Folsom (End of Men, #1)(35)

I’m standing, waiting for her when she walks in, all dressed up. I hesitate for a minute, distracted by evening-gown Gwen, which is significantly different than wild-haired Gwen and lab-coat Gwen. I shake my head trying to clear my thoughts. A party, the Region would have thrown a party in her honor, mother of the Red son.

“What were you thinking, Gwen?” I say between my teeth. I shake my head, wanting to shake her. “You do know you were on the news, right?”

She glares at me, folding her arms across her chest. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not an idiot, Folsom. It needed to be said.”

“What exactly did you hope to accomplish? Were you trying to put a target on your back? Do you think having a boy can protect you from the Society?”

“It was the truth! For the truth to make a difference, it needs to be said by one person at a time, until there’s a noise loud enough to make a difference.”

I want to kiss her and spank her all in the same minute. Her words are shockingly powerful, which makes me afraid for her.

“This is what life is. It’s what my life is. I accept that.”

She steps past me and looks around. “This isn’t too bad. Are most of the places you stay like this?”

“I’ve stayed in some that aren’t this nice, but yes, it’s usually decent. See? Not so bad.” I lift a shoulder and she narrows her eyes.

“Can you come and go as you choose?”

“I have a driver and security. Every place I go has to be thoroughly checked prior to me going there. The other night at The Fish Tank was a little off the beaten path. I only got minor correction for that. It probably helped that I had a heart attack that night.”

“Can you say no to one of your…appointments—if you didn’t like the girl, or didn’t want to have sex with her?”

I stay silent.

“So the answer is no then.”

“There is no right or wrong in this world. There is simply a matter of what must be done.”

“Bullshit,” she says.

I’ve never heard her curse and I try not to smile. I walk over to where she’s still standing, wrapped in her own arms, bitingly angry. I speak gently to her because I need her to understand.

“They can take him from you, Gwen. Do you understand me? They can call you crazy, radical, mentally unstable, and they can take your—our—son. Say you’re not fit to raise him.”

Her face pales, the fire that was in her eyes just moments ago suddenly dims in realization. She starts to cry. I pull her to me and hold her against my chest. Her hands are fisted on either side of her face as she cries into my shirt, the warmth of her tears and breath dampening my skin.

Our son. I’d said those words and now the full impact hits me. What would it be like to raise a son with her? It’s foolish to even consider it. I manage to keep my voice rough with her, but I can’t help but be moved that she’s willing to defend me, to take on the Society and the Regions. This one, tiny wisp of a woman.

“I’m glad you called,” she finally says, coming up for air.

Her nose is red and her eye makeup is smeared across my shirt.

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly, touching the spot with her fingertip. “I thought last night might be the last…” She looks down at my boots and smiles. It’s gone by the time she glances back up. “Sophia is having a girl.”

I make a face.

“What?” she says. “Just spit it out.”

I walk into the kitchen and she follows me, bumping into me when I open the fridge.

“Governor Petite and your mother…” I say.

“They’re together. They’re getting married.”

I pull containers from the shelves, stacking them on the counter as she watches me impatiently.

“She asked your mother to marry her after finding out that two babies will be born into your household?”

Gwen frowns. “I don’t know the details exactly. The news was sprung on me tonight.”

I spoon food onto plates and pull two forks from the drawer.

“Hmmm. And when is she up for reelection?” I slide a plate of food toward her. She only hesitates for a moment before pulling it toward her and sitting on a stool.

“Next year,” she says, softly.

“Right.”

“How’d you know I was hungry?” She frowns.

I shrug. “You’ve been causing too much trouble to remember to eat.”

Gwen rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s trying not to smile.

“Folsom,” she says, putting her fork down. “Do you really think that’s why she’s marrying my mother?” She wipes her mouth with the napkin I pass her and then crumples it up in a ball. Her face is arranged in worry, lines creasing her forehead.

“Can’t say anything for sure. Though the timing seems to work to her benefit.”

Gwen looks sick.

“She threatened me—”

My head shoots up.

“At the party before I left to come here.”

My fork clatters to the plate. “What did she say?”

“Oh, I don’t know. She will not let me bring shame to the Region…blah, blah, blah…my mother will be the one to suffer.” One corner of her mouth pulls in and her eyes fill with tears.