When I put my foot down that she would not be joining us on election night, or at the inauguration and ball—if we win—I shamelessly played the “’your wife almost died” card to Carter.
Yeah, I went there.
Even the bastard extraordinaire didn’t push back, finally giving me a smile and kissing me, nuzzling my nose. “Yes, dear,” he said with a chuckle.
Damn, I love that man.
Election nights are ours. Only for us. Beard for the greater good or not, fuck that.
Owen is ours. I won’t share him on a night I already have to share him with the entire damn state, and I think Owen and I earned this, considering everything else we’ll have to pretend about.
Photo ops can wait for another night.
Tonight, I can’t move anywhere that Owen’s not constantly watching me, no matter who he’s talking with. He turns so he can keep glancing at me without being too obvious.
At least most of the people here tonight, we can trust them. Maybe not with the deepest truths about us, but as my best friend, sure, Owen worries about me.
No one will begrudge him this tonight, or speak ill of him for it.
We actually have two hotel suites, in the same wing, sharing a common foyer area, and with a trooper standing guard. We used a wristband system, and only the people with a certain wristband can move between the suites. Everyone else has to stay in the other one. I did make an earlier appearance over on the other side, and will make one more before we head downstairs. Carter’s using my health as an excuse, that he wants to take things easy on me.
No one questions him, assuming he means about my recovery from “the ordeal.”
For tonight, Carter’s pared down the list so that we only have ten people in this suite with us, besides immediate family and Dray and Gregory. Carter and Owen make frequent trips next door, to the other suite.
The truth is that Carter wanted Owen able to sit down on the couch next to me from time to time tonight, and be able to talk to me, to relax without worrying who was watching us. Everyone allowed in this suite tonight knows how close we are as friends and won’t think a second thought about Owen’s actions tonight, especially in light of almost losing me.
Only Dray knows the full truth, and that’s only because he works for us.
If Daddy suspects anything, he hasn’t said so.
* * * *
Election returns begin flooding in when the polls close at 7 p.m. Eastern time in most of the state.
Fucking Panhandle.
Maybe one of my first actions as governor should be proposing we allow Alabama to annex part of the Panhandle and be done with it.
#justkidding
#sortof
#nojustkidding
Early voting numbers are record-breaking. Every political commentator is referencing my “survival miracle” as likely being a contributing factor.
No shit, Sherlock.
#duh
Well, at least my ordeal accomplished a second thing—everyone definitely knows my name, and it isn’t Daddy’s name that’s the sub-lede in every story anymore.
It’s now a variation of “her miraculous story of survival.”
Voter turnout is astronomically higher than four years ago, both early voting and for today’s voters. By seven-thirty, a clear picture is developing. Miami-Dade has finally gotten its shit together for this election, with ninety-two percent of its precincts soon reporting Owen ahead by over sixty points. Hillsborough has reported ninety-three percent of its precincts, with Owen showing a fifty-point lead that only widens with every data refresh. Orange County, which is Orlando, shows eighty-nine percent of precincts with Owen already ahead by fifty-six points and growing.
Those are the biggest concentrations of voters, which means it’ll likely be gravy from this point on. We might see some chipping away at that lead, because rural areas of our state tend to trend red, but our most recent surveys showed increasing I and D voters registered in those areas, so who knows?
By seven forty-five, throughout the rest of a state as a whole, there’s an overall fifty-five-percent reporting average from counts in progress, showing Owen ahead by over forty points and with an ever-widening gap.
At seven fifty-five, with eighty-five percent of the state’s precincts reporting, the Democrat calls and concedes. The Republican waits until MSNBC, Fox News, and CNN all call it at eight fifteen.
FNB, those dickless fucks, wait until eight twenty-five to call it, until after Duval County—Jacksonville—reports in at ninety-nine percent counted, and Owen’s handily won by over fifty-five points.
There are not enough uncounted, provisional, absentee, and overseas ballots left to count in the entire state—including the Panhandle—which would, even if none of the votes were cast for Owen, come close to bringing another candidate into recount territory, much less overtake Owen’s lead.
Fuck you, Panhandle. Stupid time difference.
Carter puts on music. Owen’s wearing a smile as he walks over to me and offers me his hand.
“Next to Me” by Imagine Dragons starts to play through a Bluetooth speaker, and I take Owen’s hand. He helps me up off the couch, and we dance while Carter smiles and watches us, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall, his jacket off, sleeves rolled up, and tie loosened.
The handsome perv always does love watching his pets together.
Halfway through the song, Carter walks over. “May I cut in, Governor?”
Owen grins. “Certainly, Sir.” Owen’s going to hand me off to Carter, but this time, Carter take Owen’s hand and pulls him in to dance, earning us laughter and applause.
Daddy walks over, smiling, and offers me his hand. “May I have this dance, Lieutenant-Governor Evans?”
“Sure, Senator Evans.” As we dance, I watch Owen and Carter dancing. Carter’s actually letting Owen lead, and while they’re whispering to each other, I see one of those sweet smiles cross Owen’s face.
I pause to slip my phone out of my pocket and snap a picture of them like this, just for me.
“Still say you should have married Owen.” Daddy’s smiling, though, so I know he’s not really serious.
When the song ends, Carter hugs Owen, patting him on the back as he says something. Owen’s reluctant to release him, and Carter stays there, the two goofballs of mine nearly making me cry, they’re so sweet.
Or maybe that’s pregnancy hormones hitting me.
Carter starts to step away from Owen but sees me watching, and they open their arms to me.
Of course I go to them. I always will.
With our arms around each other, we stand there, just breathing in each other’s scents, feeling the warmth of the others.
Just us.
Carter moves in a little, pressing me even more firmly against Owen as he tightens his embrace of both of us.
“Mine,” he whispers, kissing my forehead. Then he looks up at Owen and smiles. “So are you,” he says.
Owen leans in and touches his forehead to Carter’s. “Love you both,” he says.
“I will kill both of you if you make me cry right now,” I growl, which cracks them up.
I’m back on the couch a few minutes later, Owen and Carter next door, when my personal phone buzzes with a text message from Daddy.
It’s two pictures, of the three of us standing there, holding each other—one before Owen leaned in close, one with his forehead and Carter’s touching.
Okay, now I am crying.
I look over to find Daddy smiling as he tucks his phone back in his pocket. Then he grabs his glass of iced tea and salutes me with it.
The big softy. Like Carter, Senator Evans is a bastard when in politician mode, but Daddy does have a gooey center, when he tries.
We hadn’t planned on going downstairs until ten-thirty at the earliest, which is what we’d told everyone.
So we wait, but with Carter sending word through Comms that we might go down earlier.
Nearly i
mmediately, every channel starts running that update on their crawlers, or having their on-air reporters outright mention it. This race has been watched nationally, due mostly to my tale of survival, but, yes, also due to the fact that Owen’s an Independent.
The three of us step into the suite’s bedroom and, after Carter closes and locks the door behind us and pulls the curtains, he smiles and holds his arms open to us.
We both go, me kissing Owen first, and then Carter. Then Carter kisses Owen, and we all stand there, silent and…processing.
We did it.
We.
Fucking.
Did.
It.
Carter puts his hands on both our heads and draws us in, our foreheads all touching as he rubs our scalps.
“I love you both so fucking much,” he says, his voice sounding choked. “You two are amazing, and I’m the luckiest man on the face of the planet.”
It’s nearly enough to make me cry, seeing the bastard extraordinaire emotional and stripped bare like this to us right now.
“Love you, both,” I whisper.
“Love you both,” Owen replies. Then he draws in a long, shaky breath and lets it out again.
Carter gently nudges me to hug Owen, and I do. “You’re brilliant,” I say. “You’re so damned amazing, boy, and you’ve made me the happiest woman in the world.”
Owen nuzzles his face against my neck. “I don’t give a shit what anyone says or thinks,” he says against my skin, “I will be in that delivery room.”
“Of course you will,” Carter assures him, his arms around both of us again. “I’ve already got Dray working on our schedules to keep them light close to her due date, and to keep us all in Tallahassee.”
“Good.” Owen deeply inhales again, and I know he’s sniffing me, assuring himself I’m really real and not a dream.
He does that a lot lately. Carter’s loosened up a little on the no-PDA rule. Of course it’s natural for Owen to hug me, as my friend, especially after what I endured. A lot of people have been hugging me since my return.
We have a window of time where little things like this will not be exploited against us. I know that window will rapidly shrink at some future point, but for now, I will shamelessly enjoy it.
When we head downstairs at nine-thirty so Owen can give his victory speech, I stand between my men and hold both their hands. It’s only me, Owen, Carter, Dray, Gregory, and two troopers in the service elevator with us. We held everyone else back to follow, Carter once again citing me and my health. I’m not nearly as fragile as he portrays to the public, but we go with it.
They’ll all know the truth soon enough.
When the three of us march out onto that stage together, we’re still holding hands. The thunderous roar that greets us feels like a physical presence all around us, lifting us, cradling us.
We did it.
Carter turns his back to the audience to kiss me, then releases my hand and gives Owen a long, strong hug before he turns and, with his arm still around Owen’s shoulders, waves his other arm to egg the crowd on and get them cheering even louder for Owen.
Smiling, Carter steps behind us, makes a point of putting his hands over ours, where they’re still joined, and holds them up as he nudges us forward. Then he stands back to let us bask in this moment.
What a photo opp. I definitely want an enlarged and framed copy of this picture to hang on our wall.
I glance back to see Carter walking back and forth across the stage while fiercely waving both arms now, urging the crowd louder, leading chants of TAY-LOR! TAY-LOR! before he starts applauding us and gives us a bow from the waist.
Then he stands behind us again, the implication clear—Fuck any of you who want to try to make something of this, because I’m behind them one-hundred-percent.
Owen pulls me in for a hug and stares down into my eyes for a long moment. I think maybe he’s actually going to kiss me, but he doesn’t. A long, slow blink, our special code. In this case, I know it means I love you.
I blink back, give him one more hug, then I lean in closer to the microphone, clapping as I speak.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you your current and future governor of the great state of Florida, Governor Owen Taylor!”
I don’t even care who sees me crying now. I’m so fucking proud of him that I’m clapping just as hard as everyone else. Harder, even.
This fucking photo op isn’t merely gold, it’s platinum, and fuck you if you think I won’t exploit it for every millisecond I can wring from it.
I glance over and catch Carter’s eye, and he smirks, winking at me.
I wink back.
God I love that fucking bastard so fucking hard.
We’ve sacrificed so much over the years, my men doubly so. They’ve done this for me. That proves to me how much Carter loves me. He could have easily worked on Owen all those years ago, seduced him into his arms, and cut me completely out of the equation.
By now, they’d have been married a few years, maybe adopted a couple of kids, living a quiet life as attorneys.
Not…this.
Instead, Carter took a chance on me, and keeps taking chances for me.
Because he loves me.
Don’t think I don’t know how precious this thing is that we all share.
Loyalty.
Devotion.
They’re not just kneeling positions. They’re words that describe my husbands’ hearts, even if we’re the only three who can truly know that.
They’re mine, and I love them.
It was only thinking about them that kept me from giving up during my ordeal, until the very end, when my body was close to failing me.
Carter’s order to me to stay safe.
Knowing that, despite what I went through, they still want to support me being in politics, instead of all of us immediately returning to private life and being able to openly be spouses and parents and enjoy this compounded miracle.
We stand here tonight because they love me.
We stand here tonight because they support me.
We stand here tonight because I am the luckiest woman in the damn world.
I had been certain I’d never have a baby. I don’t believe in divine intervention, but the confluence of events is almost enough to make me consider that it’s possible.
Almost.
But not quite.
Because my baby isn’t born yet. Maybe one day I might consider taking a more spiritual path in my life, but today is not that day.
Tomorrow’s not looking so hot, either. Because I am my Daddy’s daughter, and I am also Senator Benchley Evans’ daughter—a politician, first and foremost.
A politician who’s about to spend another four years as the lieutenant governor of the great state of Florida.
The End
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Owen, Carter, and Susa’s story continues in Chief (Governor Trilogy 3).
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Preview: Chief (Governor Trilogy 3)
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Description
Behind every good man is a good woman. That’s what they say.
They’re wrong. Even my wife would agree.
The truth is, behind every good man is a real bastard—that would be me.
I knew from the day I met Owen that the only way I’d ever get him was to make sure I took whatever it was he loved and wanted most and hold it so close to me that he couldn’t help but come with it.
He did.
And now…now there are people who want to tear the three of us apart.
I’ll die before I let that happen.
I am Carter Wilson, chief of staff to the governor of the great state of Florida.
And, acc
ording to him and my wife, a bastard extraordinaire.
* * * *
Chapter One
Now — Election Night
They say behind every good man is a good woman. That’s sometimes true.
In this case, behind one particularly good man is a real fucking bastard.
That would be me.
A bastard extraordinaire, as Owen dubbed me so many years ago. But he also knows he’d never be where he is without me. We both know that. All I did was watch him, figure out what he wanted, needed, and loved…and then gave it to him.
With a few strings attached, of course.
I wouldn’t be a bastard if I didn’t do that.
I grew up the youngest of seven boys in a house that valued stereotypical masculinity above all. My dad was Airborne. My mother was an Army brat. I wanted to go to college, but if I’d broken from family tradition and failed to enlist after that, I would have faced life-long shit from my family.
So I enlisted. Unlike my brothers, who took ROTC in college, I go in straight out of high school to get it over with. Earned me a Purple Heart for my efforts, which got me a medical discharge, a disability pension, the adoration of my family…
…and led to me meeting Owen at the start of our second year of college at USF in Tampa, where we were randomly assigned as roommates in the dorm.
In retrospect, I’m good with that trade-off.
The main obstacle in my path to winning Owen’s heart was Susannah Joleen Evans. Which, all things considered, wasn’t nearly as difficult to overcome as I’d thought it’d be.
There’s a reason Owen and Susa call me the bastard extraordinaire—it’s because I am a bastard.
They’re absolutely right.
Unfortunately, I learned the hard way early on that being a bastard was the only way to survive. It would also be the only way to get what I really wanted.
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