Page 54 of Campaign Season
“You can’t stop every storm before it forms. You can steer us through it. That’s what you do. That’s why people trust you.”
Candace shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s enough.”
“It has to be. And you aren’t alone.” Jameson reached out, covering Candace’s hands with her own. “I told you then I’d keep the ship safe if you steered. You’re the navigator, Candace. But you’ve got a crew. Let us help. Let Alex, Cass, and Shell—let me. You don’t have to carry it all.”
Candace’s gaze softened. “I don’t want to fail you. Any of you.”
“You won’t,” Jameson said firmly. “Ambition isn’t a sin. You don’t lead from selfishness—you never have. The legacy you care about is helping people. You need a place where you can falter, where doubt is safe. That’s what I’m here for.”
Candace’s throat tightened, but she leaned fully into Jameson’s touch. The storm inside her didn’t pass, but it eased—held by the quiet conviction of the woman beside her.
“Everything feels?—”
“Loss clouds everything,” Jameson said softly, stroking her back.
“I wish I could fix this.”
“I know. I think you should spend some time with Jonathan tonight. I heard him ask Jonah if there’s still a bottle of good scotch in your grandfather’s desk.”
Candace laughed, watery but real.
“Bring him in here after the little kids go to bed. Share the bottle.”
“I don’t want to take time from the kids.”
“Candace,” Jameson warned gently. “Don’t lose this chance. There are things you need to say. Say them. Listen.”
Candace nodded, closing her eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you,” Jameson said.
The kitchen hummed with low, familiar noises—the creak of old cupboards, the soft clink of dishes as Candace stacked them neatly into place. She glanced at Jonathan, leaning against the counter with a glass of water in his hand, watching her with that half-smile that had been part of her life for so long.
“Feels familiar, doesn’t it?” he said.
Candace arched a brow. “What does?”
“You. Me. A quiet kitchen. You putting away dishes while I pretend to help.”
Candace chuckled softly. “You were never much help.”
“True.” His voice lowered. “I’m sorry, Candy. For the past—for the ways I let you down.”
She stilled, her hand resting on the rim of a bowl. “Jonathan…”
He shook his head, his eyes searching hers. “I know we weren’t meant to go the distance. But I should’ve been better when we were trying.”
Candace turned fully, studying him with a softness in her gaze. “Do you want to know what hurt the most?”
He nodded.
“Losing my friend.” Her voice wavered, but she steadied it. “I was angry, hurt. But I missed you more than I could admit. And I’m thankful… that I found my friend again.”
Jonathan’s smile was faint but genuine, touched with weariness. “Me too.”
Candace reached for his hand. “We weren’t forever, Jon. But we were meant to be long enough to raise three incredible kids. And now—look at them. Look at all these grandchildren running around. That’s proof enough that our marriage was worth it.”
His eyes glistened as he nodded. “Worth every minute.”
