Chief Read online

She grumbles, but hands Dray the phone, because he’s back. “Do you want me to stop by your place and the mansion and grab clothes for all three of you? He literally scooped her up in his arms and carried her out to the elevator when it happened, so…yeah.”

  He doesn’t need to draw me a picture. “Yes, please. Our go-bag is right inside the front door at the townhouse. I know Owen has one, too, ask him where it is. Meet us there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I dash back inside. “Sorry, gentlemen,” I say as I dump all my shit into my laptop bag, “but I’m leaving. I’m about to become a dad.” I grin as the room erupts in applause and cheers.

  It takes me about twenty minutes to reach the hospital, and they quickly get me checked in and where I need to be. Someone’s given Owen scrubs to wear, and Susa’s in a hospital gown. He’s sitting in the hospital bed, behind her, letting her squeeze his hands as she breathes through a contraction.

  When he sees me, he starts to move but I shake my head. “You stay right there,” I tell him as I start rolling up my sleeves and loosening my tie. I lean in and kiss her. “How are you, sweetheart?”

  She glares at me as she growls, and I laugh. “Okay, then,” I say.

  One of the nurses starts to talk to Owen, apparently realizes who, exactly, he is, and then turns to me. “Um…did you want to switch places with Governor Taylor?”

  “No,” I say as I remove my tie and toss it onto my laptop bag. “I’m having a really bad pain day myself,” I lie. “She needs him there.” I pull a chair next to the bed and sit there, one arm on Owen’s leg, my other hand holding Susa’s hand. “Breathe, sweetheart.”

  She starts crying. “Don’t let them make him leave,” she tearfully begs. “I need you guys, please.”

  I look at the nurse. “You heard the lieutenant governor. Let’s get him a wristband, too, please? He’s family. He’s the baby’s godfather.”

  She nods. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Dray appears with our bags, and I point to him. “Take him with you,” I tell her.

  “What’d I do?” Dray jokes as he sets the bags down.

  “Governor needs a wristband, too.” I hold my hand up to show him the one they gave me, which matches Susa’s and our arriving son’s, once he’s given one. “See that he gets one.”

  “Yes, sir.” He follows the nurse out of the room.

  I know he’ll do it or die trying. With that handled, I focus on my two pets again. Owen looks at me, and I see the tears in his eyes.

  “Thank you, Sir,” he silently mouths.

  I squeeze his leg, long and hard, in reply.

  * * * *

  Susa’s labor goes on into the night. Benchley and Michelle are more than a little miffed that Susa wants Owen in there and won’t let them in, but when she angrily snaps at both of them over the phone that she doesn’t want them standing around and staring at her vagina, I think that changes Benchley’s mind.

  If they’re going to argue why she’s okay with Owen seeing her, they don’t bring it up now.

  I’m sure I’ll hear about it later, though.

  That’s fine.

  For now, we’re doing all we can to help her through this. She gets into and out of bed, but now the staff has been told about my pain. I’ve changed into comfortable shorts and left my shirt off long enough that everyone could get a really good look at my scars.

  Now they all seem to understand why, when Susa moves back into the bed, I’m happy to have Owen there instead of me.

  It’s in the early morning hours when we finally hit the homestretch and they have her start pushing. Owen and I are flanking her, our arms behind her and holding her hands as she bears down. Finally, she gives one more push, accompanied by bone-crushing squeezes from her hands and a loud cry of her own before she slumps back against us.

  And we hear our son cry.

  We both lean in, kissing her, each other, not giving a shit in this moment who sees us. Dray and Gregory have stayed with us, filming and taking pictures for us with our cell phones.

  This is for us. We’ll take a picture for the public later.

  “Dad,” the doctor says. “Did you want to cut the cord?”

  I look Owen in the eyes. “Go cut the cord, Owen,” I softly tell him.

  He’s really crying now, and yeah, fuck, so am I. “Really?”

  I nod. “Really.”

  He does, returning to us and me pulling him in, all three of us, our foreheads touching as we cry.

  This is a literal damn miracle. Compounded, in many ways.

  Like fucking hell am I excluding him from a second of this in any way. I don’t care how I’ll have to spin it later—this is his soul on the line. His happiness.

  This is one of the few times, for now, that we’ll be able to freely and openly love our husband.

  And if any word of this gets out? Well, we are attorneys. We will own this motherfucking hospital with a HIPAA lawsuit.

  They bring Petey over to us and lay him on Susa’s chest, and fuck, we’re all crying again. He has Owen’s eyes and a downy, dark fuzz of hair on his head.

  We ask Benchley and Michelle to wait until daylight, at least, to come over, that we’ll hold off posting any pictures or releasing official statements until they’ve met their grandson, and they finally agree. I’ll Skype with mine once it’s daylight and I know they’re awake.

  We haven’t decided how to handle Owen’s parents yet. They’ll drive up tomorrow, because Susa and I are like adopted kids to them, but I’m leaving the decision to tell them the full truth up to Owen.

  I actually hope he does, because I think it would help his soul to have someone else besides Dray and Gregory who knows this secret. I know they wouldn’t tell.

  I would tell Benchley if I didn’t honestly worry he might use it against me somehow.

  As the craziness dies down over the next hour or so, and Dray and Gregory leave, it’s finally just the four of us for a few minutes. Susa’s been holding Petey and trying to get me to hold him, but I waited.

  I wearily drag myself to my feet and get my cell phone ready. My lie about my pain levels really isn’t a lie anymore, but I’m not going to complain considering Susa just pushed a seven-pound five-ounce baby out of her body, and, oh yeah, survived a fucking plane crash.

  “Owen,” I quietly say, “hold your son.”

  I won’t get many chances to say things like that to him.

  I need for him to have this. I need a few things to be firsts for him, not me.

  There will be another goddamned media circus surrounding us for a while.

  I need my boy’s soul soothed now, while I can.

  I need to put him first.

  I need to know he’s going to be okay, because I won’t hesitate to sacrifice everything to make sure he is, even if it means publicly revealing the truth about Petey’s parentage to heal Owen’s spirit.

  I can now add father to the list of things I am, but Owen is still mine.

  I need him to understand that does not change, and never will change.

  Susa hands Petey off to Owen, and I take pictures, then switch to video. “Welcome to the world, Peter Benchley Taylor Wilson. Smile for Daddy, Petey.”

  Owen’s blinking back tears as he stares down at his son. “Hey, buddy,” he whispers. “Welcome to the world. Love you so much.”

  Sure, we’ll take some public-friendly video later of “Uncle Owen” holding him, but like I said, this is for us. For our family.

  As much as we can behind closed doors, our son will know Owen as one of his fathers, not as “just” an uncle, like one of our brothers.

  And you can better believe that, from this day forward, I will make sure Owen gets to spend at least a little time with him every day, as long as he’s in town. Because this is a dream come true for me, too. A day I never thought I’d ever see.

  I had no idea how much I needed this miracle until he was here, with us, in the flesh.

  To see my boy holding our son.<
br />
  I feel like I can finally take a deep breath again. Like maybe the bastard and Sarge can finally…go away. At least for now.

  I end the video and walk around the bed so I can stand between Owen and Susa and take a selfie of the four of us together. Then I take one of me and Owen, our heads together and staring at our son.

  And Susa smiles as she takes the phone from me and snaps a picture of me kissing my boy as he holds our son. I do the same for her.

  I know I will spend hours privately smiling over these pictures, and will turn to them when alone, especially if I have to be away from Tallahassee.

  These pictures will always remind me of what’s important.

  Of who’s important.

  For the first time in my adult life, I finally understand what inner peace feels like.

  Chapter Eleven

  Now

  It’s October, almost one year before the general election that will hopefully put Susa in the Florida Governor’s Mansion. It’s been an eventful three years both personally and professionally. We’ve seen our state through a major hurricane, enacted important education and gun reform, and other items that have helped our state and its residents.

  And we’re also now the parents to Thomas Gerard Taylor Wilson—Tommy.

  One of the tasks we need to complete by the end of this third year of Owen’s second term is narrowing down the field of lieutenant governor candidates for Susa’s run next year. I know it’s early, but I want them thoroughly vetted.

  Yes, I’m asking Benchley’s help for this. In fact, before we even sit down to talk with any potential candidates, I’ve run the list past Benchley for his perusal to make sure he doesn’t have any dirt on them. That eliminates three candidates from our short-list almost immediately. One for a domestic violence 911 call in another state, but which was never prosecuted because his wife refused to testify, one for irregularities on a campaign finance disclosure form during a county commission race, and one who it turns out has three different mistresses, in addition to his wife.

  When I find out that it’s obvious his wife has no clue about the mistresses, I ratfuck the bastard myself, dropping an FYI call to one of my favorite reporters at the Orlando Herald. They take only a week of tailing the guy to get compromising pictures of him with another woman.

  Who wasn’t one of the three Benchley already knew about.

  The good news is, the man’s not our problem.

  Personally, I’m really gravitating toward Ethan Hamilton. He’s an Independent, and has spent two terms in the Florida House after two terms as a county commissioner in Sarasota County. Thirty-six, single, divorced—amicably, by all counts—and no kids.

  He’s reported to be a nice guy, has an MBA, worked his way through college before going to work for a commercial real estate company.

  Even better, the guy’s not bad-looking at all. Reminds me of Owen, in many ways. Hot, but doesn’t come off like he even has a clue he knows it. Self-effacing, friendly smile, the kind of guy you wouldn’t mind having a beer with after work, and he’d likely make you feel like he really does want to be there with you. Big, hazel eyes, expressive.

  I assign Dray and Gregory the job of having dinner with him while Hamilton’s in Tallahassee, to get a feel for him before we officially approach him with any kind of an offer. If I personally meet with the man at this point, everyone will be looking hard at him.

  If Dray and Gregory don’t sign off on him, knowing us as well as they do, then we won’t even bother taking things further and he’ll be quietly crossed off the list.

  I have no interest in people talking behind their hands about why someone didn’t make the list if we don’t select them early on. Once it’s closer to the time to file for the primaries, sure, people would expect us to have a short-list.

  But whoever we pick, I want that person to be someone hungry for the job, someone who will use what we’ve done with Owen’s two terms to carry through Susa’s two terms and then continue during their own terms.

  Someone who will not try to undercut Susa at every turn. Someone who will have her six and work for her, with her. Someone who will understand he needs to wait his turn, and, in return, we’ll help him get elected.

  We’re talking political dynasty kind of stuff.

  We have the momentum, and I want to put as many safeguards in place to keep our work living on past our term in office. It’d mean nearly a quarter of a century of our plan helping our state.

  Our trick of placing the lieutenant on the ballot rubbed off on our opponents for Owen’s re-election run, and all of the GOP candidates, and most of the Dems, had their lieutenants listed during the primary.

  Which backfired on two candidates, one from each party, when it turned out the lieutenants had problems with their financial disclosure forms, weaknesses their opponents ruthlessly exploited in campaign ads.

  I knew we wouldn’t be able to hold that particular advantage in that election, but it really didn’t matter because I think everyone pretty much expected Owen to win after what Susa went through.

  The day after Dray and Gregory have dinner with Hamilton, Dray comes to my office that afternoon and shuts the door.

  I sit back. “Well?”

  Dray drops into one of the chairs in front of my desk and slowly nods. “I really like him.”

  “What’d Gregory think?”

  “He likes him, too.”

  “So he makes the short list?”

  Draymond Garcia is a handsome mixed Latinx. He has gorgeous green eyes a different shade than Owen’s. They’re even more striking with his flawless, dark brown skin. He’s six-five, and while not as muscular as Owen, he’s still imposing in his own way. He’s carefully studied me, and his brother, how we carried ourselves, and I’ve seen the skilled lawyer’s persona change and grow over the years we’ve worked together.

  I am flattered and honored that he mimics me, and it frustrates the shit out of Susa that he’s mastered both my smirk and arched eyebrows.

  And that he will rat her out for panty infractions in a heartbeat.

  I know the man is a sadist, and that he and Gregory have a relationship not unlike the one I do with my pets.

  But Dray turns that gaze on me now. “He is the list,” he quietly says.

  I turn that over in my mind. Like me, Dray enjoys being the power behind the throne, and he’s proven himself—and his loyalty—to us all over the past eight years, and even before now. He has no desire to be elected. He’d much rather be working in the shadows. How do I know he’s loyal?

  His brother, Samuel, is one of the three, along with Trent and Eddie.

  I literally could call Dray to help me dispose of a body, and I know he’d pick up shovels and lime on the way, along with lattes and some Xanax to help us out and keep us calm.

  I settle back in my chair and motion for him to continue. Even Benchley admires him and tried to hire him away from us for one of his friends who wanted to run for state Senate.

  “He’s it,” Dray insists. “His background and financials all check out. I talked to people who’ve worked with him personally, and they say he’s a nice guy. He’s got the look, he matches us on platform and message, and he’s solid.”

  “Keep going.” I know there’s more, and that he’s leading with his pitch just proves it to me.

  “He’s eager to run Independent, and he said he’ll happily be lieutenant for eight, then run and keep our initiatives going.”

  “And?”

  “Gregory can be his chief. He can do it.”

  I let the silence lay there for a moment before I finally say it. “So how big is his cock? And I’m assuming he’s a bottom?”

  He tries not to smile, I’ll give him credit for that. Finally, he throws back his head and laughs before looking me in the eye. “He’ll keep all our secrets, Chief. I personally guarantee it.”

  I think about it for a moment. For Dray to succeed, I have to let go. He’s good, he’s talented, he’s smart a
s fuck, and he’s driven.

  He’s hungry.

  “Run another background check, deep background, just to be sure. Run it past Benchley again. As long as there’s nothing there worse than a parking ticket, then we’ll take it to Susa and let her sign off on him.”

  He stands and leans in to shake hands with me. “Thanks, Chief.”

  I don’t release him immediately. “Remember—you’re personally guaranteeing him. I’m trusting you, Susa’s trusting you, and Owen’s trusting you.”

  He nods. “He’s going to be governor eight years from now.”

  “Okay.”

  Once I’m alone, I chuckle. I know what Gregory and Dray did last night.

  They did Hamilton.

  Chapter Twelve

  Then

  I’ve developed a habit over the years of picking up stray bits of info and storing them away for digesting later. Sometimes for use immediately, sometimes in the distant future.

  One such stray nugget is gleaned from a cocktail party at the start of our second year at the Tampa law firm.

  Susa is working another section of the room, as she always does, while Owen and I stand pretty much in a corner, because it’s where I feel most comfortable, so my back’s not to the room or the door. It’s also where poor introvert Owen feels most at ease.

  Right then, the biggest thing on my plate is figuring out how to gain Benchley’s support and public endorsement for Owen’s upcoming county commission run. It’s still too early to file, and we don’t want to signal too far ahead and give people advanced notice.

  Despite Susa’s best efforts to talk the bastard into endorsing Owen, Benchley is still sitting on the fence, irrationally hung up over the I on Owen’s voter ID card. But I know if Benchley throws his weight behind Owen, we would win. The likely GOP candidate, the incumbent, is pretty much despised now. There’s no way a Democrat, unless they’re a racist drunk, could lose in an even match, but it would be close. Running the past numbers, however, I spot a trend.

  If we run a fiscally conservative platform and hammer Owen’s opponents hard over infrastructure, including traffic, storm water drainage, storm prep, and school performance, Owen could split the vote enough to capture the swing voters who don’t stay loyal to either party.