Filthy Series

by Bliss, Chelle

  The veteran waves a hand. “Act like you have. Arrogance is half the battle these days.”

  “Did you really grab that lady’s behind?” one of the guys asks, pronouncing it bee-hind. His brows are arched with curiosity.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Bah.” The vet waves his hand again. “Can’t believe anything you read in the papers anymore.”

  The group at the table schools me on the issues they’re most concerned about, which I’m not too surprised are Medicare, Social Security, and support for veterans.

  Their issues are mostly federal ones, nothing I can have a direct role helping with if elected governor, but it’s nice to spend an hour with them anyway. It reminds me why I ran for office in the first place, which was to give people a representative who stayed true to what he ran on and who listened more than he talked.

  I leave a nice tip for the waitress, who all the men assured me is a “great gal.”

  On the walk back to my campaign bus, I take out my phone and see that Reagan texted me two photos. As soon as I click on the first one, my blood starts pumping harder.

  It’s her at the beach, wearing a purple bikini. She’s just ankle-deep in the water, a gorgeous sunset behind her. The second picture is a selfie of her and her mom, both of them smiling radiantly.

  Damn, is she gorgeous. It’s not just her physical beauty that gets me every single time, but the tenacity, intelligence, and loyalty I see in her deep blue eyes. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more.

  My only regret is how much she’s had to give up to be with me. She’s so loyal that I think she sometimes puts me above herself, and I don’t feel right about that. If I win the election, I plan to support her fully in whatever comes next for her.

  If there’s travel, we’ll make it work. I love her too much to let her dreams take a back seat to my own.

  I feel a renewed sense of purpose. Five years into my marriage with Reagan, I love her and want her more than I ever have. I wake up every day to make life better for my constituents, but Reagan is the only one I serve. I’d walk through fire for that woman.

  As I approach the door to walk onto the bus, though, my good mood is sucked away in an instant as I see who’s standing next to the door waiting for me.

  My father-in-law.

  “Stan.” I meet his eyes, but I don’t smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  He studies me for a full three seconds, seeming to size up whether I’m being sarcastic or not. I am.

  “I think you know damn well why I’m here, Jude.” He glares at the closed bus door. “And your driver won’t even let me on the bus.”

  “That’s because you’re not on the list.”

  “I’m family,” he reminds me. This lying bastard is definitely not my favorite relative, but I put up with him for Reagan’s sake. “And I offered to show ID since the driver didn’t recognize me.”

  Still arrogant. Even his long fall from grace didn’t change that. He hasn’t been a senator for several years now, so I’m not surprised my driver Rita didn’t recognize him.

  “It’s not her fault,” I point out. “She was following rules, and you’re not on the list. Why didn’t you call first anyway? What are you doing here?”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “Can we talk on the bus?”

  I narrow my eyes back. “Yeah, but if it’s about something that’s gonna upset Reagan, don’t expect to stay on there very long.”

  “Oh, it’s something that’s already upset my daughter.”

  Rita opens the doors and smiles at me. “Welcome back, Senator.”

  “Morning, Rita,” I pass her the paper cup of coffee I got to-go for her at the diner. “He’s with me.” I nod at my father-in-law. “So he can get on, this one time.”

  Stan stalks over to the small booth that serves as a kitchen table and meeting place on the bus. There’s a stack of paperwork there, which I sweep aside.

  “Afraid I’m out to get you?” Stan quips. “Here to steal all your campaign secrets?”

  “What do you want?” I ask him again, ignoring his bait.

  “What I want is to find out why you’re dragging my daughter through a sex scandal. It’s time you put her above your political aspirations for once, Jude. Unless the story I read this morning is right and she really has left you.”

  Rita exits the bus in two seconds flat. She signed nondisclosure agreements and I trust her to be here during any conversation, but it doesn’t look like she wants to witness this one. Can’t say I blame her. I’d probably punch Stan Preston in his overly active jaw if he weren’t Reagan’s father.

  “Wow.” I just stare at him for a few seconds. “I can’t believe you of all people are standing here right now saying this to me. I did nothing wrong. You know how dirty politics can get when a race is close. But you actually did betray your family for decades.”

  Stan’s face reddens with anger. “That’s night and day, Jude. What I did was consensual. I would never dream of touching a woman who didn’t want me to.”

  “Neither would I. And if you think what you did was okay, you’re even more of a dirtbag than I already thought you were.”

  “It wasn’t okay. But I’ve atoned for my mistakes.”

  “Christ, Stan. Having a secret family isn’t a mistake. And you only owned up when you got caught.”

  “Looks like you aren’t going to own up at all.”

  “I didn’t do it.” My muscles throb with the urge to shove him out the door of my bus. “I know it, and Reagan knows it. That’s all that matters.”

  “Then why is she hiding out at her mother’s house? If she wanted to stand by you, wouldn’t she be here?” Stan’s practically smirking at me.

  “Why don’t you ask your daughter why she’s not here?”

  “I’ve reached out to her.”

  I scoff. “Yeah, and no response, right? Because you fucked over your family. I live for my wife. I’d die before I hurt her.”

  “Don’t you see what you’re doing to her? Putting her through this humiliation? Photographers following her all over the place. If you really love her, drop out of the race.”

  I laugh in a low tone. “Seriously? A spokesman for the Democratic machine is standing here asking me to drop out, but your reasons are strictly altruistic, right?”

  “This is only about my daughter.”

  I point at the bus door. “Get the fuck out of here, Stan. I love your daughter more than life itself, or I’d toss your ass out the door myself. I’ll give you three seconds since we’re technically related.”

  He swallows hard and takes a step back. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me.”

  “I said what I needed to say. Reagan may not want me in her life anymore, but I still love her, and I want what’s best for her.”

  “Well, wife of the next governor of our state ain’t bad. And I worship the ground that woman walks on. So don’t fucking come back, Stan.”

  He nods once, then says, “You don’t want to admit it till your back’s against the wall, Jude. I get that. But if the allegations against you aren’t true, then why is Dominic Marino trying to buy that woman’s silence?”

  19

  Reagan

  My toes sink deep into the mushy wet sand, and water laps at my calves. With my eyes closed, the smell and feel of the beach transport me back to the day Jude and I got married in Hawaii. It will always be one of the happiest days I’ve ever known.

  Life is peaceful here. My mom and I have been walking on the beach several times a day, cooking simple meals, watching movies, and talking a lot.

  I feel guilty that it took her upcoming biopsy to get me here. We haven’t had time alone like this in years, and I can tell she’s loving it as much as I am.

  The sunsets here are incredible, and we’re soaking tonight’s up, walking arm in arm on the stretch of beach that’s hers.

  “It never gets old,” she says, smiling as she looks out over the vast ocean waves. “
I felt like I really started to heal when I moved here. Everything was new, from the smells to the sounds to the views.”

  “You needed a fresh start.”

  “I did. And I’m happy here. I’m not ready to leave this world yet, but…if this is my time, I’ll go knowing I found peace. When I first found out what your father had done…I didn’t think I’d ever be at peace again.”

  I squeeze her arm. “Do you ever feel lonely here all by yourself?”

  “I don’t. I read a lot, and I have friends. There’s even…a man I’ve been seeing.”

  “Mom!” I stop and turn to her, my heart pounding with surprise and happiness. “Why haven’t you told me? I’ve been here for four days, and you’re just now mentioning this?”

  She tries to hide a smile as she looks out at the crashing waves. “I wasn’t trying to keep it from you or anything, I just…we’re taking things slow, you know? He lost his wife to ovarian cancer six years ago.”

  “Slow is good. I’m just so happy you’re putting yourself out there again.”

  “I didn’t want to at first, but Ben was persistent. He sent me roses every day until I agreed to have dinner with him.”

  I swallow against the lump in my throat. This is what my mom deserves—a man who treasures her. I could cry tears of joy right now.

  “Sounds like he knows a good thing when he sees it,” I say, bending down to pick up a shell embedded in the sand.

  “I haven’t told him about the biopsy.”

  I look up at her. “Why not?”

  She shrugs. “The loss of his wife was hard for him. She was very sick. I didn’t want to worry him unless I find out it’s cancer.”

  I sigh softly. Even the sound of the word sends a jolt throughout my body. We went to the hospital for her biopsy yesterday, and now we’re waiting for the results.

  I’m trying to be strong for her, but it’s taking everything I’ve got. I’ve always loved my mom, but I feel like I’ve neglected our relationship since getting married.

  I’ve been constantly on the go, always at Jude’s side or working on my own career. I haven’t taken the time to not just see my mom for holidays but to spend quality time together like we have these past few days.

  And now that I see how much I’ve been missing with her, I want to make it right. I want more one-on-one time with her like this. And if Jude and I have children, I want to bring them to this beach to be with her and have quiet days like this one.

  My phone dings with a text, and my mom smiles. “I think Jude’s missing you. Give him a call.”

  “He can wait.”

  “I owe Ben a call back, actually.” She turns toward the house. “Want some tea?”

  “I’d love some.” I take out my phone and see that she was right—Jude was the one texting me. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  I touch my phone screen to dial Jude, who answers right away.

  “Hey, babe, how are you?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Hang on a sec.” His voice becomes muffled as he covers the phone and talks to someone else. “Okay, I’m here.”

  “Tyson?” I ask.

  “Yeah. He took almost an entire day off. I’m not sure he’ll ever recover.”

  I laugh at the image of uptight Tyson trying to relax.

  “How’s campaign life?” I ask.

  “Nothing new. I got an unexpected visit from your father, though.”

  “My father?”

  “Yeah. I take it you didn’t know he was coming either?”

  “No. I haven’t talked to him in a while. And I would’ve let you know if I knew he was coming. He just showed up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did he want?”

  There’s a pause. “Oh, I’m sure you can imagine, given what’s going on.”

  “I can imagine a lot of things he might say. What did he want, Jude?”

  Another few moments of silence pass. “I don’t think we should talk about it now.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just…I need you to tell me you and I are good. That you’re still all in.”

  “Still all in?” I sit down on a large, flat rock, smoothing my windblown hair away from my face. “Why are you being so cryptic? Tell me what’s going on.”

  He sighs into the phone. “Babe, I can’t. We hired a new security team, and the tech guy told me I need to assume none of my communication is secure.”

  “You mean…someone could be listening?”

  “Yeah. Same with our texts. Some conversations are going to have to be in person.”

  I consider, then say, “Okay. But why are you asking me if things with us are good? I’m just here with—”

  “Don’t say it. I don’t want photographers finding you.”

  I’m quiet for a few long moments, not sure what it’s safe and not safe to say. I’ve been deliberately avoiding the news, but what am I missing?

  Oh God. Are there new accusations against Jude? Is that why he’s asking me if we’re good? The thought makes my stomach roll nervously.

  Until I know, I have to assume things are the same. “Of course we’re good. I love you.”

  “I love you too. And I miss you. I’m thinking of you guys, babe. Both of you.”

  “I know. Thank you.”

  “Any idea when you’ll know?”

  “Should be in a couple days.”

  “Okay.” His voice sounds weary. “I’m sorry, babe, but I have to go. Tyson’s about to have a coronary. We’re on our way to a meeting.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’ll call you tonight, when I’m all done.”

  “Okay. Bye, babe.”

  “Bye. Love you.”

  I walk alone on the beach for a few minutes, giving my mom time to talk to Ben and also thinking about what my father could have possibly said to Jude.

  He’s got no business coming near either one of us. I tolerate him, but that’s about it.

  Some hurt just runs too deep.

  20

  Jude

  By the time Dominic Marino bothers to call me back—two days after I left him a message—I’m out of patience.

  “What can I do for you, Senator Titan?” he asks when I pick up the call.

  “I think a better question is, what have you already tried to do for me without my permission?”

  There are a couple seconds of silence on the other end of the line.

  “I’m sure I misheard you,” Dominic finally says. “Because if I were doing your dirty work—not that I’m saying I am—you’d be thanking me for it.”

  I look up at the ceiling and then step off the campaign bus. I don’t want anyone—even my trusted staffers—hearing this conversation.

  When I’m a safe distance away, alone in the middle of a parking lot, I respond. “I took one meeting with you. And in that meeting, I asked you for nothing.”

  “But I offered my support,” Dominic says in a cool tone. “Which you said you’d be grateful for.”

  “Support means voting for me. Telling others about my platform. Maybe contributing. It doesn’t make you a spokesman for me. What have you done?”

  “You have a problem. I’m making it go away. The less you know about it, the better.”

  Dammit. Reagan was right about Dominic Marino. I should have known. Guys like him try to buy politicians’ allegiance in crooked ways like this. It’s everything I refuse to be a part of in politics.

  “Listen to me, Marino.” My voice is smooth and sure. “Any offer you’ve made to anyone needs to be taken off the table. Not only will I never be your pawn, I’m about to put your name at the top of my shit list.”

  “Are you threatening me, Senator?” He sounds amused.

  “Not at all. What I’m saying is that if you want a friend in the governor’s mansion, you’re talking to the wrong candidate. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

  “I see. Not even if Miss Culbertson is eager to accept…a gift from me in exch
ange for a full retraction?”

  “No. Keep your money. I’m not interested in having anything to do with you.”

  I end the call and shove my phone into my pocket, putting my hands on my head. The race between my opponent and me is tight, because she’s pouring millions of her own money into her campaign. I’ve had to ramp up time spent campaigning, and there’s no time left for working out or even a quick morning run.

  I’m going to have to build that time back in. With Reagan gone, I have to find another way to relieve stress.

  My favorite way to release tension is a couple hours of sweaty sex with her. But until she gets back from Florida, I have to rely on my hand, which isn’t even a close second to my wife’s body.

  Her mouth. Her toned legs. Her breathy voice. God, I miss her. I want to talk to her about this shit with Marino, but I can’t because of the secure phone line issue.

  There’s no one else in the world I can just let my guard completely down with. And I know her, she wouldn’t say I told you so. She’d tell me Marino’s a dick and everything was going to be okay.

  It will be okay. I believe that. But the road’s getting rocky, and I don’t want to cross the finish line without my wife by my side. Win or lose, I need her with me.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I take it out. It’s a calendar reminder that I have a meeting with my new communications strategist in five minutes.

  Fuck. I don’t get why my strategy can’t be “Tell the truth and work your hardest.” Politics can get convoluted. But the RNC is completely behind me, and I appreciate the resources they’ve sent.

  This woman, Vanessa Grayson, is supposed to be the best. She’s run focus groups, spent time with my pollsters and Tyson, and even took the interns out for lunch one day. Her research into messaging has been thorough, and I need to listen to what she has to say.

  By the time I get back to the bus, there’s no one left on it but Vanessa. Even Rita’s seat at the front of the bus is empty.

  “Tyson took everyone to the pub down the street for lunch,” Vanessa says. “He said you can text him if you want him to bring back food for you.”