“Some time ago, someone important to me was faced with a decision. She didn’t consult me. She didn’t ask my opinion. She made a choice and when I found out, her decision was one I didn’t like. Now it’s my turn to make a decision. It might be one she doesn’t like, but it’s the right one for me. For her. For us.”
Furtive activity at the edge of the stage drew his attention. Boone stood there, hands shoved in his front pockets, watching with a slightly twisted grin on his face. It was the man and woman—the hacks hired by Cyrus to replace Georgie—who were waving frantically to get his attention. He ignored them and turned back to the audience.
“Thank you for coming and good night.” Clay swiveled on his heel and headed for Boone. By the time he’d crossed the stage, Hunt was standing there, as well.
“Where to, boss?”
Clay studied his security chief for a long moment. “Where is she?”
Hunt deferred to his brother. Boone tucked his chin in a short nod of approval as he answered, “OU Med. They checked her in tonight.”
“Then that’s where we’re going.”
Thing One and Thing Two swarmed him.
“You can’t!” From her.
“You didn’t finish that travesty of a speech.” From him.
Clay almost laughed when Hunt caught his left elbow and Boone snagged his right arm and blocked the two from reaching him. Hunt had his phone up to his ear issuing quiet orders into it. One of the organizers came puffing up.
“Senator Barron? Is there a problem, sir?” The man wasn’t quite wringing his hands, unlike the Twit Twins.
“A family emergency.”
“Oh. Oh! Your fiancée. Of course. I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
Get out of my way for starters, Clay thought. Rather than voicing it, he smiled but kept walking. “We have it under control, thank you. Perhaps you could draft someone to fill the rest of the time set aside for my keynote?”
“Oh! Yes, yes, of course. I should do that.” The man peeled away and huffed back the way they’d come.
As they reached the SUV idling at the side entrance, Clay turned to the two handlers. They’d fussed and dive-bombed him like mockingbirds with a cat in sight of their nest the whole way. “I’ve wanted to say this since the day you first appeared in my office. You’re fired.”
* * *
Clay, wearing exhaustion like a wrinkled suit, sat next to the hospital bed watching the woman he loved beyond reason. Her skin, paper-thin and translucent, felt like dry silk beneath the one finger he used to caress her arm. Georgie opened her eyes and when they widened in sleepy surprise, he smiled.
“Hello, sweet pea.”
“Clay?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you really here?”
“Oh, yeah, love. I’m really here. Not going anywhere.”
“But...you can’t be here.”
His brow knit as he stared at her. “I’m here. There’s no can’t about it.”
“But...your speech.”
“Given.”
“You’re supposed to be on your way to Denver.”
“Nope. I’m supposed to be right here.”
“Clay!”
“Georgie.”
Color suffused her pale cheeks and the readout of her blood pressure on the machine next to her bed spiked.
“The campaign!”
“Is over.”
Her mouth gaped open. She closed it. It gaped again. She breathed a shocked question. “What?”
“I’m done.”
“But the polls—”
“Don’t mean jack.” He carefully took her hand. “I’m out, Georgie. I’m not running.”
She blinked, eyes going wide. “You can’t do that.”
“I can and did.”
“But—”
“Shush, Georgie.”
“But—”
He leaned in and kissed her before she could finish speaking. He spoke against her lips. “No buts. Just listen, okay?”
When she nodded and whispered, “Okay,” he straightened. “You’ve always been my heart, Georgie. And your words? Your words make me want to be the man you think I am. I haven’t been that man lately, but I’m going to be.”
“Clay—”
“Shhh. I’m talking, sweet pea.” He lifted the hand he was holding and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “As president, I have eight years. Only eight years. I can do a lot of good, but the next person who steps in behind me can undo everything I’ve put into place.”
He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Your words last night, they hit home and made sense. Do you remember the words you gave me to say?”