Page 13 of Sweet Caroline
“Oh, fuck.” My heart kicks at the realization, and I look over my shoulder toward my parked truck. We’re only down the blockfrom the construction site, but I still need to change. I quickly check the time; I’m gonna have to jog there at this point. “Yeah, I should go.” Walking backward a few steps, I keep my eyes trained on Caroline, reluctance to leave battling with the need to get to work.
Fucking New Miles and his adult responsibilities.
“Hey, thanks again for telling that guy off,” she calls after me.
“Oh, yeah, uh, no problem.” I smile, the moaner already a distant memory.
“See you around?” There’s a hopeful note in her voice, and my blood starts thrumming.
Shit, that’s a bad sign.
I can’t risk this kind of distraction. Not yet.
“Yeah, hope so.” As I turn to leave, I stumble slightly on a fallen twig but manage to recover with my dignity intact. Mostly intact.
Fucking windstorm did me dirty.
3
CAROLINE
It takes about ten seconds to recognize that Dad’s in damage-control mode. The video call’s intermittent, pixelated glitching does little to hide how red-faced and worked up he is.
“This is unacceptable timing, Caroline!” Dad booms. “This arrangement between you and Fletcher was supposed to last until the election! Now you’re caught on camera canoodling with random men?”
My jaw drops. “Canoodling? Dad, that’s unfair. And it wasn’tmen, plural. Besides, we weren’t even…” I trail off, staring at the photo on the infamous local gossip blog,The Wash.
There I am, standing outside the gym with Miles yesterday morning, his hand hovering as it grazes my upper arm. We’re standing close enough that, thanks in part to the angle, we could easily be mistaken for a couple. Plus, the way I’m peering up at him looks almost intimate. If I’m honest, those few seconds when he’d stepped closer had left my heart pounding and, even through my thick hoodie, the light touch of his fingers hadsent a skittering sensation across my skin that lingered for long seconds after he pulled away.
“It doesn’t matter what you were or weren’t doing with this musclehead,” Dad presses, interrupting my thoughts.
“Musclehead? Dad! I?—”
“What matters,” he continues over me, “is how itlooks. I can’t have my daughter sleeping around town when she’s supposed to be happily engaged to my campaign manager!”
“Dad—” I try again, grasping for my usual mask of placating calm as hurt slices into my chest. For years, I’ve been supporting my father’s career, pouring every ounce of energy into what my family wants. Showing up when and how they want me to. Dressing how they want me to. Acting how they want me to. Heck,datingwho they want me to. And this is what I get back?
“Peter, I think that’s taking it a little too far,” Mom tries from beside him—unsuccessfully.
“What’s too far, Valerie,” Dad huffs, his bluster eclipsing her, as usual, “is my own daughter compromising my campaign. I don’t care how upset she is about her situation. We had an agreement!”
An agreement I’m regretting more and more with each passing minute.
“You’re making it sound like I did this on purpose!” I counter. “You know I would never knowingly jeopardize your career, Dad.”
After everything I’ve done for him, that’s the part that cuts deepest. Swallowing past the knot in my throat, I try to stomp the feelings down. I scroll down, skimming the article and willing myself to process just how bad this situation is.
Not-So-Sweet Caroline spotted with new mystery beau
The headline alone has me cringing in more ways than one, but I read on.
Caroline Brennan, daughter of Washington gubernatorial candidate Senator Pete Brennan, was caught in the early hours of Tuesday morning cozying up with her new mystery man in downtown Lennox Valley. Sporting the latest line of organic bamboo fitness finery by Seattle designer Joon Bishop, Ms. Brennan’s looking sharp—but her ring finger is notably bare. Could this have anything to do with her having kept a low profile most of the last year? We smell drama! Sources speculate her engagement to Sen. Brennan’s campaign manager, Fletcher Brady, has been called off. Reportedly living in the small town to take care of family, Ms. Brennan seems to be getting “taken care of” plenty herself—by the friendly locals… or one friendly local in particular.
“Caroline,” Dad presses, pulling my attention back to the stern set of his jaw, “how do you intend to fix this?”
I have no idea how to fix this.
“Okay, I understand this doesn’t look good,” I say, stalling for time. “But I swear to you, it was an innocent moment.” I scroll back up to the photo, arranging it on my screen beside the video stream of my father’s ruddy, exasperated face. The contrast between the two images is striking, but I can’t dwell on that right now. “Maybe we could put out a statement, or?—?”
