I ran my fingers along his jaw and focused on his downturned lips, yearning to kiss them but refraining. "There's no need to ask that question, Nolan, because it won't happen. You've already made huge strides. See? You've adapted. So I'm not worried at all about you being right."
"Can you just answer the question, please?"
I knew he needed something solid, and even though I knew in my gut his scenario would never play out, I gave him what he sought. "If you think for one second, at the end of this … however it goes … that I'll simply walk away from you, then stop right now. Because that's never going to happen. There will never be an ‘end' to this."
His eyes may have closed and his shoulders might've slackened, but there was no mistaking the curl at the corners of his mouth.
"I meant what I said the other day … "
I pressed my lips to his in a chaste kiss and then pulled away. "I know, Nolan. I know."
"You won't even throw me a bone here, will you?" He laughed, but it didn't hide the hopelessness in his eyes.
Everything in me screamed to tell him, to confess those three little words, but I knew it would be useless. It would only offer him reassurance. And that's not what I wanted it to mean. I wanted it to mean everything to him.
"When you're ready."
"Fine," he said with a huff of air. "I'll take the damn camera. We'll make a darkroom and I'll take pictures, even though I'll just be wasting your film. But only under one condition."
I arched an eyebrow at him, unsure how I felt about agreeing to his stipulations while he remained inside me-soft, but there.
"You have to let me take pictures of you. Whenever I want."
My lips split into a triumphant grin. "You've got yourself a deal."
I left his office with a smile on my face, feeling victorious. He'd taken the camera-it was the first step. Now I only needed him to take pictures and let go of the anger and resentment he'd been carrying around with him. I knew if he'd just give himself the chance, he'd come around.
I didn't care if all he did was sit on his couch and shoot pictures of his wall. It didn't matter to me if he never rediscovered his love of photography, so long as he unearthed the part of him that once did. At this point, I'd try just about anything to pull him out of there.
And I knew Nolan's problems stemmed from more than one instance. From what he'd told me, it had started long before our situation. But I didn't know enough to figure out who or what had lit the initial slow-burning flame that would eventually engulf him.
Yes, he'd been sent into war due to one mistake, but I'd be willing to bet something else would've taken him down had that not happened. And then, he'd have some other excuse, other than a prosthetic leg and scars to attribute to his self-hatred.
If only he'd see it, too.
Sixteen
Novah had spoken to me previously in the week regarding the dinner Shari had promised us. We'd made plans for Saturday, and I became very excited about it.
I'd spent every waking minute of the last two days working on converting my spare room into a darkroom. I'd even taken personal days at work just to finish it in time. I couldn't wait to show Novah all I'd done.
I couldn't wait to see her reaction.
But I had to cancel. My father had called me on Wednesday, right before Novah came in to surprise me during lunch. He told me of his plans to make a trip down, and how he and my mother wanted to see me.
He then called me Friday night to inform me his visit would be the next day. They wanted to have dinner with me, so I had to cancel with Novah and her friends. I didn't want to, but my father had left no room for an argument.
But then he changed his plans … again.
Instead of dinner, he called me early this morning and told me he could only meet me for breakfast. In the end, I canceled dinner for no reason at all.
By the time I pulled into the parking lot where my dad had asked me to meet him, he was already standing by the front door. I glanced at the time on my dash and noticed I was two minutes early, yet he stood there with his arms crossed and a scowl on his aging face as if I'd been an hour late.
I should've backed up and left.
"Where's Mom?" I asked as I walked toward him.
"That's why I had to change it from dinner to breakfast. She couldn't make the trip, had things to take care of at home. So I'm leaving after this to head back to Tallahassee."
Knowing my mother wouldn't be here to act as a buffer set a flaming knot in my gut. It'd been proven time and time again throughout the years that nothing good ever came from alone time with Dad.
I nodded and made a move to walk in the door, but he stopped me, holding his hand out between us. I glanced down at it, my brow furrowed, questioning what it meant. But then he moved in and wrapped an arm around my shoulder to pull me closer.
The hug seemed stiff, came off as forced, but maybe it was just me. It wasn't like this kind of behavior was normal for us. But at the same time, it was … nice.
After the embrace, I followed him inside where we were immediately led to an isolated booth in the back.
My dad cleared his throat and stuck a finger between his collar and his neck, which typically indicated when he had something serious he wanted to discuss. It served to spike my anxiety and caused a wave of dread to crash over me.
"I am attending a banquet on Tuesday, and I needed to talk to you before it takes place," he began and then cleared his throat. "I've decided to run for the White House again. Your mother and I have discussed it, and we both believe this is a good time to do it."
"That's really great, Dad. I'm happy for you."
"Thank you, son. That really means a lot to me."
I narrowed my eyes on him, questioning to myself why he appeared to be so nervous. "As much as I appreciate the gesture of you coming here to tell me face to face, it really wasn't necessary. You could've called me and told me over the phone. I would've understood."
He did the thing again with his finger and his collar, and it sent my pulse into overdrive. My stomach twisted and clenched, and I suddenly became aware he had much more to tell me.
"Well, as you know by now, your mother and I won't be the only ones involved in this. You will be, too. You know how this works. Except, this time, it'll be worse than before. This isn't a state position. I'm running for the President of the United States."
"So … you came to give me a heads up the media might be probing into my life to some degree? Dad, honestly, I appreciate it, but you didn't have to drive six hours here to tell me this. You could've called me."
He shook his head and glanced down at the table. And as if that wasn't bad enough, he began to fiddle with the saltshaker-another nervous habit he had. "The public needs to see your support. Don't get me wrong, Nolan. I appreciate you giving it to me, but people need to see it. The public needs to see a unified front with the family."
My stomach soured. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop myself from doubting him. I longed to believe he truly wanted my support because he loved me and valued having me by his side, but I couldn't block the uncertainty from creeping in. The doubt left me thinking the only reason he was here, why he came to me, was because he needed something from me-more than my support.
"No, Dad. I can't do this. I have my own life. I've moved on. I can't be roped back in to campaigning. I never did like it."
He leaned into the table, commanding my attention with his eyes-the same eyes I see every day in the mirror. "I only need your support."
"And you have it." He did. I'd support him no matter what he decided to do. But he didn't need me in front of the camera, speaking on his behalf in order to prove it.
He sucked on his teeth and leaned back against his seat. His gaze pierced mine as his shoulders squared. "You know what I mean, Nolan. After what happened to you, everyone will be very interested in your life, interested in your survival. Your story is truly one of an American hero."
My heart hiccupped in my chest at his opinion of me. An American hero? I'd never heard him say those words to me before. My brain went into overdrive questioning his motives. I didn't know if I believed he truly meant the words coming from his mouth. The realistic part of me had become convinced it was a ploy to pull me back in, to use me as his personal trophy and set me on his political mantle.
"I don't want anyone to be interested in me. You're the one running for office, not me. I don't want to have a thing to do with any of it. I need to live my life, move on from the past-not continue to dissect it."
"If I don't have you by my side, then how do you think it'll look?"
"Like I'm grown up and I have my own life."
"I'm not asking you to be front and center, at every rally, at every town-hall meeting. But you being active in the campaign is imperative. It says so much to the ones watching our every move. What would it look like if the son of the family man is missing from my corner?"