Reagan smiles and nods her head. “Because a dear friend recently taught me that the things you care about are the things worth fighting for.”
There are a million more questions, but one guy towards the front is screaming louder than the rest. “Ms. Archer! Ms. Archer! We’re hearing reports from your very own campaign manager about some sort of alleged illicit relationship between yourself and an employee of Archer Holdings, your primary campaign financier. Some sort of ex-Army guy?”
The screaming crowd of journalists actually goes quiet, hanging on the silence as Reagan’s face freezes, and I feel my whole heart skip a beat.
But then she’s turning to look right at me in the wings off-stage, and she’s grinning that perfect smile that just slays me every time. She nods at me, her eyes sparkling, and then she’s beckoning to me, and waving me on stage. I give her a quizzical look, but she rolls her eyes and beckons me again before turning back to the gathered reporters again with a smirk on her face.
“He’s a Marine, actually, and I wouldn’t exactly call being in love an ‘illicit affair’.”
I’m staring at her like we’re both crazy as I walk on the stage, right into the limelight and the camera flashes and the screaming questions.
“You sure you know what you’re doing, Archer?” I murmur as the crowd of reporters begin to scream and hurl questions at us.
She grins. “Which part?”
“Both?”
She grabs my tie and pulls me close. “Definitely,” she whispers, and then she’s pulling me into a kiss right there in front of everyone.
This is literally the polar opposite of blending in, but as I scoop her into my arms, I feel the whole world slip away anyways, because that what she does to me. And right there in that moment, I know I’m ready for whatever the fuck comes next because I’ve got her, and for the first time in forever, I feel whole.
We kiss for what feels like an hour but is probably more like ten glorious seconds with the million flashbulbs going off around us, before she pulls back and grins at me.
“Sorry, I probably should have mentioned it before that I love you.”
I shrug and grin at her. “Oh, do you? Yeah I never would have picked up on that.”
She laughs and punches my arm before I pull her right back into me. “Hey Princess,” I murmur, kissing her again. “I love you too, you know.”
And right there, nothing else matter in the whole fucking universe but her.
Chapter Thirty
Hudson
P A S T
I take my time getting ready.
As I’m pulling my pants on, or tucking in my shirt, or tying the double windsor knot in my tie, it’s like I’m suiting up my armor to head into battle. I can feel my nerves jangling like live-wires inside of me, my pulse skipping around like a broken record as I finish getting ready, finish getting prepared for this.
I’ve had a million conversations with her over the last few years. I’ve written her letters that I’ve burned instead of sending, had conversations with the memory of her late into the night when I’m alone and sleepless with my thoughts. Hell, I’ve played out this very meeting a hundred different ways in my head since I decided I was going.
But none of it has me prepared to see her again.
Somehow, the nervousness and the jangling nerves is like an elevated, surreal feeling that’s better than any booze.
It was Bryce who heard about the chain store pulling funding after her comments about raising the minimum wage. And while I’ve weighed how she’s going to react to this a dozen different ways since then, I know this is the only way.
I believe in her, and not just because I know William did, but because believing in her and her campaign is believing in myself and maybe my ability to become normal someday.
I finger the bullet in my pocket, staring down my reflection in the mirror. I straighten my tie once more, along with a straying bit of hair, before I take a deep breath.
This is it.
It’s time to go meet Reagan Archer for the first time in five years, and for the first time in a very long time, I’m actually excited about what might come at me next.
REAGAN
P R E S E N T
Two weeks later, after the media circus has sort of died down about the ‘Young Senatorial candidate and the billionaire Marine,’ Hudson and I are back at my father’s house, sitting on the terrace off the library, our terrace.
We’re sipping iced tea, and with my hands held in his, he tells me everything, all of it.
He tells me about the horrors of war, and the village in Afghanistan. He tells me about addiction and demons, and being on the run, and their stint as mercenaries in Africa. I start to tear up when he tells me about getting shot - both times - but it’s when he looks me straight in the eye and tells me that my father was the best thing that ever happened to him for saving them from all of that, that I just start to cry.