by Peak, Renna
I checked myself in, and sure enough, my name was there on the list, complete with an open invitation for a guest. Brandon was hesitant—so hesitant to come in with me, I almost had to drag him inside by the arm. The time for my father’s keynote speech was quickly approaching, and I knew what the ramifications would be if I was even a second late for it—at least if I hoped to sit next to Marian.
We climbed to the balcony, to the reserved seating area for the VIPs. I saw my mother sitting in the front row, and my heart skipped a few beats. I hadn’t seen her since the whole incident—since she had gone out of her way to “prove” to the world that I wasn’t her daughter.
Brandon stood frozen at the top of the stairs, looking at someone in the audience. I glanced quickly over to where he was looking and didn’t see anything—or anyone—out of the ordinary. He was probably as nervous to meet my mother as I was to see her.
I calmed the nauseated feeling in my stomach by taking a deep breath. I pulled on his arm so that we could make our way down the stairs to where she was sitting. He didn’t move, and I finally let go, making my way down the stairs on my own.
I cleared my throat and sat down next to her. It felt like there were bats in my stomach—not the sweet butterflies I felt dancing when I was nervous around Brandon. No, these were more like giant creatures trying to force their way out.
“It’s about time, Jenna Marie. You should have been here an hour ago.”
Brandon finally took the seat next to mine and pulled my hand in his. It calmed the queasiness in my stomach, at least.
“And what is that you’re wearing? You have the audacity to show up here dressed like that? When you know the cameras will be on us the entire time?
She wasn’t wrong. I had noticed the popping of flash bulbs since I’d walked in the door—I was just trying hard to ignore it. I felt Brandon give my hand a squeeze.
Before I could open my mouth to speak, she was barking in my ear again. “What is wrong with your hair? You didn’t have it done today, did you?” She shook her head. “You think you can show up here, dressed in some cheap outfit with your hair a mess and expect to sit next to me? You think…”
“It’s good to see you, Mother.” I let out the breath I had been holding and looked over at Brandon. “Mother, this is Brandon Richardson. Brandon, this is…”
Before I could get her name out, he was standing up, his hand extended. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Davis.”
Her lip curled into a sneer. “Mrs. Hennessey-Davis.” She raised her hand to tuck a hair behind her ear before turning back to me, refusing to shake his hand. “You have the audacity to bring someone like that to sit anywhere near me? I swear to God, Jenna, if you had even a drop of Hennessey blood in you, you wouldn’t be anywhere near someone like that. And to think you brought him to the most important night of your father’s career…”
I felt my cheeks burn under the weight of her words. My ribs squeezed in my chest. “How have you been, Mother? It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you. How was Maine?” I plastered the phony smile to my face, the same one she had made famous so long ago.
“You have some nerve, young lady. Some nerve to bring the spawn of Lance Richardson anywhere near me. The fact that you are so insensitive, so clueless that you would even consider that I would allow you to bring … that…” She motioned toward Brandon with her head. “…anywhere near me. You know better. You were brought up better than this. I will never forgive you for embarrassing me like this…”
I tuned her voice out, the words blurring into the rest of the clamor of the crowd as they waited for my father to take the stage. I leaned over to whisper into Brandon’s ear. “Have you heard enough?”
He leaned down to whisper back into my ear. “You didn’t have to do this.”
The phony smile fell from my face. Maybe I hadn’t had to do this, but I wanted him to see it. I wanted him to know what it was that they did to me. What it was I’d had to live with—and how I knew that they would never approve of him. I wasn’t sure how my mother knew his father, and it didn’t really matter. Just knowing that neither of my parents would ever allow him to be in my life was what I needed for him to see. Brandon didn’t know about the threats my father had made to me when I was in Virginia, waiting at home for news about whether I needed to give my kidney to him. All he knew was his own life, his own problems, his own mistakes and regrets. He had no knowledge at all of mine.
I stood up, pulling on his hand for him to join me. I turned back to my mother, who was still ranting about the nerve I had to be alive. “It was nice seeing you, Mother.”
“You inherited your manners from the trollop your father impregnated. You certainly didn’t inherit them from him. Your father wouldn’t behave like this. Your father…”
Brandon interrupted this time. “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Hennessey-Davis. I believe we’ll be viewing the speech from another location.”
The sneer on her face deepened. “The nerve you have to even speak to me.” She turned her attention back to me. “Jenna Marie, your father will hear about this little stunt. Don’t think for a second…”
My heart raced in my chest and I took a deep breath. “I’ve heard enough, Mother. I’ve heard enough for a lifetime.” I think my voice was a lot calmer than I felt, but it seemed like Brandon’s presence alone gave me the courage to say what I had needed to say my entire life.
We walked away. He took my hand and led me up the staircase, pausing only briefly to look back in the direction he had been looking when we first arrived.
I wasn’t proud of the power my parents still had in my life. I definitely wasn’t proud that the little rant-fest that my mother had just gone on wasn’t even close to the worst I had endured in my twenty-four years. It was just something I needed him to know. Something he needed to see with his own eyes, hear with his own ears. I could explain it to people until I was blue in the face, but no one ever really believed the depths of what it was like to live with that kind of treatment.
We walked into the hallway behind the VIP seating area, where there were now hardly any people milling about, most having taken their seats for the big event. My father’s speech was about to start, and I knew I would never hear the end of it if I didn’t stay to listen. I had to at least hear whatever it was he was going to say that night—I knew he was planning for this speech to be his comeback, his public apology for what he had done.
We walked down the hallway to another opening into the auditorium. Before we walked through, Brandon spun me to face him. He took my other hand into his and brought it to his lips. “Is that an everyday thing?” He motioned down the hallway with his head. “That stuff she said? An everyday occurrence? Or was that for my benefit?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “She wasn’t home every day.”
He dropped my hands and his arms circled my waist, pulling me into him. “You never have to hear that again. She isn’t your mother, and you don’t need to put up with that.” He kissed my temple. “We need to get that voice out of your head. Her voice.”
I raised my arms to circle his waist, too. I pressed my cheek to his chest, wishing he would never let me go.
He rested his chin on top of my head and held me like that until we heard the person introducing my father a few moments later. He kissed the top of my head, then pulled my hand into his to lead me onto the floor of the auditorium, where all the non-VIPs were standing.
These were people who worked for campaigns, worked for the politicians or volunteered for them. The applause and shouting during my father’s introduction shocked me. Not that it was really shouting—whooping and celebratory screaming were better words to describe what was going on. I had completely misread how the public had reacted to his indiscretions, at least the people in his own political party. There was no animosity here. No outrage at what he had done, or how he had hurt his family. These people loved him, and I could see then that his political career was far from over.
&nbs
p; We stood in the doorway of the auditorium, not really able to see anything, but the loudspeaker allowed us to hear every word of the speech.
After the cheering abated, I recognized my father’s voice. “Friends, on the eve of my seventieth birthday…”
I winced. It was the day before his birthday, and I hadn’t remembered. If there was one rule I had known my entire life, it was that you never forget a birthday. It was an unforgivable act in the Davis household.
“…I am reminded of what it is I love about this country. How the roots of our country are founded on our traditions and beliefs. How one’s ability to forgive has become the yardstick by which our faith is measured.”
I cringed at that. I wasn’t sure who had written this speech, but it was over-the-top obvious what it was about. My dad got caught with his pants down—literally—and now he wanted the American public to forgive him. He probably just should have said that.
“I have never been a man to shirk responsibility for his actions. I know I have made a multitude of mistakes. And friends, I am thankful for each and every one of you for your ability to forgive…”
It made me nauseous. He wasn’t even asking for forgiveness. He was telling everyone to give it to him. And as far as I could remember, he still hadn’t even asked me. It made me sick, and it made me understand why people didn’t trust politicians as far as they could throw them. Because this—this was exactly the kind of thing that would make people not trust politicians if they really knew what was going on. If they knew what my father was really like, the threats he made and the things he did to get to where he wanted to go—no one would be cheering right now. No one would trust him. Everyone would feel the same way I felt about him at that moment. Sick.
I shouldn’t have taken Brandon there. I should have just driven him back to San Francisco, let him go back to the girls who were probably still waiting for him in his apartment. I took his hand and began to walk toward the exit, Davis or Hennessey or polite society manners be damned.
I felt Brandon’s arms slide around my waist and I stopped, closing my eyes for a moment to just enjoy feeling him hold me like that one more time.
I felt him breathe into my hair, placing a kiss just above my ear before he whispered into it, “Let’s go find a hotel room. A real one this time.”
10
I drove us to the nicest hotel in Sacramento, knowing full well that there were no rooms available. It didn’t matter—I was going to get a room. And if this hotel wouldn’t give me one, the place next door would. I was going to make sure of it.
Brandon followed me inside, and even though I was pretty sure he had some connections somewhere in Sacramento that could have helped him to get a room, there was something about this day that made me know that I had to do it myself. I wasn’t the type of person who used my name to get myself things. At least, I wasn’t until that moment.
“I need a room, please.” I glanced over at Brandon, who was looking at some brochures on the wall, well away from the check-in desk where I stood.
The clerk didn’t even look up. “I’m sorry, ma’am, we have no rooms available due to the convention.”
I stared down at him, trying to keep my voice even. “You don’t have a room for Jenna Davis?”
The man looked up and instantly smiled. “Of course, Miss Davis. Let me take a look.” He punched something into the computer. “We have a suite overlooking the city. If that doesn’t work for you, I can…”
“That will be fine.” I had to press my lips together to keep the grin from taking over my face. I had done it, and it had been so … easy. Way too easy. I knew I would never become one of those types of people—the people like Melissa’s boss, Amanda, who threw their names around and expected people to jump when they did it. But there was something almost magical in knowing that I could if I wanted to.
I felt like I was walking on clouds as we made our way to the elevator. I had stood up to my mother—not really stood up to her, but faced her and walked away instead of cowering under her words. And then I had used my name—not my father’s name, not my mother’s name—my name to get what I wanted. I couldn’t even imagine feeling better than this, feeling better about myself than I did at that moment.
And then I looked over at him, standing against the wall of the elevator.
My breath hitched in my chest when I saw him look at me like that, like he could see through everything—straight into my soul. I could see the desire in his blue eyes and it made my every nerve tingle in anticipation. Damn, I’ve missed him. I don’t think I had really let myself think about it, think about how much I missed just having him there with me. How much I missed having him look at me like that.
The door to our room hadn’t even completely swung closed when he took me in his arms and pressed his lips to mine. He kissed me with a hunger that I hadn’t experienced before, letting me know in no uncertain terms that I was his. That I would always be his. He nipped at my lower lip, following the sting with the soft caress of his tongue.
I lifted my hands to his chest and gently pushed him away. “Brandon…”
“Let me love you, Jen.” He pressed his lips to the hollow just below my ear, the one that melted me every time he touched it.
I moaned, arching my neck into his lips.
His grip around my waist tightened as my legs buckled underneath me. His lips moved to the other side of my neck, pressing against the identical, opposite spot.
I moaned again, the memory of our last encounter flooding into my awareness as the pulsing electricity coursing through my veins centered between my legs. “Christ, Brandon. Two…”
He pulled the neckline of my blouse over with his fingertips, his lips moving lower and pressing against my collarbone. I was sure my inability to stand would topple us both to the ground. I could barely make a sound, my breath coming faster. “Three…” The word came out on a shallow breath. I knew I wouldn’t get to nine this time, the way he had teased me the last time we were together, when he had made love to me over the phone. I knew I wouldn’t make it to nine before needing to feel him inside of me.
He pulled away then dipped his head to brush his lips across my own. “What are you doing?”
I pressed my lips against his and wrapped my arms around his neck. I wanted him to let me finish counting, finish lighting up each and every spot that he had taught me about so many weeks before. I was breathless, almost mindless with lust, and barely able to form words at all. I spoke against his lips. “Nine spots. Nine on-switches.”
He brushed his lips against mine again before pulling back and resting his forehead against my own. “When did I tell you that? Last night?”
My brows knitted from confusion. I hadn’t dreamed that encounter with him on the phone. I was humiliated about it afterward, but I couldn’t deny how it had sent me over the edge of desire for him. I wanted that again—that mindless passion that he instilled in me. The wanton lust that I felt when I was with him—I had never wanted anything more than I wanted him in that moment.
I found my breath, the moment over. “You don’t remember?”
His embrace around my waist tightened, pulling my body firmly against his. He stared into my eyes, his forehead still pressed against mine. “I think I would remember telling you a secret like that, Jen.”
My hands found his chest again and I pushed him away, pulling out of his embrace. That night, that horrible night… I wanted to get past it. Move on. But it was still there, that humiliation. As bad as it had ever been, and the fact that he didn’t even remember…
I kicked off my shoes and sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. I was kidding myself, thinking things could be normal between us. They never had been before, and clearly, they weren’t going to be now.
He took off his suit jacket and sat down next to me, pulling my hand into his. “When did I tell you that?”
“The day you left. The day you went to Los Angeles.” I forced away the sadness that was threat
ening to engulf me. “The last time I talked to you before … everything.”
He raked a hand through his hair, his other hand tightening its grip on mine. “God, Jen, I know I called you. I remember making the call because I needed to hear your voice. I wanted yours to be the last voice I heard before I…”
“Before you died.” My voice was broken, almost flat. “But you don’t remember.” I don’t know why his lack of memory of the phone sex incident bothered me so much. He’d had two women in his apartment less than twenty-four hours ago, and that didn’t bother me as much as the fact that he didn’t remember that call. What he had said to me. How it had made me feel. I could accept that the call had been some last ditch effort of his to cling to something to stay alive. But how could he not remember that?
“Before I died.” His hand squeezed mine again. “Yours was the last voice I wanted to hear, Jen. The last thing I wanted to remember. I don’t remember what I said or what I did, but you have to know, I called because I love you. Because you’re the most important thing in my life, and I didn’t want to leave this world without hearing your voice one last time.”
I heard a choked sob leave my throat as the tears I had been fighting for so long, so many weeks, finally began to slide down my cheeks. This time, I wasn’t going to be able to hold them back. This time, I was going to be a slobbering mess of tears.
* * *
She had earned the right to cry.
I pulled her into my arms and we fell into the pillows on the bed. I held her like that—her forehead pressed to my chest for as long as she needed. I knew I couldn’t kiss the tears away, couldn’t reason them away. I had already put her through too much.
I kissed the top of her head again and stroked her hair as she sobbed into my chest. If I couldn’t do anything else, I wanted her to know I loved her. We should have done this a long time ago. This should have happened in the hospital, as soon as I woke up. I should have been able to tell her then how I felt, how much I needed her. This was my fault—all of it. Every tear she shed was because of something I had done to her and the least I could do was hold her until she had cried the last one.