Filthy Series

by Bliss, Chelle

  “We’re still within the margin of error,” Tyson reminds us, dampening the interns’ celebration of our post-debate bump in polls.

  I’m leading by a hair now, but like Tyson said, it’s still anyone’s game.

  I want this win so bad I can taste it. Gloria Rush doesn’t support increased funding for veterans’ assistance, which is desperately needed. The vets of Illinois will be measurably better off with me as governor. I don’t want them having to fight for what they’ve earned, and I don’t want them feeling ashamed of asking for what they need.

  A story in a Chicago paper this morning about a murder-suicide by a vet with PTSD hit me hard. If he’d gotten treatment, that tragedy could have been prevented.

  “We stay on message,” Tyson tells the group. “And we review the message with every new group of volunteers knocking on doors. Every time, guys. Message is everything right now.”

  The door to the bus opens, and I look over at Rita, who’s smiling at whoever she opened it for. I furrow my brow in confusion, because my entire core team is on this bus right now.

  “Did someone order pizza?” an intern asks hopefully.

  As the person steps up onto the bus, my breath catches in my throat. It’s Reagan, her dark hair back in a ponytail. She’s wearing a tank top and sweats, her arms wrapped around herself.

  “Babe, I didn’t know you were coming.” I stand up and walk to the front of the bus to greet her, rubbing her chilly upper arms.

  She gives me a smile that makes me suddenly feel soft inside.

  “I wanted to surprise you. Could you use another volunteer?”

  There’s an apology in her tone. I nod and pull her against my chest, hugging her tight.

  “You’re freezing, babe. What are you doing wearing a tank top in October?”

  She laughs against me. “I know. I planned on going home for clothes first, but…I was too excited to see you, and I came straight here.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers in my ear.

  I lean back and kiss her forehead, then turn to Tyson.

  “Toss me that hoodie. We’re gonna go grab coffee.”

  Several of the interns’ eyes gleam at the mention of coffee. It’s how we’re surviving these days.

  “I’ll bring back coffee for anyone who wants it. Somebody text me a group order for Starbucks.”

  Tyson tosses me the black hoodie I sometimes wear when the bus is cold, and I help Reagan into it. The sleeves hang past her hands and the bottom comes to her thighs, but it’ll keep her warm.

  “I’ll take door-knocking today if you need me,” she says to Tyson.

  Tyson looks down at his clipboard. “I need…door-knockers and mailer-stuffers.”

  “I’m up for anything,” Reagan says.

  I take her hand and lead her off of the bus. As soon as we’re alone, I wrap her up in another hug and then kiss her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” I ask. “I might’ve actually slept last night if I’d known.”

  “I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, her blue eyes glistening. “I’ve been a shitty wife lately.”

  “Don’t say that. Never say that. You told me what was on your mind, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Well…I’ve just been thrown off-balance by losing my job.”

  “Which wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t running for governor. It’s not your fault.”

  She sighs softly. “I know. I’ve just had lots of time at my mom’s to think about what matters most to me. And it’s not a job or an elected office or money. It’s you. My family.”

  I nod. “I’ve been thinking too, and you’re right. I don’t want all our memories of this time in our life to be about campaigning and rallies and fancy dinners. I want a family with you. And if you’re ready… I mean, if you want me to… I’ll walk away from this.”

  “Jude, you can’t.”

  “I can.”

  “This is your dream. I don’t want you giving up your dream for me.”

  I shake my head. “For us, babe. And this isn’t my dream—you are.”

  Tears well in her eyes. “Wow. You never stop amazing me, Jude. But honestly, no—I don’t want you to drop out. I don’t know for sure what the future holds for us, but I know how many times you’ve put me first, and it’s my turn to put you first. Just promise you’ll keep me by your side if you win.”

  “You aren’t sure about that? Reagan, I always want you by my side.”

  “I know, but there’ll be special interests and pressure, and—”

  “Always. You’re first, and everyone else is second. That’s never gonna change.”

  She nods and smiles. “I think you’re gonna do this, Jude. I was looking over the poll numbers on the flight, and I have a feeling it’ll be you.”

  I kiss her forehead again. “We have to keep campaigning like we’re behind, though.”

  “I know. And I’m all in. Anything you need. However I can help. I want to make up for the time I missed here.”

  I wink at her. “You can make that up to me between the sheets, babe.”

  Her sweet, sexy laugh makes my cock stir to life. “Like I said, I’m at your service.”

  “Excellent.”

  I zip up the hoodie and take her hand, heading toward the Starbucks I saw on the way to our parking spot.

  “How’d you find us?” I ask, giving her a puzzled look as we walk.

  “Tyson.”

  “Ah. You guys are becoming BBFs on me, aren’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. But we are having friendship bracelets made.”

  Her quick wit was one of the first things I fell in love with. I squeeze her hand, using the other one to wave at the driver of a car who honks at us and waves, yelling, “I’m voting for you!” out his open car window.

  “Thanks, man!” I wave back at him.

  We make it to the coffee shop, which has a line. I look at Reagan as we wait.

  “I was thinking that, win or lose, we should take a trip after the election,” I say.

  She considers. “Yeah, but…if it’s win, there’ll be tons of transition work to start on.”

  “It’ll wait.”

  “Is there somewhere you want to go?”

  I shrug. “Somewhere private with a beach. That’s all I care about.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  When we get to the front of the line, I take out my phone to look at the coffee order and end up ordering fourteen drinks. A couple waiting for their order asks me to take a photo with them, and Reagan takes one for them.

  Each carrying two trays of drinks, we start the walk back to the bus.

  “If we win, I want you to know this job isn’t gonna take me over,” I tell her. “You know how cranky I get when I don’t get to be with you for even a couple days. We get to make our own rules for this.”

  She nods, her expression softening with a smile. “I like that plan. And if you win, I’d like to focus on advocacy. I don’t think I want to get another job right now.” She laughs. “Can you believe I just said that?”

  “I think that sounds perfect. You can travel with me. What kind of advocacy do you want to do?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Something with women’s rights, probably. That may not thrill some of your donors.”

  “Makes no difference at all. I’ll be proud of you for doing what matters to you.”

  The bus comes into sight, and the closer we get, the more it sets in that we won’t have many moments like this until that post-election vacation. When it’s just me and her, we’ll be too exhausted for much besides sleep.

  Well, she will. I can always manage the energy for sex with my wife.

  “Babe,” I say, stopping outside the open bus doors. “We can just do one term if you want, okay?”

  She smiles and nods. “We make the rules.”

  I kiss her before walking back onto the bus. Finally, everything’s right. I
care more about having Reagan at my side than I do about winning or losing.

  But I’m gonna do my damnedest to win.

  27

  Reagan

  Jude grabs a glass of champagne from a passing server’s tray and passes it to me.

  “Drink,” he says with a wink.

  I sip it gratefully, feeling more like throwing back the entire glass at once.

  God, I’m nervous. The polls were running so close yesterday that we still don’t know who’s likely to win. Considering how recently I wasn’t sure I wanted my husband to be governor, it’s ironic that I’m now hoping for it with everything I’ve got.

  And worse, I can’t let it show that I’m a bundle of nerves. We cleaned up and left headquarters to come to an evening election-night party put on by wealthy supporters.

  It’s nice seeing the aides and interns from the campaign all cleaned up, the men showered and shaved and the women wearing makeup and fancy gowns.

  I’m pretty sure that like me, they’d prefer to be scarfing down pizza from a box right now as we all hover in front of the TV making inappropriate jokes and waiting for returns to come in—but they deserve to be here. They’re taking advantage of the open bar, but Jude and I decided to stay sober.

  Looks like he changed his mind about me drinking, though. I think it was a good call, because I’m about to jump out of my skin.

  I’m staring at a TV monitor set up for us to watch the returns come in, and Jude takes my hand and tugs gently.

  “Let’s mingle, babe. Somebody’ll let us know when it gets updated.”

  I blow out a nervous breath. “Okay.”

  He slides an arm around my waist, and we walk over to a group of couples. Everyone shakes Jude’s hand and asks him what his first order of business is going to be.

  “Win or lose, we’re taking a vacation,” he tells them. “We’re leaving Friday morning.”

  “You certainly deserve it,” one of the women says. “This has been a hard-fought race.”

  One of the men, who I’m pretty sure is one of the Branch brothers, rolls his eyes. “That happens when you’re fighting a millionaire willing to spend whatever it takes.”

  Jude was outspent almost three-to-one by Gloria Rush. His supporters came through with a lot of money, but she spent a record amount for a gubernatorial race.

  I’m incredibly proud of Jude, no matter what happens. He took the high road at every turn, and he worked his ass off.

  We agreed this morning after the quickest quickie we’ve ever had that we have no regrets. Whether it’s from the governor’s mansion or our home in Chicago, we know life has good times in store for us.

  Tyson approaches us, grinning. “Cook County came in. You’re still up enough that a recount’s off the table.”

  Jude lets out a breath and pulls me close, kissing the top of my head. Then he rests a palm on my back, exposed by the low-back red sequined gown I’m wearing.

  The moment he saw me walk out of the bathroom of our hotel room in this dress, he told me he couldn’t wait to get it off me.

  People come up to Jude to offer congratulations, some taking selfies with him. I can read his expression—he’s not ready to celebrate until Tyson tells him he’s been called as the projected winner.

  I pass Jude my champagne glass, and he takes a swig, wrinkling his nose.

  “Too sweet.”

  Tyson looks down at his phone screen and then back up at Jude.

  “CNN’s projecting it.” He breaks into a grin. “Congratulations, Governor.”

  Jude embraces Tyson in a back-patting man hug. I can’t help the tears that fall to my cheeks. It’s not just because Jude won, but because I know what he’s been through to get here.

  My husband’s road to the governor’s mansion started in the Middle East, where he served with pride and resolved to help his fellow veterans. A woman who lost part of her leg in service came up to him outside our polling place this morning and shook his hand, tearfully wishing him well.

  When he sweeps me into his arms and holds me tight, my feet leave the floor.

  “We did it,” he says, his voice quaking with emotion as he buries his face in my shoulder.

  “I love you.” I put my hands on his cheeks and kiss away the moisture on his cheek. “Congratulations, babe.”

  He sets me down and takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “Should I call Gloria?”

  “No, she’ll call you, remember?”

  He grins sheepishly. “Right. I can’t even think straight right now. I can’t believe this.”

  “Believe it, love. You have your speech, right?”

  He pats the breast pocket of his suit. “Yeah. I want you up there with me.”

  “I will be.” I finish the champagne and smile at him. “Probably a good time to call all the aides and interns together and thank them.”

  “Right. I think Tyson got a room for us to meet in for that.”

  Texts of congratulations start hitting my phone from family, friends, and colleagues. My mouth drops open in surprise when I see one come in from Andrea Matisse.

  Andrea: Congratulations to your husband. Would love to discuss my job opportunity with you again.

  Ha. I’m not even going to respond to her. Anyone who didn’t stand by us when the chips were down doesn’t deserve loyalty.

  Besides, I don’t want to be a globe-trotter for Andrea’s foundation. As first lady of my state, I can choose my own advocacy projects.

  If anyone had told me when I was in my early twenties that this daughter of a Democratic senator, who served as a Democratic state rep, would end up being the wife of a Republican governor and not wanting to hold a full-time job, I would have laughed hysterically.

  Me? In love with a man of the opposing political party? Not blazing trails with an exhausting travel schedule, but wanting to be by my husband’s side instead?

  Impossible, I would have thought.

  But that’s the thing about women’s rights—I support women choosing their own path, free from judgment.

  Stay-at-home mom, First Lady, physicist, mechanic—they’re all my people, and I hope to bring all women’s issues into the spotlight.

  I stand in the back of the room as Jude addresses the group of people who worked on his campaign. Many of them are crying as he thanks them for their tireless work. Gratitude overwhelms me, and I’m near tears, too.

  Tyson approaches and leans against the wall next to me.

  “Congratulations,” I say, offering him my hand.

  His handshake is weak, but his smile is broad. “Thanks. You too.”

  “You’re coming to work for him now, right?”

  He shrugs. “I will if he asks.”

  “He’ll ask.”

  Tyson’s smile fades. “I thought you might not want that.”

  “I can’t think of anyone better. You’ve done a fantastic job. I mean, chief of staff’s a grind, but if you want it—”

  “I do.”

  I punch him playfully in the shoulder. “I’ll put in a good word.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  “Seriously, Tyson, you came through in every way. I’m not sure he would have made it without you.”

  Tyson’s cheeks redden. “Thanks.” After an awkward silence, he lowers his brows and says, “Are we gonna be friends now?”

  I shrug. “I’m kinda used to our dynamic.”

  “Me too.”

  “Let’s keep ’em guessing.”

  We share a brief laugh and then both focus on Jude.

  “Reagan and I consider you more family than friends,” he says, his voice catching in his throat. “Thanks doesn’t seem like enough to say for all the months you guys devoted to the campaign. I’ll just say…” He clears his throat. “I promise I’ll do my best to make you proud.”

  The interns in the front row start cheering, jumping up from their chairs and throwing their arms in the air. Jude’s gaze wanders across the crowd, and I know he’s looking for me.r />
  I head for the front of the room, and as soon as Jude spots me, he opens his arms, wrapping one around me when I reach him.

  “How ’bout an Al/Tipper kiss?” he asks in a low tone.

  I laugh at his reference to the infamous, lengthy kiss from the 2000 presidential campaign, then nod. We’re not in front of the cameras here—it’s just our supporters.

  He dips me like we’re dancing and then plants a long, deep kiss on my mouth, making everyone in the room hoot and holler.

  When we stand up, he can’t seem to stop smiling at me. And I’m feeling the same way.

  I never dreamed we’d end up here, but now, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

  28

  Jude

  The sunrise wakes me up, light streaming through the tiny cracks in our primitive beach hut.

  I glance over at Reagan, who looks like an angel as she sleeps soundly, curled up on one side with her dark hair around her shoulders.

  Brushing a stray lock away from her face, I study her. I don’t just see beauty. There’s grace. Strength. Humor. Compassion.

  Somehow, I’m lucky enough to be living the life of my dreams. If and when we have children, I’ll have all I’ve ever wanted.

  Reagan is right—we can’t let our marriage get lost in the mix. I’m going to show her I meant what I said about prioritizing us.

  And if I’m a one-term governor, I’ll be good with it. I don’t want to go any further in politics than this. In fact, I didn’t even want to go this far, but the party leadership begged me due to a lack of other decent candidates.

  When Reagan stirs, I slip my arm around her waist. A smile touches her lips, and she opens her eyes.

  “Hey,” she says in a sleepy tone. “Good morning.”

  “Morning, babe.” I kiss her lips lightly.

  “No, I have morning breath.”

  “For the eleven hundredth time, I don’t care.”

  She cringes. “I care.”

  I kiss her harder and she tries to shrink away, but I hold her in place.

  “What are we doing today?” she asks, yawning.

  Our beach hut is right in the crystal-clear water, with a wooden walkway to the beach in back and stairs into the water in front.