probably should leave too. But I can’t go home yet. I’m not prepared to face Gabrielle.
I toss the keys on my desk. I think about calling Gabrielle to tell her I’ll be late, and to tell her to read to Zack tonight. But she’ll ask questions and I don’t want to lie to her.
I crack open a new bottle of bourbon and pour myself a glass. And then another, and another, until I can’t see straight.
29
Gabrielle
It’s after ten when I see the headlights coming down the lane. JD didn’t come home after work and I couldn’t reach him. He never misses Zack’s bedtime, not without making an arrangement. And he’s good about letting me know his schedule. I’ve been frantic with worry, even after Smith called to say he found JD passed out on his desk at Sayle.
The door between the mudroom and the garage opens and Smith drags JD inside. “Is he okay?” I ask.
“He’s stinkin’ drunk. But otherwise fine.”
“JD. What happened?”
“I love you,” he slurs, with a stupid lopsided grin.
“We need to get you to bed.”
He cocks his head at Smith, and waggles his eyebrows, still grinning like a fool. “She wants me in bed.”
I glance at Smith. “Who is this man and what did you do with JD?”
“Damn idiot,” Smith grumbles, practically carrying JD up the stairs. “I’ll help you get him into bed. But then he’s all yours.”
“I’m all yours, darlin’. Come on and give me a big kiss.” JD smacks his lips in my direction while Smith hauls him into bed and pulls off his running shoes.
“And he stinks,” Smith says. “He needs a shower, but it’s not worth the effort. It’ll be like being in bed with a wet dog. You might want to find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”
I don’t think so. Drunk JD is funny and sweet. He keeps looking at me and grinning. Patting the bed next to him and beckoning me over.
“I gotta take a piss,” he announces, trying to climb up out of bed.
“Damn piece of work,” Smith groans, helping JD to the bathroom.
“Ah, Jesus,” I hear Smith say. “You owe me big time, asshole.”
They come out and he gets JD back into bed. “There’s a bit of a mess to clean up in there. His aim was poor, but there was no way I was holding his dick for him.”
“I’ll take care of it. Whatever mess it is, it’s better there than in the bed.”
Before we have the covers tucked around him, JD’s snoring. Smith tips him on his side and shoves some pillows behind his back so he can’t roll over. He’s clearly done this before.
“What happened?” I ask Smith when we get to the stairs. “I’ve never seen him like this.”
“I was going to ask you the same thing. I’ve seen JD drunk plenty of times, but never falling-down drunk to where he can’t take off his own pants.”
“Maybe it’s about the baby. I knew he’d do the right thing, but he took the news better than I expected.”
“Nah. He’s a little nervous about being a father, afraid he won’t measure up. Guys talk big, but everybody gets a little scared about the responsibility. JD’s not anywhere near as nervous as most guys are. This isn’t about the baby.”
In my heart I know this, but it’s a reassuring to hear Smith say it. “His brothers?”
“Nah. Only one person that could do this to him. Actually two. But you’re standing right here.”
A sour taste fills my mouth. “His father.” That bastard is never going to leave us alone. I hate what he does to JD. Hate it.
Smith nods. “It must have been bad.” He pauses, and regards me carefully. “You okay?”
“I’m good.”
“Alright. I’m going to head out.” He points toward upstairs. “Don’t worry about him. We’ll figure out what happened tomorrow. He should be okay, but if he needs to get up for any reason in the next hour or two, call security to help. Don’t you try to help him. He’s liable to fall on top of you. You don’t want that.”
Smith leans over and kisses my cheek. “Good night, Gabby.”
“Thanks for bringing him home. And for being such a good friend to both of us.”
When Smith leaves, I turn off the lights, and check in with Zack’s nurse before I go up to bed.
After I brush my teeth, I curl up behind JD. Smith’s right, he smells like a duffle bag full of dirty gym clothes discovered in the boys’ locker room at the end of the school year. Ripe. But I don’t move to the other side of the bed. If he wakes up, I want him to feel my arms around him.
JD, what hurt you so bad today that you needed to drown yourself in booze?
* * *
The next morning when I wake up, JD’s already coming out of the shower with a towel slung low on his hips. “Good morning,” I say cheerfully. “How are you feeling?”
“About how you’d expect.”
“Ouch.”
“How stupid was I?”
“Actually, you were kind of adorable. At least I thought so. Smith not so much.”
“Adorable. There’s all kinds of stupid written all over that.”
“We were worried about you. Smith and I. We wondered what upset you so much that you felt the need to get falling-down drunk.”
“I ran twice yesterday and misjudged the amount of alcohol the tumblers in my office hold. I rarely use them.”
You will not bullshit me about this. I will not allow it. “That’s right up there with the dog ate my homework.”
“Some dogs are like pigs. They’ll eat anything. I’ve got to get dressed. Big day and I’m running late.”
“JD.” He stops in the closet doorway, one hand on the jamb. “Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.”
He doesn’t move, and without seeing his face, I can’t even begin to imagine what’s going through his head. “I spoke with my father,” he says calmly, turning his body so his back is against the doorframe. “It’s been more difficult since the fire, and the journals, to keep my mouth shut. We had words. It got ugly fast.” He glances at me. There’s no anger in his expression. No sadness. No emotion at all. “Nothing more to tell.”
He disappears into the closet, and I declare a small victory in our relationship. Sure, he didn’t go into detail, it’s JD after all. But he opened the door and let me in. I might not have been invited past the foyer this time, but it was a big step for him. A step in the right direction. It’s all I can ask.
30
Julian
It’s been nearly two weeks since I called a truce with my father. We’ve spoken almost every day. It’s nearly killed me, but I haven’t deviated from the plan. I keep a picture of Gabrielle handy. She’s smiling into the camera, a hand on her belly. The bump is still small, but it’s enough to keep me on track.
My father will not hurt our child, this is my mantra.
I’ve stared at the picture so often, it’s committed to memory. I can call it up whenever the phone rings and his name pops up on the screen. Like now.
“Mr. President,” I say into the phone trying not to gag. I still can’t form the word dad. Not sure I’ll ever be able to.
“The one and only,” he answers. This is the kind of shit that d
rives me insane. “How are you, son?”
“I’m good. Wilder Holdings turned a nice profit this quarter. Stakeholders will be happy. Sayle crushed it. Did you see the reports?”
“I did. I appreciate you sending them without me having to ask a half-dozen times. We should have called this truce a long time ago.”
“I didn’t see things quite the way I see them now.”
“I’m planning a trip to North Africa in a few weeks. Visit the troops, boost morale, that sort of thing. I’ll be making a stop, maybe two, in the Middle East on the way, to reassure our allies that we’re with them. I can’t get into any of the particulars—don’t know all of them myself, but I’d like to invite you to come along on the trip.”
“On a diplomatic mission? Not sure I’d be much use to you. I’m not much of a diplomat.”
He chuckles. “No, that’s not your strong suit. But don’t sell yourself short. The Amidane King has a son about your age. The Crown Prince. He’s Ivy League-educated, like you. Loves pussy, like you. And he’s heir to a kingdom. They have money to burn. I’d like to see Sayle get a strong foothold there. While I’m president, I have a lot of leverage over the relationship. If we’re ever going to box them into a corner, it’s now while I can sweeten the deal in other ways.”
“You want me to represent Sayle in a negotiation while on a diplomatic trip?”
“Discretely, of course.”
“Of course.” My head is spinning. He’s asking me to get involved in something that is blatantly illegal. Something that he’ll pin on me if it ever sees the light of day. I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but that’s no longer an option for me. “When you have more information, let me know. I’ll need plenty of notice to clear my schedule. My plate’s pretty full.”
“We’re talking about four days, tops.”
He starts to prattle on about some bullshit I have absolutely no interest in. While he’s talking, I remember something my brother Gray mentioned when he got home from an international trip with my father. It’s a lot harder to protect the president abroad. Especially in a war zone. No matter how much lead time they have, the security is never the same.