Sure, he's a little depressed and confused. Who wouldn't be?
Maybe that's what he needs to hear. That he's not alone.
“You remember when you helped me clean up my mom in that jail cell?” Taking a deep breath, I close the distance between us. “That was the first time anyone had ever helped me, and it was awful,” I say with a forced chuckle. “I detested you seeing that side of me. The ugly, trashy side of my life. The real Randi Sawyer. I mean, if you thought my mom was a mess, would you think the same about me? And then she wasn't wearing a bra.” This time my laugh is genuine. “And your shocked face. But you kept with it, stayed with me. You helped me even though you knew it was a fucked-up situation. What I'm trying to say is”—reaching forward, I link our pinkie fingers and hold my focus there—“I know what it's like to be entangled in your emotions, to not know which way is up or how to even see through it all to the light. I know what it’s like to deal with it on your own, to not have a single person there to talk to. It divides you between the person you know you should be on the outside and the twisted, miserable thing living inside you. Don't be that person. You don't have to be. You have me. You have T and Sarah. Don't separate yourself from us. Don't divide who you are to be half what we see and half what's really going on.” I draw in a deep inhale, trying to catch my breath from the rambling speech.
One finger and then another wrap around mine until all our fingers are interlaced. A soft tug and I'm blissfully encased in a strong embrace. Ear pressed to his chest, I relish the steady beat of his heart and calming warmth enclosing me.
“I'm here, Mess. And I promise to talk to you, to talk to T, when I’m ready. I can’t lose you, lose us, on top of everything else I’ve lost recently.”
“Lost?”
“My parents, my job for a while, my mon—” Catching himself, he seals his lips together. “A lot has changed.”
Tilting my head, I settle my chin on the hard bone of his sternum.
“When you're ready, I'm here. I'll always be here, Trey. Win or lose, we have each other. Good or bad, we're in this together. Never think you're battling all this alone. You'll alienate yourself that way. I won't push you to talk about it now, but know that even if I'm negotiating world peace, I'll drop everything to listen. This job is a job, not a life. You're my life, Trouble. Before as a measly candidate, today as the president of the United States, and in the future as a forgotten has-been.”
Relaxing a cheek against his chest once again, I inhale a deep breath. It won't be easy getting him through whatever this is, but nothing that’s worth fighting for ever is.
And one thing I’m certain of is we're worth fighting for.
He might have to hurry along the path of healing, however, not that I’m bringing that up now. This lack of communication is a minor hurdle compared to the months to come. With Kyle gone and the vital information we need having died with him, we’re up shit creek.
War is coming, and it will take everything I have to stop it.
Chapter Six
Trey
With one last peck to Randi's forehead, I turn, leaving her to wrap up work in the massive king-size bed. I check my watch as I stride toward the door. Two in the morning. Perfect time to slip out of the White House, if I can get one of my fellow agents to give me a lift back to the condo.
I scrub a hand down my face, the feeling of a headache coming on making my thoughts sluggish. Randi and I spent the last few hours talking over her three weeks in the presidential spot and the news that released today about Birmingham’s death. It’s a shit show, that’s for sure, but in true Mess fashion, she’s handled each incident like a damn pro, even though she feels as if she’s failing the people counting on her most.
Just over the threshold, I glance into the bedroom. As if she can feel my gaze, she peers up from her iPad, a wide smile spreading along that gorgeous face. My heart constricts at the sheer happiness radiating off her—because of me and me alone. Not thousands of dollars of roses, or jewelry, or a fancy dinner. Just me and her, talking, laughing, and holding each other, conjured that grin. Returning the smile, I swing the door closed, sealing her safely inside.
I wave to the agents, not meeting their knowing hard looks. I know what they’re thinking. Hell, I’ve thought it before when stationed outside past VPs’ bedroom doors. But it’s a little different now. This is the president, and I’m an agent. We’re not supposed to be together; it’s unprofessional and puts me as the butt of every inappropriate joke and innuendo.
One agent I recognize from previous encounters opens his mouth, readying to say something shitty no doubt, but the don’t-fuck-with-me glare I send his way makes him seal his lips shut, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard swallow. I have to get out of here before someone insinuates anything or I might pummel them, unable to stop before committing murder. Gerard was right—I'm nearing a snapping point.
Both hands shoved into the front pockets of my jeans, I travel down the short hall but divert at the last second, taking a left instead of a right, where the main control room is located. My feet and heart have a mind of their own, knowing there’s one more person I need to see before I leave here tonight.
My chest tightens as I stand in front of the closed bedroom door. Sensing watchful eyes, I nod to the agent farther down the hall, glaring. The door rattles under my fist. Hopefully she's like her mother and is still awake at this early morning hour.
A new round of nerves tenses my gut as the door swings open. But the sight of Taeler's smiling face loosens the growing knot in my stomach.
“What the hell, Trouble? Is everything okay?” The smile disappears as a worry line forms between her light eyebrows. Her soft blue eyes dart up, searching over my shoulder. “Is my mom all right?” She takes a step, hand at my side as if she’s readying to shove me aside and race down the hall.
I smirk at her courage to forget her own safety when she believes someone she loves is in danger. Just like her mother.
Hand to her shoulder, I hold her back from slipping past me. “She's fine. I actually wanted to talk to you about… well, nothing to do with your mother.”
“Me.”
“You.” I steal a side-eye glance at the agent who seems to be listening to the conversation. “Can we talk about this inside?” I ask, motioning inside her bedroom.
“I'm intrigued. Come on in.” Taeler moves aside, opening the door wider.
Inside I scan the room in search of a seat that’s not the pillow-filled bed in the center of the room. A desk and chair in the far corner catch my eye. After folding into the small chair, I lean forward, my clasped hands dangling between my spread legs.
“I wanted to stop by and tell you I'm sorry about Grem,” I say, my voice gritty as it pushes past the emotions I'm fighting to keep locked down. “We…. He was a part of our team for years. He and I were friends along with being teammates. I know he meant a lot to you—”
A surprised grunt escapes my chest as a small force slams into me, shoving me back against the chair. It takes a moment to register the trembling shoulders and thin arms wrapped around my neck as Taeler, not an attack. Shoving my attack mode reflexes down, I clear my throat and give her back a tentative pat. But she doesn't let go, just continues to hang on me like one of those spider monkeys I’ve seen on the Discovery Channel. Not sure what else to do, I attempt the back pat again, this time with a little more force.
“Stop trying to fucking burp me. Hug me,” Taeler says softly against my chest.
I look to the ceiling with a grimace as I prudently drape an arm across her back, careful to keep the contact to a minimum. My love for Randi’s daughter is purely platonic, and Taeler feels the same way, but that doesn't mean I'm comfortable hugging a young woman in her bedroom at two o’clock in the fucking morning, even if it is innocent.
My brain screams to abort mission.
“She told me about the pregnancy,” I say tentatively, in case the words do more harm to my already complicated situation th
an good. “How you doing with the news?”
Tilting away, she unravels herself from the tight hold and moves to the bed, perching on the edge. With plenty of space between us, I inhale deeply.
“You know, I’m okay, actually. I should be afraid, but I'm not. That might change tomorrow when I see the doctor or when I have to tell people, but right now, I kind of love it. Maybe because today we buried him, and in that same day I found out I'm carrying a piece of him inside me. He….” She swallows and glances to the ceiling, but that doesn't prevent the steady line of fresh tears from trickling out the edges of her eyes. “He was a good man. You'd be proud of him.” A watery smile pulls at her lips before she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “He spoke about you and the rest of the guys a lot, told me all kinds of stories. Sounded like you got him into trouble quite often.”
I laugh, a memory of one of our rogue nights in Argentina filling my thoughts and putting a wide smile across my face. “He was an active participant.” I chuckle. “He’s…. He was a good kid though.” I swipe two sweaty palms down my thighs. “How are you doing with the whole kidnapping piece? Randi mentioned you’re seeing a therapist?”
She nods, her blonde hair slipping over her shoulders with the motion. “Yeah, he comes here daily. And it’s good, I guess, better than if I didn’t talk to anyone at all. Loud noises are still a struggle, and the constant fear-laced worry that I’ll be taken again, but talking it through and being honest has helped.” The tremble of her hand as she reaches up to tuck a chunk of hair behind her ear doesn’t go unnoticed. “I don't know why though. He asks me to relive that night almost every session. The first time, I could barely get a single word out. It took an hour to get to the part about the initial attack. But yesterday, it only took twenty minutes to get through the entire ordeal. It's almost like saying it out loud, to someone else, takes the fear out of it, gives me the control back. If I let that fear rule me, then, even though I was saved, they still win.” Her delicate fingers fist the ancient white duvet cover. “They took hours of my life… the man I loved. I won’t give them anything more.”
I nod, pretending I understand even though I have no fucking clue what she means. How could talking about it make it better when it hurts to even say the words? Not only that, how can you talk about something when you don’t even know what you’re feeling yourself? It’s all a crock of shit, which is why I haven’t opened up to my appointed therapist.
Comfortable silence fills the room, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
“I’m a fucking mess.” Raking a hand through my hair, I shake my head. “I don’t deserve her,” I mutter as a wave of self-loathing fights its way into my thoughts.
“My mom?”
I dip my chin.
“Are you serious?” One corner of her lips tugs up in a wiry smile.
“Maybe at one time I did.” A slight tremble starts in my fingers. “But now look at me.” A harsh laugh rattles from my chest.
“Trey.” Her soft voice pulls my focus away from my swirling fears.
I open my mouth, but she starts again before I can get a single word out.
“My mom would never think that about you, you know that, right?” I swallow hard. “And whatever is going on between you two will work itself out. Listen.” Taeler slides off the bed to stand in front of where I sit. “I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, but let me tell you something about my mom that might ease some of your worries. Are you ready?”
The wooden frame of the chair creaks as I lean back, crossing both arms over my chest.
“She's used to people disappointing her. She used to doing everything on her own, not depending on a single soul because, well, people are shitty. But she's opening up to you, so don't mess that up. And it's been hard for her, because you're you and she's her.”
“Oh, you mean the president and a now nameless, no family agent who follows her dutifully wherever she goes, no questions asked?” I seal my eyes shut, focusing on calming my ragged breaths. Fuck, why did I just say that?
“Is that what you think?”
“Guess so.” I didn't even think that until the words were spilling off my tongue.
“You're a fool, then. If you don't see what we all see, then that's your fault.”
Confusion muddles my thoughts, making everything that used to make sense seem sketchy and messy.
“I should go. You need to sleep,” I mumble. “I just wanted to stop by and tell you I'm sorry about Grem. He was a good kid, and I'm going to miss him.”
“Thanks, Trouble.” Minding boundaries this time, she leans in for a quick side hug. “And like I said earlier, talking to someone is helping me. You should try it, even though you don't seem too good at it.” Her wide smile eases the sting her sarcastic words leave behind.
Just as I reach the door, she calls out my name. Both brows raised in question, I glance over my shoulder to where she still stands in the middle of the room, an arm wrapped around one of the bed posts extending high into the air.
“I have this feeling you both feel the same way. Just think about that as you work through whatever it is you’re not wanting to admit to yourself.”
A smirk tugs at my lips. “And how do you think we both feel?” This kid, so much like her mother in looks and personality.
Nibbling on her lower lip, she tucks a stray wisp of hair behind her ear over and over again.
“Undeserving.”
The single word smacks across my face, leaving me stunned. I force myself not to flinch. Without another word, I step out into the hall and storm toward the control room.
Bits of the tangled web of my fucked-up mind loosen, offering a moment of clarity before jumbling back to the damn mess it’s been for weeks again. At least the conversation with Taeler confirmed one thing I was afraid of: that young woman who was abducted for several hours on foreign soil and who lost the man she loves is doing a hell of a lot better than me.
Maybe there’s some validity to talking to someone.
Taeler's parting word shadows me as I work through the maze of connecting halls.
Undeserving.
It's never been a word I've used, but that Trey Benson is hidden deep. That Trey lived a lie shielded behind a solid family name, knew where he stood with his girlfriends because the relationship was superficial and common. Pre-shooting Trey didn't comprehend the true heartrending fear of leaving this world with the woman you love left behind unprotected without you there by her side. Today’s Trey fears the media won't look down on him for dating Randi, because of her poverty background, but will destroy her for loving a simple agent, the son of a sick bastard whose dirty laundry is plastered across the papers daily.
Undeserving.
Never a better word could be used to describe the paralyzing doubt and gut-wrenching uncertainty that's now my daily companion.
Undeserving.
And there's nothing I can do to change the outcome. That day warped me, warped us. I just hope we can somehow find our way through the wake of uncertainty. And that she'll give me the time to free my old self from the confines of my own doubts and fears.
The next morning, I don't wake up early to meet up at the rowing club like I promised Tank, or the next. His calls and texts go unanswered, just as they did before the confrontation in the SUV. The days and nights flow together, making all concept of time a vague memory. It’s only after a lonely text from Randi that I realize two weeks have passed since I saw her that night in the White House, two weeks since I've seen my best friend.
What can I say? Avoiding my mounting problems by drinking too much and being lazy as hell is a time suck.
With a scratchy throat groan, I stretch my stiff muscles along the cool satin sheets and crack an eye open. Late morning light filters through the edges of the blackout curtains, casting a single line of sunlight on the nearly empty bottle of Four Roses on the nightstand and knocked-over tumbler. An annoying ding of an alarm chirps happily from my phone. Smacking the t
op of the quilt blindly, I search for the device that woke me so rudely, ruining my plans of sleeping until noon.
The thin metal shell of the phone connects with my pinkie finger. Sliding it from where it burrowed itself beneath the blanket, I hold it above my face and squint at the screen.
An event reminder blinks back at me. A reminder I set weeks ago. Exactly one week from today, I'm eligible for active duty.
My stomach, still sour from last night’s bourbon binge, rolls as a chill skates across my clammy skin.
Instead of dealing with the information like a healthy bastard, I toss the phone back to the bed and roll over. Deep breath in and out, I fight back the growing nausea—from the hangover or the alert, I don’t know. Hell, maybe both.
An unfamiliar sound from beyond the bedroom door sidetracks me mid-inhale. I hold the half breath, letting it burn in my lungs as I wait. The wind rushes out of me as I heave my lethargic legs over the side of the bed. The movement makes my fuzzy head swim, but I push off the mattress only to stagger forward, colliding with the dresser against the wall. A booming voice I know all too well rattles the thin walls. Cursing, I yank the bottom drawer open and fish out a pair of running shorts.
I tug the soft Dri-Fit material over my ass, feeling a bit more snug since the last time I wore these, just as the bedroom door erupts inward. The bastard doesn't even offer the decency of knocking. The door crashes against the opposite wall, adding to the many dents put there by me and the previous owners. Tank stands in the middle of the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest, blocking my only exit.
“I put pants on for you,” I say, forcing a fake smug smile while waving toward my black Under Armour shorts. “You should work on your stealth mode a little more. I had all the time in the world before you barged into my room.”
His dark eyes narrow. A bolt of apprehension races through my sluggish veins at his obvious ire directed solely on me.
“Get a damn shirt and running shoes on, you lazy ass.”
Power Surge: Power Play Series Book 4 Page 7