Solace (Devastation Trilogy Book 2) Page 20

  Meaning crappy flying weather.

  Also meaning I’ll need to pump a Xanax into George before we leave for the airport. He’s gotten better about flying in good weather, but the last time he tried to fly in rain without a Xanax, he damn near had a panic attack on the plane. Thank god it was a small, private charter. I ordered his security detail to the front of the plane while I sat there in the back with him as he dissolved a Xanax under his tongue, him crying while I tightly held his hands and talked to him to keep him focused on me until it kicked in.

  At least his security detail understands why he’s afraid to fly, and nothing’s yet leaked about it. He’s not just being a pussy—it definitely triggers his PTSD.

  This trip is necessary, though. With only four weeks left until the August primary, we need to make use of the free air time, keep reminding people who George is as a person and a lawmaker, not only as the state’s governor, or as a celebrity survivor. That way, by the time we know who his opponent is for the general, he’ll have an established advantage in the polls, and not because he’s the incumbent.

  Let me correct my earlier statement—George will get to sleep in late. I lie there, already wide awake even though it’s only a little before five and not even daylight yet, but I resist the urge to reach for either of my phones because I don’t want to awaken George. Last night I ended up on my back, with George snuggled against me, one of his arms slung across my chest and his head tucked against my shoulder with my arm curled around him.

  I love watching George sleep. Like this, the worst of the deep creases have been erased from his face, although the dark lines under his eyes concern me. He hasn’t been sleeping as well as I’d like him to.

  Fortunately, he hasn’t had many nightmares in the past couple of weeks. The dark lines are from the normal stress of his job, combined with the additional work and exhaustion being on the campaign trail entails.

  There’s more grey in his light brown hair than there was a couple of years ago. Casey and I noticed it a few months after his return. I can’t help but wonder if the sudden appearance was due to stress and grief. It must be, right?

  When I take the time to pause and look back at my path, I still wonder how I ended up…here.

  With him.

  With any man.

  I was certain I’d spend the rest of my life in a monogamous relationship with Casey. Not married, maybe not even living together, but with her. The dynamic I have with her, while unusual, isn’t unheard of or even difficult to puzzle out.

  I am a straight man.

  Was a straight man.

  Now I’m in love with a man who also never previously entertained any kind of attraction or romantic feelings toward another man before.

  How long can we keep this up before questions are asked? Before someone notices something.

  Sure, George gets a lot of latitude with people because Casey and I don’t hesitate to play the “grieving widower” card whenever we feel we need to press an advantage with someone, but eventually that juice will dry up and his bounce will flatline.

  Or we’ll get careless, or someone will end up flying a drone into the backyard and catch something on film through a window.

  Casey gave me the option for her to set me up with someone, a woman, to go out on a few public dates to lay a false scent trail for the press, but I couldn’t make myself do it.

  I don’t want to do it.

  Unlike her, I don’t have a great poker face when it comes to my personal life. In a courtroom, or in the halls of the General Assembly, sure, I can be just as ruthless as anyone else, if not more. I’ve proven that in court hundreds of times already.

  My personal life is mine, though. I have so little time alone with George and Casey that I need what I do have. Besides, it’s not like I have any free time right now. I refuse to give up my time with either of them. I feel like I can breathe after playing with George.

  He’s not the only one who sleeps better when we’re together. I mean, I’ve always slept great with Casey, but there’s something about the way George is that he doesn’t have to play with me for a deep and heavy sleep to roll my way.

  I feel…safe sharing a bed with him.

  Don’t get me wrong—feeling unsafe when I’m with Casey isn’t the natural corollary to that. Casey has such a thick outer shell that it always amazes me when she allows me to penetrate it in any way. I know she has nightmares she never alludes to in the light of day, but unlike George, they don’t drain her.

  They fuel her.

  I don’t know if she’ll ever tell me all her secrets, secrets I’m reasonably sure George isn’t privy to, either. If she never does? Okay. I still love her.

  I hear my work phone buzz on the nightstand. Right now, it’s in silent mode, and only a few contacts are set to bypass that. Moving slowly, I stretch until I can get the tips of my fingers on it and drag it close enough to wrap my fingers around it and bring it close enough to my face to read.

  As I scroll through my alerts, I pause. “Shit.”

  “Huh?” George mumbles.

  Adrenaline jolts through me and now I’m up and moving. “Sir, get up. Change of plans.”

  “Whaaat?” he groans.

  I lean in and shake him, hard. “George, get up. SEOC went to level 4 an hour ago and is going level 3 within three hours. We’ve got flooding. We need to fly back to Nashville so you can sign an EO. They’ll be activating TEMP.”

  His eyes pop open. “What?”

  I’m already thumbing the contact for the head of his security detail for this trip as I race to the bathroom. I get him on the phone and hope he can’t hear I’m peeing as I’m giving him orders. Get the airplane ready, be prepared to leave the hotel in under thirty minutes, and to please send someone for breakfast sandwiches and extra coffee for me and the governor.

  Truth be told, I’m sort of pissed no one notified me an hour ago, when SEOC went to a 4. That’s a conversation for another time, though. They would’ve contacted Casey about it. I’m sure they tried George’s work phone, but I set his work phone to Do Not Disturb mode last night, not just silent, and the only contacts that can bypass that are me, Casey, the kids, and the head of his EPU detail.

  By the time I make it back into the bedroom, George is sitting up on the edge of the bed and talking on the phone with someone, I’m guessing Casey. His hair is all wonky and even though he’s vertical, there’s still a thick, groggy undertone in his voice.

  Back to the bathroom for me, to turn on the shower and get started. I’m already in there when he joins me a couple of minutes later, pausing to give me a long, sweet kiss.

  “Sorry, boy. I’d had some nice plans for us this morning.”

  Even under this circumstance, my cock wants to stir. “No apologies needed, Sir. It’s kind of the gig.”

  He sighs and I step out of the way so he can get under the water. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  We’re ready to go less than fifteen minutes later. Neither of us has shaved, and when we emerge from the suite the security team is ready, one of the officers holding the food and coffee I requested.

  “Thank you,” I tell him, taking the receipt from him. As we walk down to the elevator, from my personal phone I use the app for the campaign’s bank account to reimburse him.

  God, I love technology. Technically, we’re now in work mode, and the officer could’ve legally requested reimbursement through EPU. But this was specifically a campaign trip, so I choose to err on the side of caution. Doing so thus far has kept George’s campaign finances squeaky clean for years.

  George and I are both on our phones as we’re ferried to the airport. George talks with Director Rudolph from TEMA, and me with Casey, coordinating the scheduling changes and notifying people. We have enough time we can arrange local surrogates to attend the events we’re going to miss, and probably even enough time to arrange for George to appear via video chat.

  No one’s going to deny he’s needed back at the capital. The TEMP is
the Tennessee Emergency Management Plan. Under Tennessee law, a state of emergency is triggered automatically when the State Emergency Operations Center, or SEOC, hits level 3. The ratings system is sort of backward, I know. 5 is green and hunky-dory, 1 is a literal catastrophe. It’d be a bigger PR hit if he was out at a campaign event when shit is going down and he’s not at work handling it.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” I ask her once we get our initial business squared away.

  I know from her tone she’s smirking. “You beat me to it by five minutes, counselor. I was so tired when I got home from work last night, I stupidly forgot my work phone downstairs on the kitchen counter. In their scramble to notify Paul and get staff inbound, SEOC forgot to try my personal cell until about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Ah. Sorry.”

  “No, I’m glad to see Alpha Declan’s in the house and on top of things. And yes, I already chewed them out for not following their own phone tree diagram. How’s our boy doing with the weather?”

  I know what she means. I drop my voice. “I haven’t had time to get a Xanax in him but I’m hoping he’s too distracted to think about the weather. He’s in command and control mode.” It’s not quite dawn yet. With the heavy cloud cover, it looks darker, and maybe that’ll help keep him calm. He always flies better at night than in the day.

  “Good. Avoid it if you can. We don’t need a zombie at the noon presser.”

  Fantastic. Noooo pressure.

  But she continues. “Now I just have to figure out how the hell to get to work without calling EPU for a ride. There are a couple of streets with water in them between here and there.” She totally could call them, because of her critical staff position, but she hates doing that because of how it might look.

  Then I have an idea. “Go grab my car from George’s, Ma’am. My SUV has higher clearance than your car. It’s all-wheel drive. My keys are on the kitchen counter.”

  “Ahhh.” She laughs. “So that’s why I keep you around. You’re not just good-looking, you’re smart, too.”

  Finally, I can laugh this morning. “Yes, Ma’am. I try.”

  “Thanks, sweetie. Do your best to keep him calm. Maybe try half a tablet if he gets too wound up. Longer you can keep him on the phone, the better. He’ll be distracted. Good luck.”

  “Thanks. See you soon.”

  Fortunately, George is too preoccupied with his phone calls and work and status updates to freak out about the weather until we’re on final approach to Nashville. His fingers clamp around my left hand as he closes his eyes and I whisper to him to breathe. I reach over with my right hand and keep it cupped over his thigh, squeezing, another distraction, a focus.

  It works.

  When we finally touch down, he takes several shaky breaths and, before I can stop him, he leans in and kisses me. Just a quick brush of his lips over mine, over before I can barely register he’s done it, but no one’s attention was on us.

  Then he stands and steps around me, into the center aisle.

  Still, as much as that terrifies me…it also leaves me feeling warm and fuzzy. That I’m on his mind.

  He glances back with a smile and winks at me, making me smile. Unfortunately, we don’t have the back of the SUV to ourselves. Director Rudolph has met us at the airport and gives George a thorough briefing as we head into town. We don’t take our usual route, either, thanks to flooding.

  With several more days of rain forecasted, our situation will get a whole lot worse before it gets better.

  Upon our return to the office, Casey already has the EO ready for his signature. The rest of the day is filled with briefings, meetings with state and emergency officials, putting together press releases, and shepherding George through press conferences.

  By midnight, I’m about to fall asleep on my feet and both George and Casey order me to go home.

  “What about you?” I ask.

  “The EPU can drive us home, honey,” Casey says. “Unless you want to come home with us?”

  My bed is a five-minute drive away. “What time are we coming back in tomorrow?”

  “Seven,” George says before Casey can answer.

  That makes up my mind for me. “I’ll go home, sorry.”

  “Hey, no apologies. Get some sleep.” He pulls me in for a hug and kiss, as does Casey.

  When I head downstairs, though, I get some bad news. The EPU officer on duty informs me there’s street flooding here in town, meaning closed roads. He shows me on his tablet. “You want me to call you a car, Mr. Howard?”

  I study the map. “But the pedestrian bridge is open?”

  “Yes, sir. Why?”

  Fuck it. “I can walk home in ten minutes.” I’m in jeans and a collared pullover and sneakers, having ditched the suit earlier today after my last stand-up for the six p.m. news. I opt to leave my luggage and laptop case in my Jag instead of hauling them home. I throw on a rain coat I keep in my car, lock it, and head out on foot with my cell phones and chargers in my pockets. There’s nothing I absolutely need out of my car tonight.

  I’m a little surprised by how high the river is right now, but the street flooding we’re seeing downtown is due to how much rain is falling all at once.

  I make my way over to the pedestrian bridge and then across. Seriously, people are talking about whether or not we’re going to reach rain levels like what pounded the area in 2010. They’re expected to take SEOC up to 2 by morning, and for George to declare a formal disaster to speed up the process with the feds and FEMA.

  In a way, I’m glad I’ve left my car in the parking garage at work. It’s out of harm’s way there, and if I can’t walk to work in the morning, I can call for a ride, since I’m essential personnel.

  It is weird, though, seeing how many people have moved their cars to higher ground. There are people home in my complex, which is all one-story buildings, because I see lights on in some of the units, but only two cars when there should be dozens.

  People learned their lessons from 2010, I suppose.

  At least my apartment complex wasn’t flooded back in 2010, so I feel reasonably confident. I take a shower and collapse after setting an alarm for six in the morning. I close my eyes and drift to sleep to the sound of renewed rain showers pelting the roof.

  I wish I was with George, and with Casey. We’re so close to our goal, though, that we can’t make stupid mistakes. If he wins in November, we won’t have to deal with a transition, at least, just planning an inauguration. Because dammit, he deserves one, and he didn’t get one the first time around due to the circumstances.

  At some point in the night I think I’m awakened by a knock on my door, but I don’t hear it again, so I close my eyes and go back to sleep. I notice my cable box is off, though, meaning the power’s out. At least my phones were fully charged before I went to sleep, and I can always take a shower in George or Casey’s office, if I need to.

  When I awaken the next morning, it’s not because of my phone going off, but because I hear a weird noise, some sort of a muffled crash. The power’s still off, but grey light invades around the outer edges of the bedroom blinds. Except when I reach over to my nightstand to try to find my phones, I don’t understand why I can’t find the nightstand.

  I sit up, and when I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, I find I’m in cold, muddy river water almost to my knees.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It takes me a good minute sitting there on the edge of my bed to process what I’m seeing. The reason I can’t find my nightstand is because it apparently floated and flipped over in the floodwaters, dumping both my phones, which are now dead and ruined.

  Shit!

  I stand and stumble through the dark room to the window and pull the blinds open. According to my Rolex, it’s 7:05. Meaning I’m overdue and hopefully Casey sends someone looking for me.

  I go to my dresser and pull on a T-shirt and running shorts. Finally, I locate one sneaker floating nearby, then find the other bobbing in the corner. I start
to wade out of my bedroom when I have a thought and return to my dresser.

  In the top drawer, buried in the back, inside a pair of socks, is the Breitling. I’m wearing the Rolex.

  Maybe overkill, but I put it on my wrist, for now. Everything else, except for one thing, I can replace with insurance.

  I rummage a backpack from the top shelf of my closet, grab some clothes from my dresser and shove them into the backpack, then head out to the living room.

  There, on the bookcase, the photo album Mom grabbed from the trailer that day is safe on an upper shelf. I carry it into the kitchen, where I get the box of trash bags from the pantry. After carefully wrapping the photo album in several layers of trash bags, I tuck it into the backpack.

  I’m standing there, trying to figure out what my next move is, when I look out the kitchen window.

  I…

  I have difficulty processing what I’m seeing.

  Where there should be a street and parking areas, there’s what looks like the Cumberland River.

  Damnit.

  I wonder if the knocking I heard in the middle of the night was emergency services warning us to get out. But if there was no car parked in front of a unit, chances are they wouldn’t have tried too hard.

  I find my wallet and keys and dump those into a zippered baggy, along with the Rolex, and my official state ID badge. I opt to wear the Breitling. I move the clothes into a garbage bag, then tuck all that into my backpack, which I cover with a couple more garbage bags to try to keep it all dry.

  I pull on my raincoat and head out, locking my door behind me.

  I’m terrified to wade too deep and get swept away. It looks like there is a current, and I also don’t want to end up electrocuted. I can hear boats and sirens in the distance, but see no rescuers in my immediate vicinity.

  My teeth chatter as I carefully slog through the water, staying as close to the buildings as possible, where the water is shallowest.

  George and Casey are going to fucking kill me.

  They’ve got to be worried to death about me right now. Except I don’t have time to think about that. I find my way blocked as the water deepens past the far end of the last building in the complex.