Page 11 of Redemption

Mayor Winters can do no wrong in the eyes of his constituents. He’s their golden boy, the living Adonis, with the mind of a genius and a golden smile. The youngest person to ever hold his office in state history. The man who led his city, remaining calm yet steadfast during a major health crisis. His efforts during that time were monumental. Tireless. He campaigned for all citizens, young and old, rich or poor; it didn’t matter. They were all deserving because they were his people and, therefore, his responsibility. He refused to give up until the city had the resources needed to safely and effectively manage the crisis. Because of Sebastian’s leadership, New York City citizens made it through to the other side. Not unscathed by any means, but it could’ve been so much worse.

I won’t ever deny all the good he’s done during his time in office, but I also cannot forget the man he is in public is most certainly not the man he is in private. Honesty and family values—the two principles he based his entire platform on—don’t mean shit to him. Sewer rats probably rank higher. But he puts on a good show, I’ll give him that. More than one media outlet has dubbed my husband a modern-day knight. Others have called him a champion for the people. Then, there’s my personal favorite: The Saint of New York.

God, if they only knew.

It looks like the good people of New York might learn the truth about their so-called hero soon enough. The evidence sitting in front of me is pretty hard to dismiss. There’s no denying the fact that Mariana Pérez, the First Deputy Mayor of New York City, is the woman on her knees giving my husband an enthusiastic blowjob. She, too, is married, which would only intensify the scandal if this got out. I have no idea who sent this video to me, but someone has the power to expose them, and if that happened, it wouldn’t be pretty for anyone. Especially me, considering I’m Sebastian’s favorite target.

After what happened the other night, I’m convinced there’s no line he won’t cross, which is what finally prompted me to run. I was foolish to think otherwise, and I hate myself for not seeing it sooner. I will never allow myself to be that vulnerable again. I’m not stupid enough to think Sebastian will give up without a fight—hell, he said as much—but being a thousand miles away, surrounded by family, gives me some room to breathe. To strategize. And a small part of me can’t help thinking that maybe this is my opportunity to push the reset button. Move beyond all the pain from my past, both physical and mental, and do things right going forward. Maybe this is my chance for redemption.

The sound of gravel crunching draws my attention toward the left. Damn it. Someone is coming up the driveway at—I check my phone—four-thirty in the morning. Who would show up at this hour? It’s a little too early for the ranch hands. My brother, Clayton’s place, is nearby, but he has his own driveway about a quarter mile down the road. Shit. Has Sebastian come for me already? How on earth did he get a flight at this hour? He must’ve chartered a private jet. Oh, God, I need to get inside. I lock my phone, not wanting to draw attention to myself with its light. Thankfully, the sun’s not up yet, and I switched the porch light off before I came out here, so I’m cloaked in darkness as I creep toward the front door.

Right as my fingers curl around the screen door handle, it hits me. That’s not a car. It’s a truck. And not just any truck, but one I’d recognize blind by the throaty purr of its engine. I stand stock-still as the noise gets louder and louder right before the vehicle’s headlights come into view. It’s dark as hell, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen it, but there’s no doubt in my mind it’s the same 1972 two-tone Ford F100 short box I spent a good chunk of my teenage years riding in.

Among other things.

I hold my breath as the driver passes the main house, veering off at the fork heading toward the machine shed. I don’t breathe again until its taillights are entirely out of view. Seconds later, the engine shuts down, bathing the ranch in silence once again. This property is massive—over two-thousand acres. There are a dozen outbuildings spread throughout for various purposes, in addition to a few residences independent from the main house. One of them belongs to my brother. Another is reserved for the occasional out-of-town guest.

But there’s only one residence that shares the main drive, and that’s the original James house my dad grew up in. Now, it belongs to the foreman. More specifically, David Armstrong. That’s where that old Ford is currently parked, its driver likely already tucked inside the warm house instead of standing outside in the cold like me. The funny thing is, I overlook the bite of chilly temperature on my skin, even though my blanket is now pooled at my feet, because my mind is too busy trying to fit all the missing puzzle pieces together. Nausea and anxiety roll through me for a whole new reason now. Countless questions are running through my head, but the one thing niggling the most?

Why is the sole reason I left this town, now living on my parents’ land? I’m positive it was him—not his father—driving that truck. I could feel it. But last I heard, he left town about a year after I did to join the Navy. I had assumed he was off somewhere in the world doing whatever it is that the Navy does. But that’s obviously not the case. So, maybe the more appropriate question is, when did he move back? And how in the world am I supposed to face him again after everything that’s happened?

Chapter Seven

Presley

– Age 16

“Okay, start at the North Star,” Beck says.

I locate the brightest star on the tail of the Little Dipper. “Got it. Now what?”

He grabs my index finger and points it slightly lower in the sky, tracing the shape of a weird looking W. “Right there; those five stars. That’s Cassiopeia—do you see it?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

He pulls me into a side hug. “This is one of the things that I love most about living out in the country. You can’t get a view like this in a city.”

“It’s pretty great,” I agree. “But cities have things that you can’t get in the country.”

He pulls the sleeping bag a little higher. “True… but I wouldn’t have been able to pull off this romantic setup in the middle of a bunch of concrete.”

I smile and snuggle into him farther. Beck laid out a bunch of blankets and a double sleeping bag in the bed of his truck. The moonlight is reflecting off the pond, and the frogs are really vocal tonight. It might seem like nothing special to some people, but to me, it’s perfect.

“It is pretty romantic.”

Beck’s spent the last two years fixing up an old truck with his dad. He just got his driver’s license today, so we’re celebrating with a campout in the bed of it. Well, not an overnight campout, because our parents put an end to our sleepovers around age ten, but we can stay out until one in the morning during the summer, as long as we stay on the ranch. Thankfully, there’s plenty of places to go if we want privacy. This particular spot is our favorite, though. It’s where we first became friends, so Beck and I like to call it our pond.

Tonight’s the night Beckett and I are supposed to finally have sex. We’ve been officially a couple for almost three years, but I didn’t feel ready until now. We’ve fooled around a lot, but we’ve never actually gone all the way. I know some of his friends think he’s an idiot for waiting for me, but what Beck and I have is real. He’s my best friend, and we’re in love. There’s no other person on Earth I’d want to lose my virginity to. It’s even more special because it will be his first time, too.

Beck shifts us so my head is back on a pillow, and he’s leaning over me. “Are you nervous? It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind.”

God, he really is the most perfect boyfriend. “I’m not nervous; I want this. I’m ready.”

“You’re so beautiful, Pres. I don’t tell you that enough.”

“Beck, I just told you I’m a sure thing; you don’t need to keep sweet-talkin’ me.”

He laughs. “That’s good to know, but I’m serious. You’re gorgeous, inside and out. I love you so much, Presley. You’re my world. I don’t ever want to be without you.”

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