Filthy Series

by Bliss, Chelle

  I slide into the other side of the kitchen booth from her, setting my phone down on the table.

  “Okay.” I arch my brows. “You ready to get started?”

  “I think I’ll grab a drink first. Do you want anything?”

  I shake my head and look down at the stack of papers on the table in front of me.

  “These demographics are a little surprising,” I say, scanning a chart.

  “How so?”

  I look over and see that she just took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and she’s closing it.

  “I thought I’d poll with more likely votes from college-educated women,” I say.

  “Yeah, your opponent is a self-made female millionaire, so she’s got that demographic locked up.”

  Vanessa unscrews the cap from her water and takes a sip, then sets the bottle down on the counter. She reaches for the top button of her red blouse and unbuttons it.

  “It’s hot in here, don’t you think?” She runs a fingertip down the line between her breasts, now exposed thanks to the button she undid.

  Fuck. I don’t need this right now. Alone on my bus with a woman, while false allegations about another woman and me are still swirling? I’m kicking Tyson’s ass for putting me in this position.

  “You know, it is hot,” I lie, standing up. “I could really go for a cold beer. I’m gonna run down to that pub and get lunch with the others.”

  “What?” Vanessa furrows her brow. “But what about our meeting?”

  I hold up the stack of papers she left on the table. “I think I need to go over all this first. Then Tyson and I will sit down with you.”

  “I’m going to go over it with you now. Tyson doesn’t need to be here.”

  She takes a step closer to me, flicking her long blond hair over her shoulder. I give her a tight smile.

  “You know, I’m late calling my wife back. I’m gonna call her on the way to the pub. Can we bring anything back for you?”

  “No, I’m fine, but—”

  I turn and leave, not letting her finish. I’m not taking any chances. If she tries to get with me and I turn her down, which I would, she could get pissed and say it was me who hit on her.

  From Dominic Marino to my own coms strategist, I’m having to keep it from looking like I’m in bed with people I’m not. I don’t have time for this shit. Legitimate campaigning is hard enough.

  I make it to the pub in five minutes, and Tyson gives me a confused look as soon as he sees me.

  “Outside. Now.” I scowl at him, and he drops a French fry in midair.

  “What’s going on?” he asks in a low tone from the alley behind the pub.

  “Don’t ever leave me alone with a woman again unless it’s my wife.”

  Tyson’s eyes widen. “Oh. You mean…shit.”

  “It’s fine this time, I got out of it, but it can’t happen again.”

  “No, you’re right. I didn’t even think of that because she’s on our team, but…yeah, you’re right.”

  “You need to be like a pimple on my ass until election night,” I say. “We even need to be sharing a hotel room unless I’m with Reagan.”

  “Yeah, okay. I’m not spooning you, though.” Tyson laughs weakly.

  “No, you’re sure as fuck not. Now let’s get in there, and you can buy me lunch to make it up to me.”

  He rolls his eyes. “When are you gonna buy me lunch?”

  “Tyson, if we win this, I’ll buy you a steak dinner.”

  He muses, then nods. “I like steak.”

  “And I like winning. So let’s figure out how to make us both happy.”

  “Guess I need to sit in on the coms strategy meeting, huh?”

  “Yeah. And every other meeting with her.”

  He nods. “It’s kinda bullshit that hot chicks are only into you when you’re married, and I’m single.”

  “You want her, go after her,” I tell him.

  Tyson flushes a dark crimson. “I couldn’t…I mean…”

  “Let’s go eat, man.” I clap him on the back. “You don’t have time for dating anyway.”

  “True,” he grumbles. “I’d be happy with a shower right now.”

  “As long as you don’t leave me alone with you know who to take one.”

  “You mean…Voldemort?” He snorts at his attempt at a joke.

  I remember the offended look on Vanessa’s face as I left the bus and decide that’s not a bad name for her at all. The stakes have gotten so high that most anyone could become the villain.

  21

  Reagan

  I’m walking into my mom’s kitchen to pour another cup of coffee when I see the tears streaming down her face.

  I stop breathing as I look at her. I can practically hear Jude speaking to me, his voice deep and even.

  Be strong, Reagan. Be strong. Come what may, she needs you to be the strong one.

  “What is it?” I ask her.

  “I just got off the phone. My results came in, and…I’m okay.” She chokes out a sob. “It’s benign.”

  I let out the breath I feel like I’ve been holding for nearly two weeks now, breaking into tears at the same time. She stands up, and we wrap our arms around each other.

  The relief flows through my entire body. It’s physical, emotional—spiritual.

  After a minute, my mom pulls away to grab a couple tissues. She passes me one, and I mop the tears from my cheeks.

  “I need to call your sister,” she says, her shoulders dropping with relief. “And Ben.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  She shakes her head. “No, but I’m going to tell him everything now.”

  “Do I get to meet him? I’d love to meet him while I’m here.”

  She considers. “We could do that. I figured you’d want to get right back on the campaign trail.”

  “I want to stay a little while longer. I’m really enjoying this time with you. And now we have something to celebrate.”

  She takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Yes, we do. Oh, I’m so relieved, Reagan.”

  She squeezes my hand, then picks up her phone and walks out onto her deck. I head to the guest room I’m staying in and grab my own phone, typing out a text to Jude.

  Me: We got good news. All clear.

  He responds right away.

  Jude: Babe, that’s great. You must be relieved.

  Me: I can’t even put into words how relieved I am.

  Jude: Missing you bad. Can’t wait to have you back with me.

  Me: About that…

  Jude: Yeah?

  Me: I want to stay and spend some more time with my mom. It’s been a long time since I’ve had time alone with her.

  Jude: Sure, I understand.

  Me: So just coded texts and phone calls for a little longer. ☹

  Jude: You’re worth the wait. Sorry, I’ve gtg. In an editorial board meeting.

  Me: Knock ’em dead, Titan. I love you.

  Jude: Love you too.

  I put my phone down and relax into an armchair. This whole thing with my mom has really put things into perspective for me. For too long, I’ve been focused on poll numbers, campaign contributions, and political platforms. Jude and I both have.

  We remind ourselves that we’re lucky to be here—in positions that allow us to truly change people’s lives. But it’s a grind, and what we don’t acknowledge often enough is the cost to our personal lives.

  I need to clear my mind. I take a long, hot shower and pull my wet hair into a bun. The beach life is nice and low maintenance. No blow-dryers needed here.

  Then I tell my mom I’m taking her out for lunch and some shopping today. We hit a local seafood place, and then she shows me all her favorite little boutique stores.

  I buy way more than I should since I do have to fly back home eventually, but today I’ve decided to be impractical. I’m not going to hurry, stress, or worry. When we stop for ice cream at the end of our day, I only think about what sounds good, not why I shoul
dn’t be eating any of it.

  “How are Kennedy and Chris doing?” my mom asks as we sit on a bench at the beach eating our ice cream.

  I swipe a melting stream of chocolate ice cream from my rocky road cone. “I haven’t talked to Chris in a while. Kennedy’s really good. She and Nix took a month off to go on a big diving trip near the Philippines.”

  “Wow. Diving?”

  I nod. My mom accepted Chris and Kennedy, my father’s children from his longtime affair, without question. She knows none of what happened is their fault. Kennedy still struggles with the truth of it all. She didn’t know my father had another family either.

  “Finding out about my brother and another sister was the only good that came out of all that,” I say, half to myself.

  “I don’t know about that.”

  I turn to face my mom. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m happier now than I was then.”

  “You always seemed happy to me growing up.”

  “I wasn’t unhappy. I had my kids, and I felt like I was doing something noble by being the wife of a senator. Supporting the greater good or something.”

  “You couldn’t have known what was going on, Mom.”

  She looks out at a boat passing by. “I don’t mean all of that. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and in retrospect, even if your father had been who I thought he was, it wouldn’t have been worth it.”

  “How so?”

  She starts to speak but hesitates, then shakes her head. “I don’t think we should go there. You’re in the thick of Jude’s campaign for governor. You don’t need to hear my thoughts on this right now.”

  I arch my brows with curiosity. “I want to hear your thoughts on it, though.”

  She sighs softly. “It wasn’t worth it. Sometimes I ask myself if all the time your father and I were apart was part of the reason he strayed.”

  “Mom.” I shake my head. “You can’t think that way. He was wrong. So wrong. There’s no excuse for it.”

  “I know.” She nods in agreement. “I really do. But what I’m saying is…our relationship was never…magic, you know? It was always about how far he could go in office and what things looked like to the outside world. We lived for appearances. If I could do it over again, I’d do it so differently.”

  “How so?”

  “I’d marry a man for whom a life with me and our children was enough.” She sits back against the bench. “A man who didn’t want to be powerful or influential. Who wanted to coach little league and go to ballet recitals.”

  I think back to all the times my mom sat alone in the stands at my sporting events. The parent-teacher conferences she attended by herself. The dinners where there was an empty seat at the table.

  We were often on the go. That was our life, just like my life is now.

  “Tell me about Ben,” I say, trying not to think about how deeply her words are impacting me.

  “Oh.” Her cheeks turn pink as she smiles. “He’s a retired physics professor. He loves sailing and cooking.”

  “Sailing? Have you been sailing with him?”

  “A few times.”

  I nudge her and laugh. “I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me. A physics professor who sails? Does he have his own sailboat?”

  “He does. He was born into a wealthy family, but teaching has always been his passion.”

  “And do you feel…magic with him?”

  She wraps her arms around herself, and a grin spreads across her face, lighting her up. “I do. For the first time in my life, just being together is enough. When he looks at me, I feel like there’s nothing more in the world he wants at that moment. And I feel the same way about him.”

  I fight back happy tears. “Mom, I’m so thrilled for you. You deserve that kind of love and happiness.”

  Her smile softens. “So do you, Reagan. You know I adore Jude, but sometimes I wonder if the two of you are paying the same price I did. Giving up too much of yourselves in the name of public service.”

  I look down at my lap. It’s like she can read my mind. I’ve been having the same thoughts lately.

  “I don’t mean to overstep.” She puts her hand over mine. “I just want you guys to stop and smell the roses, so to speak. I want you to do better than I did.”

  “I know, Mom. I’m feeling it too. There’s this constant feeling that we aren’t doing enough. That we need to get up earlier to start campaigning, stay out later, add one more event…”

  “It never ends.” She shakes her head. “Even after your father won his Senate seat, the campaigning never ended because he had to keep it. And if Jude becomes governor…that’s an even bigger stage. With more pressure. Seeing the stories in the news about this woman accusing him of harassment…” She sighs heavily. “It’s been hard for me, Reagan. I never want you to go through what I did.”

  “But Jude didn’t touch that woman. I know him.”

  “I don’t believe for a second that he did. But there’ll be more accusations, and then there are the people trying to buy him off. It never ends.”

  I nod, closing my eyes and breathing in the ocean air. “I thought that if it wasn’t me holding office—if it was Jude, whom I believe in with everything I am—that it would be easier.”

  “It’s hard to see someone you love dragged through false accusations. Worked into the ground.”

  “It is. But I love him. And public service is where his heart is.”

  My mom’s eyes flood with emotion. “Just don’t forget that it matters where your heart lies, too. It matters every bit as much.”

  She puts her arm around me, and I lean into her. It’s been a long time since I considered what I really want. I’m part of a “we” instead of a “me” now, and Jude is my whole world.

  But if he’s my world, don’t I have a right to want more of him than I’m getting? To not want to share him with so many people?

  Passionate nights together have become a stolen luxury, but why? I need to find a way to talk to my husband, but there’s a major communications barrier thanks to his security team.

  I want to tell Jude it’s not that I want more, but that I want less. Less of everything that isn’t just him and me. My mom’s cancer scare and our conversation today reminded me that life can be short.

  I never want to look back and wish we’d set aside career goals to focus on the only thing that truly matters—us.

  22

  Jude

  “Jude, did your wife leave you because of the accusations against you?”

  A reporter jams a microphone in my face, and I silently glare at him. His eyes widen as I stare him down.

  “I’m late to a meeting with constituents.” I put my hand on the microphone and ease it away from my face. “Excuse me.”

  “Jessica Culbertson says you tried to pay her off so she’d rescind her allegations against you. Is that true?”

  I stop walking, conscious of the cameras filming me. My instinct is to tell this guy to fuck off, but I can’t.

  “No, it’s not true. Beyond the photo taken at a rally with Miss Culbertson that’s been circulating, I’ve never seen or spoken to her.”

  “The photo where you touched her inappropriately?” A female reporter arches her brows at me in challenge.

  “I did no such thing.”

  “What does your wife think about the new photos showing you in a hotel room with another woman?”

  I hide my amusement at the continuing assumption that it’s another woman in those photos. “My wife and I are good. I’ll let her know you guys are concerned about her, though.”

  “Is it true you’re getting advice from your father-in-law, Stan Preston?” a reporter I can’t see barks out.

  “Guys.” Tyson intervenes, putting an arm out to hold back the reporters. “He’s late for a meeting with constituents. Let him through.”

  My meeting is with a group of environmentalists. When I walk into the room, several are already fired up.
/>   “I’ll vote for Big Bird before this guy,” I hear a guy mutter to someone next to him as I walk by.

  So, it’s not exactly a friendly crowd. But that’s okay. I represent everyone in the state of Illinois, and that means I’ll never stop listening to them.

  “Thanks for coming, guys.” I slide into place behind the lectern and take the bottle of water Tyson passes me. “I figured we could just go right into questions.”

  “Why was the media barred from this meeting?” a woman demands from the front row.

  “Because all their questions are about my personal life, not the environment. Your concerns would get drowned out.”

  She shakes her head. “If there’s no one recording what you say, you can promise us anything, and no one will ever know you said it.”

  Several people in the crowd nod.

  “Look, you guys have known me for more than six years now. I think I’ve proven to be a man of my word. I’m not gonna tell you what you want to hear. Mostly, I came here today to listen. But if you want to record this meeting, I have no problem with that. I just don’t want reporters in here yelling out questions that have nothing to do with what your group is about.”

  The woman takes out her cell phone and points it at me, apparently deciding to record.

  It’s gonna be a long day on the campaign trail.

  * * *

  I spend my fifteen-minute afternoon break in a small bunk on the campaign bus, the curtain closed around me as I text with Reagan.

  Me: This would be the perfect time for some stress relief. I’m just sayin’…

  She sends back a laughing emoji. What the fuck? Am I the only one dying from lack of sex? I type out another message.

  Me: Any idea when you’ll be back?

  Reagan: Not yet.

  My skin tingles with the same awareness I used to feel in combat situations. Something’s not right. But I can’t come out and say that, because if our conversation is being monitored, something could be misconstrued and used against me.

  But I have to say something.