Dirty Defiance (Filthy Series Book 3) Page 10

  Jude: Don’t worry about anything, I’ll have staffers cancel your stuff. Do you need me to come with you? I will.

  Me: I know. Thanks. I’ll be okay.

  Jude: Let me know when you land, okay?

  Me: Okay.

  Jude: Love you more than anything.

  Me: You too.

  I slide into the waiting cab and ask the driver to take me to O’Hare. On the drive, I open a browser on my phone to check my Google alerts for anything on Jude’s campaign.

  The headline I see stops me cold: Secret Titan Tryst?

  Oh, hell no. This is the last thing we need right now. I click on the link, my heart pounding uncontrollably as the page loads.

  My gaze goes right to the photo. It’s Jude, his face partially covered but recognizable between two long curtains in front of a floor-to-ceiling window. His arms are wrapped around the waist of a woman whose dark hair conceals her face.

  I can’t help but laugh, because it’s me. Jude’s “tryst” was our night at the hotel the other evening. The photo looks like it was shot from a building across from us as we waited for our room service to arrive.

  For fuck’s sake. Those reporters need to find some actual stories to work on.

  18

  Jude

  Tyson’s about to fucking combust. Right here in front of me, I swear the guy’s gonna just burst into flames.

  “How can they not do any follow-up whatsoever? This is complete bullshit. They owe us a retraction on the same page they ran that phony story.”

  I shrug. “I guess, in their minds, they weren’t wrong. I was having a tryst. It was just with my wife.”

  He shakes his head vehemently. “Men don’t have trysts with their wives. The word implies something illicit and clandestine.”

  I push a few buttons on my phone screen. “Tryst—a private, romantic rendezvous between lovers. Yeah, that’s what it was.”

  Filthy sex is romantic, right? I smile to myself as I remember the night spent between my wife’s thighs.

  “Why are you so cool about this?” Tyson demands. “On the heels of the Culbertson accusation, this could be the one-two punch that ends this campaign.”

  I shrug. “I’ll own up to a tryst with my wife any day of the week. There’s a right-wing talk show host who called me earlier and asked to interview me about it.”

  “Don’t do it.” Tyson’s eyes widen. “He’ll question you about the Culbertson thing, too.”

  “I hope he does. I have nothing to hide because I did nothing wrong.” I clap him on the shoulder. “Relax, Tyson. This shit’s a marathon, not a sprint. The talk show host is a good friend of the Branch brothers. This is gonna be a softball interview.”

  He exhales deeply. Poor Tyson. His clothes are wrinkled, and his hair is getting grayer by the day.

  “You need a day off, man,” I tell him.

  “A day off? Are you kidding me? In the middle of all this?”

  I nod. “It’s nothing the rest of us can’t handle for a day.”

  “Glad to know I’m needed,” he grumbles.

  “You are needed. That’s why I want you to take a day to recharge. Have some fun. Eat some food you don’t have to shovel into your mouth in five minutes or less on the bus. Put on some clean clothes, maybe.”

  He glances down at his shirt. “My clothes look dirty?”

  I shrug a shoulder. “A little wrinkled, maybe.”

  “I slept in these clothes last night,” he admits.

  “You slept in those clothes the night before last, too.”

  “Oh, shit. Did I really?”

  “Tyson, if I see your face in the next twenty-four hours, you’re fired.”

  His lips quirk in a smile, followed quickly by a skeptical expression. “Really?”

  I nod. “Get your ass out of here, man. I’ve got this.”

  He takes out his phone and looks at the screen. “Oh, shit. Maybe another day.”

  “What is it?”

  He turns the screen to face me. There’s a posed photo of me smiling with one man and three women. Looks like it was taken at a recent rally. I arch my brows at Tyson in question.

  “The woman to your immediate left is Jessica Culbertson,” he says. “Looks like a blogger located it before the people I hired could.”

  “So, this proves…what? Just that she met me at a rally. In public.”

  Tyson turns back toward the screen and scrolls. “She says you grabbed her ass as this photo was being taken.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I know.”

  I look over his shoulder, narrowing my eyes to try to see the photo better. “Can you see where my hands are? I always have them at my sides or on people’s upper backs for photos.”

  Tyson squints. “I don’t think so. Everyone’s standing so close.”

  I push the home button on his phone, making the image disappear. “Take the day off, Tyson.”

  “With this breaking?”

  “Yep. In this line of work, there’s always something. You have to learn to just turn it off sometimes.”

  “I don’t know how I can possibly do that,” he mutters.

  I head for the door to step off the campaign bus. “Go have a tryst, Tyson. It’ll do you a world of good.”

  I walk down the bus stairs into the midmorning sunshine. Despite the shitty press coverage I’m getting right now, I’m feeling good. Chill. Having Reagan here for a few days relaxed me in every way.

  A selfish part of me wishes she were still here, but I know she needs to be with her mom right now. Her mom hasn’t dated since getting screwed over by her douche ex-husband, Stan Preston. She bought a quiet little beach house, and she says she’s happy alone there. Reagan worries about her, though.

  I’m too distracted by my hunger to focus on much else, so I walk over to a local diner on the main drag of the small northern Illinois town we’re in.

  As soon as I walk in, the smells of cooking bacon and syrup make my stomach rumble. The stools at the counter are lined with older men in worn ball caps, and others are holding court at tables in the restaurant.

  I lean against the counter until a waitress meets my gaze and asks, “What can I getcha, hon?”

  “I’m starving. What do you recommend?”

  “The farmer’s breakfast is popular. Three strips of bacon, three eggs, two sausage links, and two pieces of toast.”

  “Perfect. With coffee, please.”

  “How you want those eggs?”

  “Over medium.”

  “Toast?”

  “Wheat, please.”

  She scrawls the order onto her pad, and I tell her I’ll find a seat in a little bit. I can’t pass up a chance to meet some voters while I wait.

  I gravitate toward a table full of guys waiting on their orders, because one of them is wearing a hat that says “Vietnam Veteran.” There’s a tug at my heart as I wonder what he saw and did back then.

  “Sir?” I approach him as he sits in silence.

  “Yeah?”

  I offer him my hand to shake. “I just wanted to say thank you for your service.”

  His brown eyes warm as he shakes my hand. “It was my honor.” He eyes the ink on my forearms. “Did you serve?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m a Marine.”

  He nods. “You look familiar, son. But you’re not from around here.”

  “You’re running for governor!” One of his friends points at me from across the table. “Against that lady who wants to spend us into the poorhouse.”

  There’s a series of groans and muttered comments around the table. I can’t help smiling. Someday, I’ll be just like these guys, drinking coffee with my old-timer friends and ruminating on how good things used to be.

  “Sit down, Governor,” one of the men says, gesturing to an open chair.

  “I haven’t won yet,” I remind them as I sit down on the black vinyl-covered seat.

  The veteran waves a hand. “Act like you have. Arrogance is half the battle these
days.”

  “Did you really grab that lady’s behind?” one of the guys asks, pronouncing it bee-hind. His brows are arched with curiosity.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Bah.” The vet waves his hand again. “Can’t believe anything you read in the papers anymore.”

  The group at the table schools me on the issues they’re most concerned about, which I’m not too surprised are Medicare, Social Security, and support for veterans.

  Their issues are mostly federal ones, nothing I can have a direct role helping with if elected governor, but it’s nice to spend an hour with them anyway. It reminds me why I ran for office in the first place, which was to give people a representative who stayed true to what he ran on and who listened more than he talked.

  I leave a nice tip for the waitress, who all the men assured me is a “great gal.”

  On the walk back to my campaign bus, I take out my phone and see that Reagan texted me two photos. As soon as I click on the first one, my blood starts pumping harder.

  It’s her at the beach, wearing a purple bikini. She’s just ankle-deep in the water, a gorgeous sunset behind her. The second picture is a selfie of her and her mom, both of them smiling radiantly.

  Damn, is she gorgeous. It’s not just her physical beauty that gets me every single time, but the tenacity, intelligence, and loyalty I see in her deep blue eyes. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more.

  My only regret is how much she’s had to give up to be with me. She’s so loyal that I think she sometimes puts me above herself, and I don’t feel right about that. If I win the election, I plan to support her fully in whatever comes next for her.

  If there’s travel, we’ll make it work. I love her too much to let her dreams take a back seat to my own.

  I feel a renewed sense of purpose. Five years into my marriage with Reagan, I love her and want her more than I ever have. I wake up every day to make life better for my constituents, but Reagan is the only one I serve. I’d walk through fire for that woman.

  As I approach the door to walk onto the bus, though, my good mood is sucked away in an instant as I see who’s standing next to the door waiting for me.

  My father-in-law.

  “Stan.” I meet his eyes, but I don’t smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  He studies me for a full three seconds, seeming to size up whether I’m being sarcastic or not. I am.

  “I think you know damn well why I’m here, Jude.” He glares at the closed bus door. “And your driver won’t even let me on the bus.”

  “That’s because you’re not on the list.”

  “I’m family,” he reminds me. This lying bastard is definitely not my favorite relative, but I put up with him for Reagan’s sake. “And I offered to show ID since the driver didn’t recognize me.”

  Still arrogant. Even his long fall from grace didn’t change that. He hasn’t been a senator for several years now, so I’m not surprised my driver Rita didn’t recognize him.

  “It’s not her fault,” I point out. “She was following rules, and you’re not on the list. Why didn’t you call first anyway? What are you doing here?”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “Can we talk on the bus?”

  I narrow my eyes back. “Yeah, but if it’s about something that’s gonna upset Reagan, don’t expect to stay on there very long.”

  “Oh, it’s something that’s already upset my daughter.”

  Rita opens the doors and smiles at me. “Welcome back, Senator.”

  “Morning, Rita,” I pass her the paper cup of coffee I got to-go for her at the diner. “He’s with me.” I nod at my father-in-law. “So he can get on, this one time.”

  Stan stalks over to the small booth that serves as a kitchen table and meeting place on the bus. There’s a stack of paperwork there, which I sweep aside.

  “Afraid I’m out to get you?” Stan quips. “Here to steal all your campaign secrets?”

  “What do you want?” I ask him again, ignoring his bait.

  “What I want is to find out why you’re dragging my daughter through a sex scandal. It’s time you put her above your political aspirations for once, Jude. Unless the story I read this morning is right and she really has left you.”

  Rita exits the bus in two seconds flat. She signed nondisclosure agreements and I trust her to be here during any conversation, but it doesn’t look like she wants to witness this one. Can’t say I blame her. I’d probably punch Stan Preston in his overly active jaw if he weren’t Reagan’s father.

  “Wow.” I just stare at him for a few seconds. “I can’t believe you of all people are standing here right now saying this to me. I did nothing wrong. You know how dirty politics can get when a race is close. But you actually did betray your family for decades.”

  Stan’s face reddens with anger. “That’s night and day, Jude. What I did was consensual. I would never dream of touching a woman who didn’t want me to.”

  “Neither would I. And if you think what you did was okay, you’re even more of a dirtbag than I already thought you were.”

  “It wasn’t okay. But I’ve atoned for my mistakes.”

  “Christ, Stan. Having a secret family isn’t a mistake. And you only owned up when you got caught.”

  “Looks like you aren’t going to own up at all.”

  “I didn’t do it.” My muscles throb with the urge to shove him out the door of my bus. “I know it, and Reagan knows it. That’s all that matters.”

  “Then why is she hiding out at her mother’s house? If she wanted to stand by you, wouldn’t she be here?” Stan’s practically smirking at me.

  “Why don’t you ask your daughter why she’s not here?”

  “I’ve reached out to her.”

  I scoff. “Yeah, and no response, right? Because you fucked over your family. I live for my wife. I’d die before I hurt her.”

  “Don’t you see what you’re doing to her? Putting her through this humiliation? Photographers following her all over the place. If you really love her, drop out of the race.”

  I laugh in a low tone. “Seriously? A spokesman for the Democratic machine is standing here asking me to drop out, but your reasons are strictly altruistic, right?”

  “This is only about my daughter.”

  I point at the bus door. “Get the fuck out of here, Stan. I love your daughter more than life itself, or I’d toss your ass out the door myself. I’ll give you three seconds since we’re technically related.”

  He swallows hard and takes a step back. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me.”

  “I said what I needed to say. Reagan may not want me in her life anymore, but I still love her, and I want what’s best for her.”

  “Well, wife of the next governor of our state ain’t bad. And I worship the ground that woman walks on. So don’t fucking come back, Stan.”

  He nods once, then says, “You don’t want to admit it till your back’s against the wall, Jude. I get that. But if the allegations against you aren’t true, then why is Dominic Marino trying to buy that woman’s silence?”

  19

  Reagan

  My toes sink deep into the mushy wet sand, and water laps at my calves. With my eyes closed, the smell and feel of the beach transport me back to the day Jude and I got married in Hawaii. It will always be one of the happiest days I’ve ever known.

  Life is peaceful here. My mom and I have been walking on the beach several times a day, cooking simple meals, watching movies, and talking a lot.

  I feel guilty that it took her upcoming biopsy to get me here. We haven’t had time alone like this in years, and I can tell she’s loving it as much as I am.

  The sunsets here are incredible, and we’re soaking tonight’s up, walking arm in arm on the stretch of beach that’s hers.

  “It never gets old,” she says, smiling as she looks out over the vast ocean waves. “I felt like I really started to heal when I moved here. Everything was new, from the smells to the sou
nds to the views.”

  “You needed a fresh start.”

  “I did. And I’m happy here. I’m not ready to leave this world yet, but…if this is my time, I’ll go knowing I found peace. When I first found out what your father had done…I didn’t think I’d ever be at peace again.”

  I squeeze her arm. “Do you ever feel lonely here all by yourself?”

  “I don’t. I read a lot, and I have friends. There’s even…a man I’ve been seeing.”

  “Mom!” I stop and turn to her, my heart pounding with surprise and happiness. “Why haven’t you told me? I’ve been here for four days, and you’re just now mentioning this?”

  She tries to hide a smile as she looks out at the crashing waves. “I wasn’t trying to keep it from you or anything, I just…we’re taking things slow, you know? He lost his wife to ovarian cancer six years ago.”

  “Slow is good. I’m just so happy you’re putting yourself out there again.”

  “I didn’t want to at first, but Ben was persistent. He sent me roses every day until I agreed to have dinner with him.”

  I swallow against the lump in my throat. This is what my mom deserves—a man who treasures her. I could cry tears of joy right now.

  “Sounds like he knows a good thing when he sees it,” I say, bending down to pick up a shell embedded in the sand.

  “I haven’t told him about the biopsy.”

  I look up at her. “Why not?”

  She shrugs. “The loss of his wife was hard for him. She was very sick. I didn’t want to worry him unless I find out it’s cancer.”

  I sigh softly. Even the sound of the word sends a jolt throughout my body. We went to the hospital for her biopsy yesterday, and now we’re waiting for the results.

  I’m trying to be strong for her, but it’s taking everything I’ve got. I’ve always loved my mom, but I feel like I’ve neglected our relationship since getting married.

  I’ve been constantly on the go, always at Jude’s side or working on my own career. I haven’t taken the time to not just see my mom for holidays but to spend quality time together like we have these past few days.