The crowd is buzzing behind the closed door. A few people stand in the wings with me, ensuring the main television stations are present and that the journalists that will run the story on me are here. They may as well get the word straight from the jackass’s mouth. Me. That’s how I feel over this situation. It’s time to make things right.

I'm in a black suit, customary red tie and flag pin, and have a bullet-point list of things to say in front of me that I scribbled out in the Rover on the way over here. From now on, I’m going with my gut, speaking from the heart, instead of relying on someone else’s script.

I’ve found some peace since talking to Huxley last night, not as much as if I’d spoken with Ali, but more than I had.

"Are you sure you want to do this? Absolutely sure?" Graham eyes me carefully, sipping on a cup of coffee. He's wearing a suit like mine, blue tie, and a lot more worry lines. He knows what I'm doing, and while I think he disagrees, he's done what I knew he would do —he shut up and got behind me.

"Do I look sure?"

He blows out a breath and slips his phone from his pocket. His face shows a few more lines when he hands it to me. "It's Dad. I'll just step away while you take this."

"Pussy," I grumble, taking the phone and watching him walk away. I scan the immediate area and duck inside a small room to my right. "Hey, Dad."

"Barrett, what in the hell are you doing? I'm on my way over there now after getting a call from Graham. What is this press conference about?"

"I'm taking matters into my own hands."

He sighs, the sound rattling through the phone. "Son, don't go out there and ruin what we've worked for. You are so close, and you can still do this. I don't know what's going on, if you’re cracking under the pressure, but we got this. Just—"

"Hey, Dad?"

"What?"

"Just stop it, all right?"

"Barrett."

"No, seriously. Stop. You know I love you. You know I want to make you proud and do all the things you want me to do."

"Things you want to do."

"Things I want to do," I say, rolling my eyes. "But I also want to do those things my way."

"This can't wait for another couple of days? My Lord, Barrett! Have some sense about you. We’ve already lost Nolan and now you want to go out there and sink the rest of it? Why, son? Why? The election is today!"

I laugh at the fact that I don't feel like I'm letting him down. I don't feel like I'm dropping the line or failing at life. Because I know, without a doubt, that what I'm about to do is the right thing for me. "This is the most sensible thing I've ever done. Trust me."

He doesn't answer, and I know he's trying to wrap his head around the fact that I'm laying down the law. But it was time—we both know it.

Graham waves through the window in the door, and I heave a breath. "Dad, I gotta go."

"I want to talk to you about this later."

"That's fine, but I have a speech to give."

I click the phone off and open the door. Graham and I exchange a look, one I can't explain, but one that I know like the back of my hand. Looking at him and seeing it, feeling it, let's me know that even if my father hates me over this, even if Nolan blasts me all over the place, my decision today was worth it. For the first time in a long time, I can be proud of what I’m doing, who I am, what I’m working for—and it has nothing to do with politics or careers or family vendettas.

"You have about ten minutes," Graham says, stepping inside. "They're making sure the microphones and shit work. Do you need anything?"

I shake my head, pulling my phone out of my pocket. "Let's turn this fucking thing off. Fuck it." I glance down and see Monroe's number flashing on the screen. "It's Monroe. Do I take it?"

Graham leans against the wall. "Hey, you're playing hardball today. Let's go big or go home."

I click the button and raise my brows at Graham. "What's going on, Monroe?"

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Landry?"

"Oh, I don't know, taking my campaign back, maybe. That's what it feels like anyway."

"I got a call last night that you are losing your shit. That I should be worried about endorsing you.”

I laugh, for the first time completely uncaring of what he thinks of me. “Maybe you should be. I am kind of reassessing my choices today."

"You know you won't win this election if I recant my support. I have enough time to change my mind on you publicly and I will. Don’t test me.”

"Tell you what, Monroe," I say, noticing a woman waving at us on the other side of the door. Graham slips out to deal with her. "Tune in to the news in a few minutes and you'll find out exactly what I've decided. Then you can feel free to blackmail me, torch me all you want in the press."

“It's time,” Graham mouths through the glass.

"Talk to ya later." I click the phone completely off and open the door. "It's show time."