Sway (Landry Family #1)(66)

Sitting back at the table again, I think about how many times I’ve asked myself that very question over the last few days.

“It’s the only thing I ever considered doing,” I point out.

“Because Dad pushed you.”

“Not just that,” I say. “I’ve always felt like this is what I’m supposed to do. And I’ve enjoyed it for the most part. You can do a lot of good things with the power it gives you. It’s constantly moving, changing. You can’t stand still or you get lost in the shuffle. And, before the last couple of months, I’ve had all the women and parties and opportunities I could ever want.”

“That’s all fine and dandy, but everything you’ve said has been past tense.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I know.”

“So . . . why not drop out? Change courses. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to try to save the world or give up your life and subject yourself to this craziness.”

“I’ve considered it.” My fingertips strum the table, lost in thought. “You know, I wonder what my life would’ve been like if Dad hadn’t bought me the mayoral election.”

“Barrett, don’t even fucking go there. You won that thing on your own.”

“Did I, Linc?” I ask. “I remember going to the debates, answering the questions at the interviews, and not really having a fucking clue what they were talking about. I said what I was supposed to say, smiled, and boom—I’m the mayor. Did you ever think about that?”

He groans into the phone. “You’re just being stupid now.”

I laugh, feeling like a weight is off my shoulders. “No, maybe I’m just being honest.”

“If that’s the case, maybe you shouldn’t be in politics to start with.”

“Maybe not. But I am and I can’t back out now.”

“You also can’t risk losing her either, Barrett. I’ve never seen you happier than you have been lately. You’re so normal when you’re with her, almost like one of the guys I play ball with.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He laughs. “I’m serious. You’re usually a stick in the mud, off burying your cock in some chick or huddled in a corner with Graham. You’re actually kind of fun now.”

Taking a swig of my drink, I feel it burn as it goes down. “I don’t feel very fun right now.”

“You’re at the plate with a full count. You have to step to the plate ready to swing, Barrett.”

“Baseball analogies? Really?”

“Listen to me. Be ready to swing. Don’t let the third strike pass the plate. Because when that happens, you go to the dugout. Alone. And that’s a cold and lonely place.”





Barrett

MY TIE IS OFF CENTER. I face the mirror and see the green and white striped fabric twisted like a twelve-year-old put it on.

It makes wonder if Huxley knows how to tie a tie. An image pops in my mind of us standing in front of a mirror and me showing him how to do it. I can’t help but grin at the idea and the realization that the concept makes me happy.

Heaving a breath, I force myself to concentrate on getting myself presentable for another day at the office. It’s early, a little past six, and I haven’t slept. I’d hoped the bourbon would assist in that effort, but it didn’t.

My phone was in my hand as much as it wasn’t all night. I wanted to call her, to plead my case, to tell her how I’d do anything to fix the pain she felt yesterday. Then I got pissed off that this happened, from my staff, no less, and the fury coursed through me until I was exhausted.

Even though it killed me, I didn’t call her. She said she needed space and I need to give her that. It’s not something I’ve ever done before, played by a woman’s rules.

I grab my briefcase off my desk and see a text from Troy that he’s outside waiting on me. Before I get through the doorway, my phone rings in my hand. When I see it’s her, I drop my briefcase to the floor.

“Hey,” I say, my heart thumping in my chest.

“Hey,” she whispers. Her voice is heavy, sleepy like mine, and I wonder if she’s slept at all.

“How are you?”

“Okay.”

I wait for her to talk, to navigate this conversation because I don’t want to steer it the wrong way from the get-go. The silence kills me and I want to ramble a million different things, go into a word vomit, a speech of epic proportions on how I just want to fix this fuck-up. But I hold myself back. For the first time, maybe in my entire life, I keep quiet.

“I hope I’m not calling you too early,” she says finally. The roughness in her voice is a clear sign that she’s been crying, and that’s like a punch to the gut.

“I haven’t been to sleep yet,” I admit.

“Me either.”

“So I guess I could’ve called you at two a.m. when my finger was hovering over the call button?”

Her giggle through the phone is mixed with a sigh and it makes me smile and frown at the same time.

“I hate this,” I say, wishing I could reach out and hold her.

“Me too.”

The line goes quiet. Her breathing gets heavy and I know she’s trying to decide how to approach whatever is on her mind.