Page 86 of Bi-Partisan

“Riley and I are going to head back to our hotel and see if we can draft some better talking points for you. But tonight, you need to get some rest,” he says as he shuts his briefcase. “Take tonight and tomorrow morning and try to shake yourself free from whatever has got you so stuck in your head—which is what I think has you so off your game.”

He’s probably right—or rather, Riley is probably right because those words sound way more like her than they do Ben. I’m stuck in my head and it’s causing me to question every single decision I make.

The problem is that I don’t know how to pull myself out of it.

Chapter 28

Adrian

Song: Every Side of You – Vance Joy

When I got on the train this afternoon, I was nervous that this “grand gesture” as Casey tried to call it would backfire. Mina had promised me that Jamie would welcome the surprise, and I trust she knows her best friend. But that didn’t stop the little voice in the back of my head from saying, “if he really wanted you here, he would have asked you himself.” But when I saw the wired look in his eyes through the door and felt how tightly he clung to me standing in the lobby, I knew I made the right call.

His nerves are so shot that I almost offered to drive us to his apartment myself. Although, honestly, that probably would have made it worse for both of us. Plus, he weirdly finds driving calming. I don’t get it, but I’ve watched him, and every time he’s behind the wheel, he looks relaxed, like he belongs there. Except for tonight. Not only was he uncharacteristically silent the entire drive from his campaign headquarters to his apartment, his hands had a death grip on the wheel the whole time.

He’s in bad shape and trying desperately to pretend everything is fine—either so his staff doesn’t worry about him, or in some sort of attempt to gaslight himself into believing it. I’m familiar with both tactics. But even though it’s just the two of us, now, he’s still pretending.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks as he drops his keys in the bowl by his door.

“No, I’m—”

“What about food? Did you eat dinner on the train?” He toes off his shoes, then walks over to the sleep area to set my bag down.

“Baby, I’m fine,” I assure him. I close the distance and rest my hands on his arms. “I’m worried about you.”

“I had dinner,” he says, and when I give him a flat look in response, he deflates. His forehead drops to my shoulder as he lets out a shuddering exhale.

I run my hands soothingly along his arms. “You don’t have to pretend everything’s fine, Jamie. Not with me, okay? You can let whatever it is out. I’ve got you.”

He lifts his head and steps out of my arms. “The problem is that I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what’s wrong,” he snaps.

I take a deep breath and let it out. “Let’s sit, okay?”

Calmly, I walk over to the couch, but instead of following me, he starts to pace.

“God, I don’t know why I’m so nervous about this. I love debates. I was president of the debate club in high school. Last election, I killed at the debate. I’m fucking good at them. But I feel like I’m going to break down at any moment, and I don’t know why.” He stops mid pace and shoves his hands into his hair as he stares at the floor.

“Baby,” I say, gently trying to get his attention.

He lets out a shuddered exhale and shakes his head.

“Jamie,” I say, trying again, this time more firmly.

He lifts his head and turns to me, and my heart clenches seeing the panic on his face.

“Come here.” I hold out my hand to him, but don’t move from my seat on his couch.

Wordlessly, he lets his arms fall to his sides, then rounds the coffee table to stand in front of me. His hand slips into mine, and I use it to pull him to sit in my lap. He lets out a breath as he sinks into me, his arms coming to loop around my neck. I stroke his sides for a few moments until I feel more tension leave his body.

“Sorry,” he mumbles into the space between us.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I thought I was getting better. I thought I’d gotten past this—at least enough that my stress levels felt like they were back at what they were my first year in office,” he says, a familiar frustration in his voice.

I remember being equally frustrated in college when I first got diagnosed with my anxiety disorder.

“It takes time to recover from stress like the kind you’ve been under, especially when you’re still actively in the environment that’s causing it,” I tell him.

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