Page 9 of Power Surge

The tears burn as they pour from my eyes. My breathing turns ragged as the backlog of unshed tears fight to escape.

Pregnant.

Taeler’s pregnant.

I should be happy about a grandchild, but I’m not, not at all. And I can't help the way I feel about the situation—the churning anger, fear, and disappointment. I wish I was excited, but too many negative memories surround those two words: the way her father reacted to them, the backlash from the community and his parents, and then, of course, the struggle I fought against every fucking day to keep from repeating the cycle I was destined to fall into by being a single teen mother.

It will be different for her, yes, but I know all too well the struggle that all single mothers face. A part of me resents her recklessness of not using protection. And a much larger portion hates me for resenting her.

For what seems like hours, Trey holds me close, whispering calming and supportive words as I cleanse out that emotional chasm, clearing it of the backlog in the presence of the one person I trust enough to break in front of.

Trey won't judge me, won't see this as a weakness. Which is another reason I’ve missed him the past few weeks. Sure, I’ve missed his sexy body, mischievous smirk, and arrogant personality, but I’ve also missed my friend. The phone calls and texts can’t offer the same connection as him being here, standing in front of me, holding me tight.

“You're upset about the pregnancy,” he says when the tears slow and my breathing normalizes.

The cotton material of his dress shirt moves with my forehead as I nod.

“That's okay, Randi. Today you said goodbye to Grem, and now this news was tossed into the mess. It’s okay to be at emotional capacity. But know this, Mess. Are you listening?”

Again I nod.

“How you feel right now is okay.” I swallow back my disagreeing response. “What you went through all those years ago as a teen mother left a scar that no one understands but you. I can’t even imagine the types of emotions this news brings to the surface, but it won't be like that for Tae. Know why?”

I shake my head.

“Come on, baby, look at me.”

This time I shake my head in more of a panic than disagreement. No way in hell am I letting his perfect face see me like this. Drips of snot flow from the tip of my nose. No doubt my eyes are red and swollen. Oh, and can’t forget the black streak marks lining my cheeks from the running mascara and eyeliner. Like hell I’ll let him see me like this. I might be the president, but I'm still a woman who doesn’t want her hot boyfriend to see her looking like shit.

Except he doesn't give me a choice. At his retreating step, I whimper, hating him a little and missing the way his hold blocked out reality just for a little while. Desperate to hide my face, I tuck the tip of my chin to my chest.Fine. Asshole.Blindly I stretch a hand behind me, smacking against the desk in search of the tissue box I know I’ve seen. A stiff cardboard box taps my pinkie. Tracing the box upward, I yank several soft tissues free. Only when I'm fairly certain snot and tears are gone do I dare a peek at the still waiting Trey.

“Um, yeah, so you were saying?” I say, ignoring the fact that I spent five minutes attempting to make myself presentable for him.

His fuller lower lip slides from where it’s snagged between his teeth as his signature smirk tugs at the corners. The same mischievous smirk that won me over during the campaign. The smirk that gets him into and out of anything and everything. It's confident, mischievous. It's wholly Trey Benson.

A pulse of relief eases through me at the sight of him standing in front of me, finally, after way too many days, weeks apart.

“I asked, do you know why pregnancy and being a single mom will be different for Taeler?”

“Because she's not fifteen with the only life skill in her arsenal being how to stock shelves at Food Lion?”

His mouth pops open and then shuts. Head slightly tilted, he considers me for a second before speaking. “Your first job was stocking shelves at a grocery store?”

I lift a single slim shoulder. “Yeah. It was the only business that would hire a minor and wasn’t shady as hell. The store owner paid me in cash until I was legal and could be processed through payroll.” Sticking to this diverting topic, I hitch my chin in his direction. “Everyone’s first job was awful as hell. It’s character building. What was yours?”

Pink flush sprouts along his cheekbones. After running a hand through his long dark hair, he shoves both hands into the pockets of his slacks and avoids my questioning stare.

“Oh, right,” I say on a soft laugh. “You never had the typical first job hell, did you?”

“I worked,” he says, half pouting, half defensive.

“Oh really, Mr. Richie Rich? Then do tell. I’m all ears here.”

“My job was to get good grades and focus on sports,” Trey says with a sheepish shrug.

“That's what all rich kids say.” I snort. But the mention of his childhood reminds me of seeing Celia this afternoon and the evidence I now have identifying Grem as the mole who’s evaded us. “Oh, and speaking of your childhood—”

A light knock at the door cuts me off. Swiveling on the desk, I watch the door, waiting for it to swing open, but it never does. Glancing over my shoulder, I shoot Trey a questioning look.

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