Page 30 of Primary Season
“She’s ruthless.”
He agreed. “The thing you have to understand is that she’s focused on one thing and one thing only. Herself.”
“Don’t try to explain it to me or justify it. I tried to accept all of this, and to understand, but I’m realizing now that I can’t. Nothing you say is going to make me understand it. Not her name, not the money they have, not the power you think you’ll get from her—none of it.”
Patrick slowly shook his head. “Fair enough. And you have a right to be pissed off. We’re… I mean the campaign…is in over our heads, and I don’t mean just with her.” He braced his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor for a beat. When he looked at me again, his expression had softened. “She’s not you, though.”
I sniffed. “No one else is.”
“And that’s why I like you, Alex. You know who you are, you know what you want, and you won’t let anything get in your way.”
“Especially not entitled East Coast princesses who think they have the campaign by the balls—the campaign I worked my ass off to create.” I grinned at him. “Or Midwestern train wrecks with less-than-spotless pasts.”
“Midwestern train wreck?” He laughed. “That’s a new one.”
“Oh, I can get more descriptive than that. Let a few more skeletons show up and you’ll find out.”
“There’s nothing else in my closet. Promise.” Patrick held up one hand in mock surrender. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
Patrick seemed sincere and I wanted to forgive him, but I couldn’t. Not yet. I didn’t want to fold in front of him or let down my defenses just yet. He hadn’t lied to me outright, but hehadcommitted a lie of omission, one that threated to damage everything we’d worked for in the last few months.
“We can’t afford to make many unforced errors or get tied up in our own mistakes, okay? The newest polls have you almost tied with Sayers, and you see on an upward trend, but we can’t get too comfortable.” I sighed. “We’ve worked too hard to jeopardize everything.”
“Agreed. And this is only the beginning. We’re going all the way with this. All the way to the White House.” Patrick moved over to the couch, and sat down opposite me. “And I’ve made a decision about this mess with Kathryn. I’m going to end it after the South Carolina primary.”
“What about the promises you made her? The ambassadorship? The money?”
He sighed. “I don’t care anymore. It’s not worth it. I’m sacrificing too much.” Patrick leaned closer to me. “Besides, if she tries to use the photos as leverage and goes to the media with them, I think we handle it. Especially if we’ve already won South Carolina. Riding it early just means that it’s old news by the general election.”
“Cocaine is a hard drug.”
“But it’s also a story about redemption. I made mistakes, just like everyone else, and I owned up to them. I got help before it got out of control.”
Patrick placed a cautious hand on my thigh and his touch sent a pulse though me, one that radiated from my toes to my head. I wanted nothing more than to respond to him. I wanted to kiss him, to touch him, to open myself to him and to the possibilities of all this, but I didn’t.
Instead, I stood from the couch.
“I need to think, and we’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” I said, gazing down at him. “We both need to get some sleep.”
We said goodnight, and I walked back to my own room. I didn’t fall asleep until almost an hour later, and when I did, I didn’t dream at all. I woke up the next morning in a sweat.
The Koger Center for the Arts seated over two thousand, and the debate between myself and Howard Sayers attracted a sold-out crowd who’d lined up hours to grab open seats. Darla Martin and Kevin Spears from CNN had agreed to moderate the debate, and the cable outfit planned to air it nationally on all platforms.The Statealso kicked in a few thousand dollars to co-sponsor the night.
When Kathryn and I arrived, I insisted on stopping by the crowd that hadn’t yet made it inside. I signed autographs and took selfies with potential voters. She took a few, too, smiling casually as she indulged herself in every moment of it. Never mind the fact that she hadn’t said more than five words to me the whole day.
By the time we reached the dressing room, I had never been more interested in seeing my team, changing into a fresh tie, and eating a small dinner before the debate began. I found Alex there, along with a sweaty-looking Doug, a nail-biting Heather, and a few members of the security team.
“Why so glum?” I asked, walking into the small room. “What’s going on?”
Alex wouldn’t meet my gaze, and Doug sighed.
“What?” I demanded. “Just tell me.”
“It’s the latest polling,” Doug said. “The Statejust released it online, something they did in combination with Gallup and CNN. You’re still three points behind, and the needle has barely moved.”
“That’s within the margin of error.” I took care to say this as calmly as possible. “Three points is nothing. It can be overcome.”
“In two days? South Carolina votes on Tuesday,” Alex said. “Tuesday. It’s Sunday night already.”
