“Oh?”
“Yeah, I’m calling to say thanks. For once you’re the headline in the grocery checkout instead of me.”
Cold anger washed through him. “What are you talking about, Chase?”
“You haven’t even announced yet and the media is all over you like cheese and jalapeños on nachos. But seriously, Clay, why did you break up with Giselle? She was perfect for you. I know you like strays, but Georgeanne? Though I guess it makes sense, since she works for you. You and Boone need to come up with a strategy.”
Before he could respond, Boone snatched the phone. “Chase, you need to shut up.”
“Boone?”
“I’m tellin’ ya, cuz, shut it. Now.”
Silence filled the kitchen. They heard Chase take a deep breath. “Damn. Are they really a thing?”
Boone stared at Clay. An angry tic beneath one eye and the grim line of his lips conveyed his feelings so perfectly that Boone added, “You idiot. You’re damn lucky you aren’t standing here where Clay can put hands on you.”
“The old man is gonna blow a gasket.”
“He already has.”
“No, Boone. He hasn’t called for an intervention. He might be pissed, but his brain hasn’t exploded.” A ping sounded from Chase’s end and then silence. Another quick breath and then a string of cuss words dribbled from Clay’s phone. “Not yet, but any minute now. Have y’all seen the latest news report?”
“Hunt and I have, but Clay hasn’t.”
Clay stared at Boone, his gaze shifting to Hunt before dropping to the laptop. “What?”
Boone hit Play and a video featuring a perky blonde reporter flickered on the screen, the words Political Ploy or Play for Pity? on a screen behind her.
“Oklahoma Senator Clayton Barron has long been Capitol Hill’s most eligible bachelor. In recent months he’s taken himself off the dating carousel, and his communications director, Georgeanne Dreyfus, is his constant companion. The senator broke off his long-term affair with Broadway star and fellow Oklahoman, Giselle Richards. Within days Senator Barron was seen about town with the bespectacled Dreyfus on his arm. One wonders why a man of the senator’s...stature—” the female reporter stopped to waggle her brows and smirk into the camera “—would lower his standards to date his mousy employee. While known for her political savvy and ability to divert the media, Dreyfus is not the senator’s typical type. We’ve learned from an unnamed source that Dreyfus is moving into the senator’s Georgetown house. Rumors have also surfaced of numerous visits to Washington ob-gyn Dr. Mike Lane, which makes one speculate as to the reason. Another unnamed source suggests it isn’t a pregnancy scare, but a medical diagnosis. Senator Barron and his party have been accused of being soft on women’s issues. Is this a ploy on the part of a smart politician about to announce his campaign for the presidency? Or is a desperate woman hoping the handsome senator will take pity on her as she attempts to hitch her star to his?”
The reporter turned wide eyes to the camera, but Clay didn’t listen to the rest of her drivel. He slammed the laptop shut and launched his coffee cup simultaneously. The ceramic mug hit the expensive glass-tile backsplash above the double stainless-steel sink and shattered.
Chase, voice soft and chastised, reclaimed Clay’s attention. “Talk to me, Clay.”
“She has breast cancer, Chase. Stage three. We’re coming home next week for my announcement. I’ll run my campaign from there while she undergoes treatment.”
More cuss words streamed from the phone before Chase inhaled. “I’m sorry, Clay. Truly. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone but especially not someone close to you.”
“I care about her, Chase.”
“Call Cord and Chance. They need to know. All of it. And I’m sorry for being a smart-ass.”
Clay caught the relieved glance his cousins exchanged. His phone buzzed, indicating another incoming call. “Thanks, Chase. Will do.” He swiped his finger to end the call and checked to see who else was on the line. Cord.
“Hey, little bro.”
“Jeez, Clay, are you okay?”
“No.”
“How’s Georgie?”
“Scared.”
“What’s going on?”
Clay inhaled and then said the hateful words. “She has breast cancer.”
“Ah, hell, ol’ son. What’s the plan?”
And this was when Clay truly appreciated his brothers. At least the next two in line. The twins sometimes swam in the jerk pool but Cord and Chance always had his back. “We’re coming home next week.”