Solace (Devastation Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  When I look up, he’s brushing away tears. “I know this is out of left field. I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, and I get it. Hell, Declan and I are still trying to figure out how we got here, or what happens next. We just want our privacy while we do. I also want a chance to do all the things Mom wanted to help me do in office, much of which I haven’t been able to start yet because I had to take over in the middle of a term, and the circumstances. It was all I could do to get out of bed and make myself keep…living. And I didn’t have her to help me.”

  He sniffles and looks down at me, then over at Casey. “They wouldn’t let me give up. They never gave up on me. They helped keep me moving forward, carrying me, even, when I didn’t think I could survive another day. Until one day, I realized I wanted to keep living. Then I opened my eyes and realized my will to live had returned.”

  His gaze falls on me as he says that. “Neither of us expected this. Aunt Case sort of gave us a shove together.” I have to smile at that. “But it’s working for us, so I’m not going to question that part of it.”

  He looks at his sons. “And I love Declan.”

  I tip my head onto his shoulder and close my eyes against the prickle of tears hitting me. “Love you, too,” I whisper.

  Fucking terrified. That’s what I feel right now.

  George squeezes my shoulder again and nuzzles the top of my head, kissing me there.

  “What happens after the general election?” Ryder asks him. “Do you go public then?”

  “I don’t know,” George says. “We’re taking this a day at a time. But once we go public, if I’m still in office, Declan will have to resign, and I need him right now. We’ve got a lot of real estate between now and November, and I don’t have anyone on my staff who can replace him. I trust him.

  “I also know he cares about you guys. He’s not after my money, or after a free ride. He’s got his own career and literally turned down a half-mil a year guaranteed salary to keep working for me. We’re not rushing into anything. Which is why we need the privacy even more. Our relationship will be a distraction and make it nearly impossible to do what I need to do to run this state.”

  I force my eyes open again even though my head is still tipped onto his shoulder.

  I can’t interpret Logan or Ryder’s expressions.

  Aussie finally sighs. “Look, if I’m okay with this, you guys should be, too,” she says. “Dad does seem…happier.” She looks at me and smiles. “I’m just not calling Declan ‘Dad.’”

  “Greatly appreciated,” I joke.

  Ryder laughs first, and Logan thaws a moment later.

  The boys both step in, and George and Casey nudge me forward to hug them.

  “Congratulations,” Logan says. “I don’t… I don’t get it, but if Dad’s happy, that’s what counts.”

  “Yeah,” Ryder says. “That.”

  “Thanks,” I say. I swallow back nervous tears trying to break free. “That means a lot to me. I swear I love him. Really.”

  “He does,” Casey adds. “You guys know how I am. If I thought he was playing your dad, they’d never find his body.” She wears a fond smile as she ruffles my hair.

  A scowl furrows Logan’s brow. “I thought you and Dad were involved with each other, Aunt Case. So, you’re not?”

  “No,” Aussie says. “I thought Aunt Case and Declan were dating.”

  “Well, now I’m lost,” Ryder says. “I didn’t think either of those things. I guess I’m fricking clueless.”

  “You’re always clueless, dumbass,” Logan teases.

  Ryder gives him a playful shove.

  George is looking at Casey now. “It’s…complicated. Can we just leave it all at that?” Then he kisses me, brushing his lips across mine. “Everyone’s getting what they want and need, and that’s all that matters. That, and our privacy. Are we good?”

  All three kids nod. “Yeah,” Aussie says, her green gaze boring into mine. “We’re good.”

  * * * *

  We have a pleasant dinner, one of Ellen’s signature casseroles that Casey and Aussie put together. I mostly stay quiet, or so I think. At one point, I find myself waxing about poll numbers after Logan asked me a few campaign-related questions regarding polling methodology and interpretation. When I realize everyone else is watching me, I notice they all look amused.

  George smiles and squeezes my hand. “See? He can talk when he’s distracted and not nervous as hell.”

  I start hoping then that maybe this will be okay after all.

  I’m coming out of the bathroom before we leave to find Logan standing there. When he motions me into his bedroom and shuts the door behind us, I’m determined to take whatever he wants to dish out.

  But…he floors me with his quiet question. “Did he actually try to commit suicide? Or was he just really close to doing it? Because, honestly? After we saw him at Christmas, I figured it was only a matter of time before we lost him, too. I thought he was simply waiting for Aussie to hit eighteen.”

  Stunned, I stare at him in wide-eyed shock. “I…” I feel torn between loyalty and honesty. These are his kids.

  But Logan’s an adult.

  I opt for the answer that I hope will appease both him and his father.

  And Ma’am. “Your dad went through hell. He was in a lot of pain. Casey says she doesn’t think he started to truly begin the healing process until we got together. That between his grief, and his PTSD, he was stuck in survival mode and self-medicating with work to avoid dealing with his emotions. He wasn’t emotionally healthy, or happy. But now, he wants to live again. He’s starting to do the emotional work.”

  Logan studies me for a long moment with his father’s intense blue gaze. Kid’s going to be a hell of an attorney, I just know it.

  Eventually, he nods. “Okay.” He offers me a hug, and I accept it. “Please, talk to me if you think he’s…” He sucks in a sharp breath. “Please? Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  On the flight home, Aussie once again sits next to George. I know he wants to talk to me alone, but it’ll have to wait. He saw me and Logan emerge from the bedroom after our talk.

  Once we’re back in Nashville, we still can’t talk because Aussie’s in the car with us. They’re going to drop me at the office, where I left my SUV, then they’re going to take Sir, Ma’am, and Aussie home. She’s spending the night at the house with George tonight, and the detail will give her a ride to school in the morning.

  It’s nearly midnight now, and in the parking garage, Sir gets out to hug me.

  “Are you coming over?” he whispers in my ear.

  As much as I want to, I have a seven thirty meeting in the morning with a couple of Senate aides.

  Plus, Aussie will be in the house. “I think it’s too soon with her home.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s okay.”

  I sigh. “I also have an early meeting, Sir. I have to be up in six hours. Ma’am will run your morning briefing. I don’t think tonight is the best night for it.”

  Besides, I need some time to decompress from this evening, to process everything about how I was…ambushed.

  Although I’m not going to say that to him.

  I hate the disappointment in his eyes, but he pulls me in for another hug. “Love you, boy,” he whispers.

  I close my eyes. “Love you, too, Sir.”

  I get in my Jag and watch the detail head off. Then I drive home to my apartment, which isn’t far. I guess I could’ve ridden home with them and come in tomorrow morning with Casey, but…

  We’d probably have another hour, at least, of sex. Then I’ll be running late in the morning with the sleepy octopus trying to keep me in bed.

  My brain is scrambled, my nerves are shot, and it’s been three days since I’ve had a run. Despite the late hour, I change into sweats, activate my run tracker app, and head out with Godsmack and Mumford & Sons on shuffle.

  #dontjudgeme

  It’s dark, and I don’t live in the
world’s best neighborhood, and I know this isn’t the smartest plan but I need to quiet my mind. I know I could have asked Sir for permission to masturbate, and he probably would have let me. That might have helped, but…

  I’d feel guilty that I didn’t go over to his house and spend the night.

  I’d feel bad that he’d feel bad I felt I had to ask because he wasn’t there to take care of me.

  Because I don’t ask him to let me masturbate. Not if we’re not together.

  Oh, I’ve begged for orgasms plenty of times while we’re together. I’m getting pretty damned good at that, if I do say so myself. He loves it when I beg, and I love seeing the way his eyes light up with that evil, sadistic gleam when he knows he’s got me in the zone.

  Thus…I run.

  Nissan Stadium is dark and quiet tonight as I pound past it on foot, down toward the river and south along the East Bank Greenway, toward Cumberland Park. Running along the river always soothes me for some reason. I don’t know why.

  I push myself hard tonight. I really could’ve used a beating—and a fucking—but I would’ve paid like hell for it in the morning. And with Aussie in the house, a beating wouldn’t have happened. I damn sure couldn’t have relaxed and enjoyed it.

  I opt to run the pedestrian bridge across the river and back, which adds a little more distance to my route than I would normally run, but I need it tonight.

  I’ve never run in George and Casey’s development, even though it’s quiet and beautiful and would be a perfect running environment. Just enough hilly terrain to make it challenging. Closed loop, little traffic, beautiful views.

  But I’ve never wanted to be too visible, even when I was in college and people knew I was renting a room from Casey.

  I wanted to remain in the shadows to avoid any rumors tainting our image.. And now, I don’t want people to see me coming out of George’s like that.

  Instead, when I’ve opted to run when I’m there, I’ve done it on Casey’s treadmill, or, lately, on George’s.

  I finally take a minute to stretch and catch my breath, stopping to stare out at the river. Tonight it’s a dark, satiny ribbon, swirls here and there marking its swiftly moving depths. It’s running a little higher in its banks than normal, too. If it was daylight, it’d be a murky, greenish brown. Not exactly swimming water, but something about its energy draws me. That’s another reason why I’ve kept my apartment, because I’m close to the river.

  I used to wonder where I’d finally buy my house once I got around to doing that. If I couldn’t purchase one inside the same development as Casey—and now George—I’d want to find a place nearby, preferably close enough to a lake or park or creek, where I could have a little water to look at.

  Now?

  I feel like I’ve been tossed into a new kind of limbo. George telling his sons makes this feel…real?

  Real in a way it hadn’t before, even after he told Aussie.

  Does this mean George will eventually want me to live with him? I suppose I was so used to Casey and her need for space that it’s just now hitting me maybe I won’t be buying a house.

  Maybe George will tell me I’m moving in with him.

  Except… What about Casey?

  As much as I feel I belong to George now, I also don’t want to leave Casey behind.

  I love her.

  I love both of them.

  In an ideal world, the three of us could live together and say fuck everyone else.

  This is far from an ideal world, especially considering our jobs and the state in which we live.

  I finally head home. All I’ve succeeded in doing is chewing through some mental and physical energy, my legs burning from the brutal pace I set for myself. And I’m still not as tired as I’d like to be.

  I shower, check my work e-mail one more time, and set my alarm for in the morning. But as I lie there and stare at my ceiling, I realize how empty my bed feels.

  And how empty I now feel when I’m alone. Which isn’t a problem I used to have before all this started with George.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Friday morning after my meeting finally concludes, I return to my office. I still don’t know what my weekend plans are.

  Or, should I say, I haven’t been told what they are. Officially, tonight, George’s schedule is clear. To the best of my knowledge, there’s nothing on the unofficial schedule, either.

  Including me, I’m guessing, from my lack of contact with him.

  It’d be nice to know that, though. Neither Casey nor George have so much as responded to my customary good-morning texts I sent to their personal cells via Signal.

  I know George has a Saturday morning appearance with Aussie at the local children’s hospital, an organization Aussie’s sorority does fundraising for. It’s a feel-good grip-and-grin photo op, and he’s supposed to read to some kids. Not just George, but members of the Tennessee Titans football team will also attend, and their cheerleaders. After, George, Aussie, members of her sorority, and the Titan team reps will have lunch with the kids and their families.

  I’m not part of that event, but Casey is slated to attend with George.

  Unfortunately, I don’t have the ability to freely drop by George’s office this morning. His official calendar is filled with meetings with cabinet officials, and with Senate and House aides, and I haven’t been asked to attend.

  Shit. When it was only me and Casey, I used to be an expert at this, at feigning professional indifference and doing my job.

  That was before my world upended.

  I don’t bother seeking Casey out when I go grab lunch and bring it back to my office. I close and lock my office door and try to tune out the world for a little while.

  The night Casey razed our foundations—and raised the stakes—is indelibly etched in my mind. That night wasn’t the first time we’d fooled around in the office. Somehow, I doubt she innocently overlooked letting me orgasm for two weeks.

  Casey knew George would be working late that night.

  She never “accidentally” leaves her office door unlocked when we get frisky here. Plus, I know damn well I locked the fucking thing behind me. Meaning she must have unlocked it at some point.

  She probably knew from her conversations with Ellen that George never let her go to bed unsatisfied.

  She knew George is a soft-hearted sadist, in some ways. The emotional ways.

  She knew exactly which strings to pull in my brain to wind me up and drive me nearly insane with need, to the point that I’d totally forget common sense and basic precautions.

  She knew how to shove me so hard and deep into subspace that I’d damn near agree to anything she asked of me.

  And that just happened to be the perfect confluence of events that takes place when she brings me and George together?

  Yeah, not buying it.

  Except…

  I can’t be completely angry about it, either. Not the way it all worked out. I should feel played.

  I should feel indignant, at the very least.

  Right?

  How am I supposed to feel about all of this? About being handed over to the man like I’m a registered poodle?

  No, not a poodle. I guess the better analogy would be a stud horse, huh? Well, in Casey’s case, but I guess maybe I’m more of a brood mare for George.

  How am I supposed to feel about myself that I rolled over and went along with everything, and now I’m in love with a man I can’t publicly acknowledge owns me, heart and soul? Who if I do acknowledge, it’ll nuke my career and his? And negatively impact his children.

  I went from one deeply secret relationship to another that makes the first one look damn near reality-show public in comparison.

  Am I so filled with self-loathing, and have so little self-respect, that I willingly put myself into these kinds of positions?

  To the point that I stupidly turn down more money than I’ve ever made in my life just for the privilege of staying two people’s dirty secret? Money that
probably would have made it stupid-easy for me to figure out how to get my revenge on Junior?

  Revenge that’s appeared to slip off my radar, and that definitely makes me feel ashamed of myself. Emma deserves to have her justice, yet the focus of my days has become my public work for the Great State of Tennessee, my campaign work for Governor George Samson Forrester, and, behind closed doors, debasing myself in increasingly needy ways for the governor and his chief of staff’s pleasure.

  I stare at the Rolex on my wrist, the one Casey gave me when I graduated law school. I think about the first one she gave me, the Breitling. I think about the papers in her safe with my name on them, and how, with Ellen gone, had she not brought George in the way she had, no one else alive would’ve known about what I have with her.

  I have been willingly complicit in my own erasure over all these years. Was that my price? Two watches worth more combined than my mother likely ever earned in two years of practically killing herself to make a living to support me and Emma?

  George and Casey still haven’t texted me today.

  Privately, I mean. They’ve both texted and e-mailed me work-related stuff on my work cell.

  Somehow, that makes the lack of a private good-morning reply sting even worse.

  They’ve told me they love me. And I guess I believe them.

  I want to.

  But in darker, private moments like this, with my brain too loud for my own good, my personal ghosts rise up from the depths to howl at me and remind me I’m nothing, that I’m never going to amount to anything.

  That I can be easily discarded and pushed aside.

  That I work my ass off for others’ benefit and pleasure and can never take any public credit for it.

  That I whore my ass to two powerful political people who—

  I can’t take it. I know after lunch that Casey has meetings outside our office suite. I set an out-of-office voice mail message for my landline and my work cell, grab my crap, and head out after telling our AA that I’m gone for the rest of the day, taking PTO time, and that I’ll see her on Monday.

  I don’t tell her where I’m going because I honestly don’t know.