Page 48 of Presidential Bargain
“James.” He said it in a reproachful way that I hadn’t heard since I was ateenager.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I know you and Mom are disappointed in me.” I was disappointed in myself, too. I should have known better. We weren’t in a private room; only a screen separated us from the rest of the space. I was sure everyone in that damn studioheardus.
“That’s not what Imeant.”
I looked up at my dad and met his eyes. They were the same color as mine and we looked so similar, it was almost like looking in the mirrorsometimes.
“What’s your endgame, James? What’s the prize at the end oftherace?”
“Thepresidency.”
My dad shook his head. “That’s not the answer I expected. I can already tell that your campaign has changed because of Georgie. Haveyouchanged?”
I sat back in the uncomfortable dining chair. Had I changed since Georgie entered my life? My priorities were a little more skewed now because of her. But I still kept her almost entirely separate from my personal life. While I envisioned her in my home in Boston, that vision didn’t come so easily when it came to my D.C. condo or the White House. “No, Ihaven’t.”
“That’s your problem.” He set his napkin down on the table and looked at me as if he’d just curedcancer.
“I don’t understand.” If I was being honest, I didn’t really want tochange.
“I can’t be the one to point it out to you, James. You’re forty years old, on the cusp of being elected the leader of the most powerful nation in the world and yet, you don’t understand the relationship you’re in. You don’t understand what it meanstolove.”
“Dad, I don’tloveher.”
“Maybe that’s your problem, then.” He got up and went to the door that led to the kitchen, opened it slightly, and said something I didn’t quite hear before returning to thetable.
“I know short ribs are your favorite, so help yourself while they’re still warm. Georgie and your mom will be inshortly.”
There was still an uncomfortablesilence between us as Georgie and I sat in the back of the sedan on our way home. We both had a lot to think about, a lot to consider. This felt like a turning point in our relationship where either we sank or swam. I knew that if she chose to leave, I’dsurelysink.
“My parents are coming over for dinner tomorrow night. Actually, the whole staff will be there and dinner will be catered. We have a lot to go over before thedebate.”
The debate was only two days away and now we had a black cloud hanging over the campaign. The sex tape. I received updates all day on sites that tried to release it, only to have it taken down because of the injunction we had in place. The images, though, still popped up all over tabloid news sites, and the conservative pundits were having a field day vilifying me. We released a statement, but it didn’t say much beyond it being an invasion of privacy and that neither of us had consented to being recorded. Sierra Simmons released a statement as well, condemning her former employee and that she was pursuing legal action. There were some kind words about Georgie and me, but I didn’t pay much attention to whatshesaid.
“Do you still want me to attend the debate?” Her voice was small, timid…unsure.
“Of course.” I wanted to add that it would look suspicious if she wasn’t there, but refrained. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it to reinforce my half-truth. I needed her there to save face, not for support. And that was the problem my father hinted at during our conversation tonight. I needed her for all the wrong reasons. Jameson Martin, the politician, was tethered to her. He would fail if she cut the line. Jameson Martin, the man? I wasn’t exactly sure what would happen to him if Georgie walked. I quickly let go of her hand, as if it had burned me, and turned back toward the window, watching the city pass by through the streaksofrain.
Georgie and I went our separate ways when we returned home. I headed straight for my office to review some key bills that were coming up for a vote in the Senate. I would have to fly back to D.C. right after the debate to cast my vote. Even though I was running for president, I was still a senator, and still had a job to do. I worked well into the middle of the night and eventually found my way up to the bedroom. I was disappointed, but not surprised, to see my bed was empty. The closet was also empty; Georgie had taken her suitcase with her to the sparebedroom.
This was the second night in a row that Georgie and I had slept apart. I’d only managed two hours of dreamless sleep last night. Tonight, I feared what waited once I closedmyeyes.
My eyes finally closed, only to pop right back open to hands shaking me awake. I latched onto the wrists of whomever was shaking me, fearful of what I might be faced with when my eyes finally opened. Once the fogginess of sleep disappeared, Georgie’s face hovered over mine, her face etched with concern. My grip on her relaxed when I realized she wasn’t aghost.
“Jameson? Jameson, are you awake?” Her voice echoed the concern on herexpression.
“What happened?” I looked around, confused. A glance at the clock on the bedside table indicated I’d been asleep for almost four hours. Except, it felt like barely a minute. Then I smelled it, the lingering smell of smoke and gasoline. The metallic taste of blood on mytongue.
“You were screaming. Were you having a nightmare?” Georgie pulled her wrists free from my grip and lightly stroked my cheeks with the backs of her hands. The gesture was comforting and I relaxed into the mattress, tension melting frommybody.
I sighed heavily. “Yes. I’m sorry to wake you. Go backtobed.”
Georgie sat back on her heels, inspecting me carefully with her too-big green eyes. “Will you tell meaboutit?”
“I haven’t had one in weeks.” I couldn’t look her in the eye. I felt unworthy of sympathy after the way I treated her. I greedily took the comfort and solace she willingly offered. But damned if I didn’t need her that verymoment.
“What are they about?” Her emerald eyes were wary and tired but so full of concern. Her hand still stroked my cheek and I took it, pulling her down next to me. She stretched out alongside me and I held her hand between ourbodies.
“My convoy was ambushed. The first vehicle, a Humvee, hit an IED and blew. That was the signal because as soon as we all stopped, we came under fire. My nightmares are about pulling my men from the Humvee I was in. It was burning.Theywere burning. Their screams echo in my mind over and over. Smoke fills my lungs until I start choking. Sometimes I wake up coughing. More often than not, I wake up screaming, trying to reach the last man. He was just a kid, barely out of basictraining.”
