Sway (Landry Family #1)(53)

“Even if that is true, and I don’t believe it,” she says, taking a breath, “it just means even more that you need to prove to yourself that your ideas are enough.”

“But what if they’re not?”

“If you say what you feel, that you don’t agree with the Land Bill, and you don’t get elected—is that the worst thing that could happen?”

The answer to that is complicated and both yes and no. It would end the work of so many for so many years. I have no backup plan; politics has always been my career, the trajectory up the ranks as quickly as I’ve been able. But looking at her in my bed, trying to make me feel better, the answer is also this: the worst thing is losing the person that makes me feel alive and enough for the first time in maybe forever.

“It’s not,” she says, shaking her head. “The worst thing would be for you to have your legacy tainted by a bunch of half-truths. By your grandkids asking how you felt about this or that in your career and having to lie. It’d be better to not win.”

It sounds so simple, but isn’t. It seems to be true, but it’s convoluted. It seems easy, but it’s so damn hard that I don’t want to think about it anymore. Not while she’s here.

“You know what would be better?” I ask, feeling my lips twitch.

“What’s that?”

“If we stop talking and instead make use of this fruit . . .”

She grins and I roll her over before she can object.





Alison

“AND HE WOULDN’T DO IT! That bastard. He said he wasn’t sticking fruit inside my body and slurping it out. So, I told him I’m not seeing him anymore,” Lola laments, making me laugh.

“Maybe he’s not into food play,” I giggle, turning the car down the street the next afternoon. “It’s not for everyone. I don’t even think it’s for me, Lo, really, but . . .”

“But it’s Barrett Fucking Landry!”

“Exactly.”

“So Isaac is on ice. I’m just going to find someone else that will indulge my newfound food fetishes.”

Laughing, I shake my head. “But Isaac is such a nice guy, Lo.”

“And apparently nice isn’t what does it for me.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Are you working the charity thing that hit the schedule at Luxor last night?”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I just switched days at Hillary’s House today so I can be off. The tips will be astronomical; I can’t say no.”

She sighs too. “Right? I’m so over working these shitty jobs. I just need to land a rich man and be retired already.”

I roll my eyes, but grin. The chatter with Lola is my tried and true way of relaxing from work before getting home to Hux. The stress of the job is diluted by her antics and it’s my own form of therapy.

“You do that,” I laugh.

“I expect to. But in the meantime, you need to corner Isaac and let him know he needs to—”

“I’ll do no such thing!” I laugh. “I’m not about to tell him how to have sex with you, Lo!”

“You’re simply not the friend I thought you were,” she huffs.

“Apparently not. But I’m pulling in the driveway and am beat, so I need to get off of here.”

“Okay. Talk later.”

I end the call and pull up beside my mother’s car. Every day it’s the same feeling of being grateful she’s here to help with Hux and frustration that I’m in the position of needing my mother so much to help with my child.

Opening the door to the house, I smell the aroma of freshly baked snickerdoodles. I follow the cinnamon scent to the kitchen where my mom and son are sitting at the table with a plate of cookies and tall glasses of milk.

“Hey, Mom,” Hux says.

“Hey, buddy.” I kiss the top of his head. “You smell like outside.”

“He’s been outside tossing a ball around all day. He even had me out there playing catch,” my mother says.

“You? You played catch?” I laugh. “I bet that was a sight.”

“Some man called here earlier this afternoon, shortly after Hux got home—”

“It was Lincoln!” he beams. “We’re going to go work out today!”

I cast a confused glance at my mother. She twiddles her thumbs and looks at me with raised brows.

“He said you’d take me to see him when you got home,” Hux says, standing. “So can we go, Mom? Please?”

“Go wash your face,” my mother instructs him.

“But Grandma . . .”

“Huxley. Now.”

He stalks towards the bathroom and when he’s out of earshot, the room gets smaller. Much, much smaller.

“So . . .” she draws out, waiting for me to give her information.

I don’t.

“Alison, why is a Major League baseball player calling the house to play baseball with my grandson?”

I shrug like I have no idea, but she doesn’t buy it.

“There’s also a beautiful bouquet of flowers in your bedroom,” she states. “Hux told me to take a look, said the mayor of Savannah sent them to you.”

“It’s nothing,” I say, turning away from her.