“Dad, over here! With Ms. Scott,” he waves and takes my hand, pulling me back up to standing.
To my surprise, Mr. Lowis walks over. He is in his early forties and has quite the reputation around Denver. He isn’t in the cabinet but has been working in politics behind the scenes for years doing the dirty work, writing proposals and getting public support for numerous projects. Dougall had told me about him and showed me his picture, which is why I recognize him. She told me he might be a Hadenfelt hater and is someone who I want to get support from. I had yet to see him or his lovely wife anywhere since we’ve been in the Culling.
“Dad, this is Ms. Scott. Ms. Scott, this is my dad,” Nathan properly introduces us, making me smile.
“Brian Lowis,” he smiles, taking my hand.
“Reagan Scott,” I offer as I try to shake his hand the way Dougall taught me, not too hard and not too flimsy or limp.
He nods. “Yes, dear, I know. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Hopefully that’s a good thing?” I joke.
He smiles again. “Yes. And then I saw how you helped my youngest son here at the feast when he was knocked over. I was thoroughly impressed with both, to say the least,” he says kindly.
I feel Lyncoln’s hand on my hip, signaling he has made it away from whoever caught his attention and is back by my side.
“Mr. Lowis,” Lyncoln shakes his hand. “To what do we owe you gracing us with your presence, you old hermit crab?”
I’m shocked Lyncoln is so carefree with this man, but he seems to already know him, so I try not to panic. This man is important. He could be a great ally, especially if he hates Hadenfelt.
“I came to show my support for the both of you. I think I have finally found a reason to voice my opinion on who to vote for, and that was when your lovely fiancé took the time to help my son,” he says, nodding to me and looks back toward Lyncoln. “You already had my vote, son, but now you both have my full support.”
His wife then finds her way over to us and we all discuss little Nathan and their other five children. I’m a little jealous of how close their large family is. I wonder what it would’ve been like to have more than just Ashton growing up if my mom could have had more kids.
When the lights flicker, indicating this wave of people is to leave, we finally end our conversation and move to the corner of the room to make the exiting of people easier.
“Reagan Grace Scott, if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times… you just won us the presidency back there,” Lyncoln says, shaking his head in disbelief.
“What?” I ask puzzled. “What did I do now?”
“You help a little boy as a random act of kindness and that little boy just so happens to be the son of one of the most powerful men in all of Denver.” He shakes his head. “He knows people who know people.”
“I didn’t know that when I did it,” I say defensively.
Lyncoln chuckles. “I know. That’s the best part. You couldn’t plan this crap out if you tried.” He shakes his head again while smiling.
I just look down at my hands.
Am I still mad at Lyncoln? Yes. But he has also been so kind all evening. Every chance he gets, he is holding my hand or has his hands on me somewhere as if trying to remind me how much he cares about me. I know he is trying to make it up to me, and I will admit that it helps matters.
Next, we get to talk to Elizabeth and Maverick, who are happy to see us and tell us about how they are adjusting to their new life in Denver. Maverick is doing some military training and has a bunch of questions for Lyncoln. Elizabeth tells me they’ll be married sooner rather than later and she cannot wait. I’m genuinely happy for them and can’t help but wonder if their life will be our new life starting tomorrow. They are both optimistic about our odds tonight though, and for some reason that puts even more pressure on the situation. I don’t want their votes that went to us to have been a waste.
Other than that, the meet and greet portion is relatively carefree all things considered and has me hopeful as I meet and talk with the people of Denver. But then before I can go and get too comfortable, on the last wave of people, there is, of course, a curveball.
None other than Jade, yes that Jade, graces us with her presence. Although I’m bugged that who he has slept with has to be someone that I know of, I’m kind of glad I didn’t know it was her when the Culling began and we first were a thing, and particularly when I overheard her talking about me in the hallway that day with Oliver.
She gives Lyncoln a hug that seems to be all boobs, and it takes all my patience to not blatantly roll my eyes to the heavens when she turns to greet me. She is all touchy feely with Lyncoln, and I am losing my cool telling her common pleasantries when her dirty little mitts are all over my man.
My brain is having a heyday and internally I seem to have a red bulb flashing with a sign next to it that reads, “She’s seen him naked!” I mentally take a book and slam that stupid bulb into smithereens, trying to focus on being polite like I’ve been taught.
I also try to focus on Lyncoln’s reaction to all this. I notice the touchier she has gotten with him, the touchier he has been with me. I take a deep breath.
Don’t let her get to you, Reagan. It’s what she wants. Other than your man, of course.
She asks us stuff about the Culling and wishes us luck, looking right at Lyncoln and telling him she’s voting for us. Translation: Lyncoln, she wants to see you naked… again… or again, again. Whatever.
As she leaves, I must look pissed though I am trying not to let her get to me. I take a decently sized swig of my champagne.
“Woman, lay off the booze until we give our acceptance speeches, will you?” Lyncoln smirks. When I only roll my eyes for a response, he adds, “Reagan Scott, are you jealous?”
I glare at him. “Heck yes, I’m jealous. If she put her pretty little fingernails on you again I was going to physically remove them. She’s lucky she walked away unscathed. With the week I’ve had, that was the very last thing I needed to see. Especially after you were MIA last night.”
He looks at me affectionately, confused with my sudden jealous outburst. “But you know I don’t want her.”
I nod. “I know. But she obviously still wants you. And you clearly aren’t for sale.”
He smirks. “I kind of like you like this.”
I glare at him again before taking another swig of my champagne. “This is so not funny right now. Touch her, and I kill you.”
He immediately stops laughing, and is back to looking concerned, putting his hands up in surrender. “Sweetheart, I don’t want to touch anyone but you.”
“Good. That helps. A little,” I say firmly and squint at him for emphasis. Then I remember all those times he saw me with Henry and I softly add, “Was that what it was like for you? Before I chose you?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Every damn time,” he nods with each word. “Except that I like and respect Henry.”
As I look to my hands in guilt for what I put both of them through, he brings my chin up to look him in the eyes. “Regs, you are more than worth it. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. You are all mine now and that’s all that matters.”
His words ring true. Just like with him and Jade. It’s awkward. She knows the physical, or dare I actually think the word “sexual”, side of him better than I do. It sucks and it hurts to know she still wants him. But, he’s worth it and he’s only interested in me. Time to dial down the jealousy and let bygones be bygones. He’s worth it. I just need to try to not let this week’s events get to me. I don’t need to be freaking out about this. I have a plethora of other things I can be freaking out about.
As the last wave of people finish up, the final three couples head for the safe room downstairs. We actually joke with one another on the way down. It feels nice to talk to Marisol and Henry for once, where before we just tried to steer as clear of them as possible. Henry seems more at ease as well, now that the master puppeteer is ou
t of the picture.
Upon arriving downstairs, I’m surprised to find it totally transformed. There is even a candlelit chandelier for Pete’s sake! Fresh flowers in these weird and modern looking glass vases are everywhere at small circular tables, strategically placed so wherever you stand you always see them. Servers are walking around with champagne, and special lighting is set up across the room to make it seem like we aren’t below Mile High. The room doesn’t have near the claustrophobic feel that it did the other time I was here. Is this even the same place?
If I had to guess, probably around a hundred or so people are in the room. Some are working cameras, some came from upstairs to continue serving food and champagne, but the majority are the current cabinet members and their significant others with a few other Denver socialites that were invited. Everyone and anyone from Denver was welcome upstairs to come mingle, but only certain people were invited downstairs for the results, and all invites were vetted by Taggert himself. Guards are also everywhere, just as an extra precaution. Jamie gives me space but is always relatively close. There will not be a repeat of the masquerade ball tonight. Taggert made sure of that.
“Nervous?” Marisol asks me while Henry and Lyncoln laugh about something.
I answer honestly, “Terribly. You?” We aren’t bffs by any means, but at least we are becoming more cordial. If she would release her claws from Henry, I might even consider friendship bracelets. Maybe.
“Less nervous than before.” I know she means that she doesn’t have to worry about the fallout with her dad. “May the best couple win,” she smiles, repeating my words from before.
I can’t help but smirk back at her. Dang it. It was so much easier to hate her pretty little blonde guts.
Attie is typical Attie, socializing and flowing from person to person, making them feel like the only person in the room. She’s almost emotional, and it’s probably because she thinks she’s going home tomorrow. She thinks this is the end for them. Is she right? Or is it us?
Suddenly, I feel more nervous. Tomorrow we know for sure about the final two. Tomorrow we may be figuring out a life outside of the Culling. Yikes.
I briefly talk with the President. I miss the man, having not seen him as much lately. I still deeply respect President Maxwell. He has done what he thought was best running the country. Sure, I would have done a few things different, but his efforts are still to be respected. Seeing him reminds me that we should be having a super-secret Thursday night meeting tonight, and I am intrigued by what the news will be with the Hadenfelt hunt.
I grab a fresh glass of champagne and realize that yet again, Lyncoln never goes near the stuff. I just sip on one glass all night long, switching to make it look like more, but he either drinks water or nothing at all.
“Ready, Regs?” he asks with his cool, calm, confident smirk and his hands in his front pants pockets the way I love.
Dang, he’s hot. Why does he have to look like this when I am trying to be mad at him? It’s overbearing. And frustrating. Overbearingly frustrating.
“Why don’t you drink the champagne?” I ask, ignoring his question completely.
Of course I’m not ready. Of course I’m nervous. We’re about to find out the first half of the results that will determine if we get to bring my family to Denver, or if one of us will come to resent the other one. I think we know by now that neither one of us can leave the other one, but neither one of us really wants to leave our family behind either.
Tonight is just the first half of results though, so I need to cool it. But passing this off like it isn’t a big deal in our relationship doesn’t get us anywhere. It doesn’t help we aren’t really getting along all that great either.
He seems surprised by my question. “I did plenty of it in my wild days. I don’t want to go near the stuff now. It messes with your focus. Not my deal.”
Typical. He’s a bit of a control freak, so of course he doesn’t want something to mess with his focus. He is an assassin, after all.
“You drank before you were 18 even?” I ask surprised. No one in Omaha drinks before the old drinking age of 21. No one. They wouldn’t dare.
He shrugs. “You’d be surprised. Kind of a military thing.”
“So, it was like a way to bond? Getting drunk with one another?” I ask, trying not to sound judgey.
He nods. “And a way to cope. If something bad happened.”
Oh. I’m reminded in that moment that Lyncoln has been in the middle of this drifter situation far longer than I have. What all has he seen? It can’t be worse than what he experienced as a kid with his father’s death, but still.
Even though I want to rip him out, after that I instead reach over and give his hand a squeeze.
He looks like he’s about to lean in and kiss me, but Dougall takes to the podium at the front of the room. We have to move to the position we were given for the results portion of the evening.
It’s go time.
Dougall explains that everything will work much like last time. I’m anxious to get started, and also anxious to know how the Board will vote given our recent presentations, though those results won’t be until tomorrow.
The chattering in the room while we wait is loud. Excitement seems to be the general consensus; the people are interested to know how this next vote turns out. As expected, the first vote was pretty split across four couples. But with fewer couples now, will one take an obvious lead? Will Marisol and Henry pull away from the rest of us? Or will it stay split between the three couples?
Lyncoln seems to know I’m anxious but assumes his usual pose of having an arm around me and resting his hand on my hip. He’s here and that’s what matters, especially after being absent pretty much this whole last week.
Don’t remind me.
The screen at the front of the room comes to life with the blue screen of death.
And. Here. We. Go.
Galveston is the first township up on the screen. Attie and Knox have won Galveston with 44%. We are second with 31%, and Marisol and Henry bring up the rear with 25%.
Whew. One result down, only five more townships and the Board vote to go. If the rest of the townships go like Galveston, it’s looking like this will be tight. I feel my nervousness intensify again. I have never wanted anything as bad as I want to make it to the final two. Now that Hadenfelt is gone and Marisol seems to have somewhat of a heart, winning doesn’t seem to matter as much as making the final two and being able to bring my family to Denver.
Who am I kidding though? I still want to win. I want to win with Lyncoln. I want to win, and this is just the next step towards that goal. Eyes on the prize.
Vegas is next on the screen. Surprisingly, Vegas is pretty split between Attie and Knox and Lyncoln and me. We win it with 42%. Attie and Knox have 37%. Marisol and Henry have 21%.
We won Vegas? I wasn’t expecting that. I wonder if our presentation elicited some votes or something.
The next screen is the total of the first two townships. Attie and Knox are barely in the lead, we are in second, and Marisol and Henry are last. If only it could stay like this and this was the end of all the voting. If only!
I take another deep breath and try to calm my nerves for what feels like the millionth time. Was it really just two weeks ago we went through all this? And why are there such dramatic and long pauses between each township? I mean, hurry up already!
But here we go. On to Denver. Population powerhouse and capital. How these votes end up should tell us a lot. Split three ways or will there be a clear winner?
Lyncoln squeezes my hand and whispers, “I love you, Regs.”
I don’t have time to respond. The screen for Denver pops up and the cabinet, being from Denver, reacts. Some clap or whistle and others nod or talk quietly to their neighbor.
Marisol and Henry won Denver with 43% of the vote. What all the whispers are about is that we were right there with them with 41% of the vote. Attie and Knox only received 16% of the vote.
W
ow. This is huge.
We received that many votes from Denver? Denver is split between us and Marisol and Henry? That gives me a glimmer of hope. If we can contend against them in Denver, which is full of Hadenfelt followers and Maxwell followers, could we actually be able to beat them if you include all the other townships, and of course, the Board vote? Can we really do this? Can we take them down? The heirs of the presidency?
As the last screen pops up, I see that we are in first place for the evening. I can’t help but smile from ear to ear in total surprise. We should win Omaha. We may win Seattle or even Detroit again. As long as the Board doesn’t screw us, we very well might make it to the final two. Marisol and Henry pulled out second place, and Attie and Knox sit third.
“Feel better?” Lyncoln asks as we take a moment before the rest of the people will want to congratulate us. He wraps one arm around me and massages my bare collarbone with the other hand.
I nod dramatically. “But I’ll feel better when I know for sure we officially made it to the final two.”
“Tomorrow,” he smiles, almost looking excited. I don’t think I have ever seen him excited and I don’t quite know how to handle it.
****
Hours later, we leave the safe room to head to our meeting with Taggert and the President. Instead of heading upstairs, we head outside, which is brisk and makes me wish I brought a coat, had I known. Winter is moving in full force to Denver, the mountains seen in the distance at Mile High now covered with snow. And my bare legs in the front of this dress are making me rethink how much I love this dress.
“What are we doing?” I ask confused as Lyncoln puts his jacket over my shoulders. “Won’t we be late?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “We’re heading to DIA.”
As he says it, I see an SUV sitting waiting for us.
“Oh.” I feel confused. “Is the meeting there?”
“Kind of,” he explains. “Taggert is there, but the President and Henry are going to be there all day tomorrow, so they aren’t coming. It’s just us and Taggert tonight.”
The Fracturing: Book 2 (The Culling Series) Page 35