The next couple weeks fly by in a haze. I’m campaigning hard, my bus traveling up and down the state so I can meet with union groups, attend rallies, and try to reach new voters.

From the news coverage I catch up on every morning, I can see that Jude is working at the same pace. He seems to be in the zone, now comfortable answering questions from reporters. Photos show veterans rallying around him and women gazing at him like looks are all they need in their next senator.

I can’t deny I stare at those photos on my phone, remembering the night I slept in his arms. When I’m looking up at the ceiling of whatever hotel I’m in every night, I think of Jude and wonder if he’ll have another nightmare. I wonder if they happen every night. I wonder if anyone is there to comfort him if they do, and I secretly hope not. It’s selfish of me, but I can’t stand the thought of him finding solace in another woman’s arms.

We can’t be together, and yet his texts make my heart pound like nothing else. Whether they’re playful or serious, just seeing his messages on the screen of my phone stirs something in me I’ve never felt before.

I’m at my parents’ house for a rare day off. I’m stretched out on a patio lounger after helping my mom make lunch on the grill and clean up. Full of barbecue chicken and potato salad, I’m about to check out for a nap when my dad comes outside and sits down next to me.

“How’s it going?” he asks.

He means the campaign. My mom steered the conversation away from it during lunch, for which I was grateful. I have nothing else to talk about since the campaign is my life, but it was nice to hear Mom catch me up on what’s going on at home.

“Good,” I say cautiously. I dread these conversations, not knowing when he’ll pounce on my words.

“You’ve been doing outstanding, Reagan. Coming off really strong in interviews. Your poll numbers are solid, but I think we can edge them up some. Overall, I’m pleased, though.”

I pause before answering, waiting to see if he’s going to hit me with criticism. “Thanks, Dad.”

“I know I’m hard on you sometimes, but I want you to know I’m proud of you. Having been through so many campaigns myself, I just want to save you from my missteps. But you may not want that.”

I slide my dark sunglasses up and meet his eyes. “I appreciate the help, Dad. I wouldn’t be here without you. Some days I’m so stressed I feel like I can’t handle one more thing, but it’s not your fault.”

He smiles and crinkles form in the corners of his eyes. “Been there. I’m here if you need me, okay?”

“Thanks. I know you’re busy, too.”

“Never too busy for one of my children. And the offer stands on Tom Harbor. He’s on standby if you decide you need him.”

I sigh softly. “Maybe a consultation with him wouldn’t hurt. We could do a conference call or something.”

“Up to you.”

My mom walks out the French doors that lead to the patio, a tray with a pitcher of lemonade in her hands. She sets it between us and pours us each a glass. When my dad pats her hand as he takes a glass, she smiles at him broadly.

Will I ever have what they do? They’ve been together for thirty-four years after being introduced by mutual friends.

My phone buzzes with a text, and I pick it up and slide my finger across the screen. I turn it to make sure only I can see it and pull up a photo of Jude. He’s shirtless and seems to be on a boat on the water, the sun shining brightly on his already bronzed skin. Wearing a White Sox baseball hat and holding a bottle of beer, he looks relaxed. His lazy grin is sexy as hell.

Jude: My current situation.

I smile and write back.

Me: Looks like fun. I’m off today too.

Jude: Oh, I’m not off. This is the CTU president’s boat. We’re spending the day together.

My mouth falls open in horror. That union is backing me. It’s inconceivable they would even give him the time of day. I can’t find the words to text him back when another message appears.

Jude: Kidding, gorgeous. This is my buddy’s boat. I’m off too.

Me: You’re an asshole.

Jude: On occasion. Where’s my pic of you in a bikini?

Me: I’m at my parents’ house.

Jude: Hey, that’s cool. Ask your dad to snap a pic you can send me.

Me: Not even funny.

Jude: You miss me?

Me: Maybe.

Jude: I miss you. Even though you pretty much called me a misogynist the other day in that interview.

I smile, because I was wondering if he’d catch the veiled dig I’d made at him.

Me: The closer we get to Election Day, the dirtier it’ll get, Titan.

Jude: Dirty, huh? I like the sound of that.

“Reagan, do you feel like taking a walk around the neighborhood?” my mom asks me.

“Sure.”

I send out one more text.

Me: Have to go. See you Tuesday night at our debate?

Jude: Yep. Wear your hair up if you want to make me hard. ;)

It’s not just my cheeks that warm as I read and then reread his message, but my entire body. I’m glad I changed his contact name to Jude because it was getting weird having these heated exchanges with Justin Timberlake.

“You okay?” my mom asks. “You look flushed.”

“Oh, I’m fine. Let’s go.”

I leave my phone in my purse so I won’t be tempted to continue the conversation with Jude. It’s ironic he has people on his team looking for my weaknesses when my greatest one seems to be him.

* * *

There’s a palpable energy in the university auditorium in Chicago where Jude and I are about to have our first debate. This is a key moment for both of us. We have to come out strong but not overbearing, appear poised but approachable.

A man adjusts the mic on my collar and gives me a reassuring grin. “Just trying to hide it from the camera,” he says. “You all ready?”

“I am.”

It’s true. I spent fourteen hours yesterday and ten today in debate prep with my team. Lexi called Tom Harbor, and he sent her some good questions for us to anticipate. I answered all of them repeatedly, and my team threw in random, unexpected stuff like, “What makes you cry?” and, “Why don’t you like kittens?” Those questions help me prepare to stay calm when something random is thrown at me.

Lexi walks with me to my lectern on the brightly lit stage. I take the bottle of water she hands me and set it on a shelf inside.

“You’ve got this,” she says, squaring her shoulders. “Just remember you’re good enough, you’re smart enough, and—”

I roll my eyes and laugh at her mention of an old SNL skit we both love. “Thanks. How do I look?”

She looks over my conservative navy dress and nude heels for the dozenth time. “Great. I love your hair in that French knot.”

There’s a buzz in the audience, and we both turn to see what’s going on. Jude just walked out from the other side of the stage. I can’t breathe for a second. He’s striding toward me in a light gray suit and shiny black shoes, wearing a white dress shirt and a bright blue tie. He’s clean-shaven, and his hair is combed back neatly.

I can tell from Lexi’s inhale that it’s not just me who’s taken by Jude’s polished, commanding presence. His gaze stays on me, and I dig deep for my professional side.

“Ms. Preston,” he says, extending a hand toward me, “you look lovely.”

I take his hand and shake it, reminding myself how many eyes are on us right now. I can’t let my feelings show.

“Thank you, Mr. Titan. Good luck to you.”

“And to you.” He brushes a thumb across my knuckles before releasing my hand. His eyes are sparkling with warmth and confidence.

Well, fuck. So much for hoping he’d have first-time debate jitters. He looks positively presidential right now.

He turns to walk to his lectern, and Lexi mutters, “What was that?” under her breath.

“I’ll see you after,” I say to her.

She takes the cue and leaves the stage. I square my shoulders and wait for the countdown from the television production assistant.

Game face, Reagan. This is crucial. Own it.

The debate is being moderated by two Chicago news anchors who both introduced themselves to me backstage. One of them, Jenna Morrison, opens the debate and asks us to introduce ourselves.

My intro warms me up. The familiarity of the words builds my confidence, reminding me how many times I’ve rehearsed all this. Jude also nails his intro, and I realize he’s been practicing, too.

“Mr. Titan,” Jenna says, “you were recently voted Most Eligible Bachelor by Chicago Magazine. How do you feel about that?”

He grins sheepishly. “I’m honored.”

She smiles back at him. For fuck’s sake. What kind of impartial journalist is she?

“Is there someone special in your life?” she asks.

“Right now I’m totally focused on my campaign.”

There’s a chorus of disappointed groans from the audience. I clench the sides of my lectern, forcing myself to look impassive. Secretly, I’d like to kick it over.

“Representative Preston, where do you currently stand on gun control?” Jenna asks me. Apparently, she doesn’t want to giggle over my relationship status as she did with Jude.

“The same place I’ve always stood,” I say. “I’m for it, and here’s why.”

I launch into my prepared answer and fall into a groove, hitting every note I rehearsed. I’m feeling especially good as I refute Jude’s statement that he’s the only one who will look out for our veterans.

“I agree that our veterans need a voice,” I say. “I’ll also be their advocate. And in addition, I’m going to be a voice for other people I meet daily who aren’t being heard. The single mom who needs help to finish college so she can provide for her family. LGBTQ Americans who want and deserve complete equality. The college student who can’t afford rising tuition costs and faces graduating with a mountain of debt. Seniors who deserve to know Social Security and Medicare are safe and not being raided to fund other programs. Our country’s diversity is a tremendous asset, and we need to remember everyone deserves to be represented.”

Jude meets my eyes for a split second before speaking. “Representation is good, but let’s be real here. No one person can represent every voice out there because some of the voices are in direct opposition to each other. I will listen to all of them and then make what I feel is the best decision. That’s leadership. I’ve led before, sometimes in life-or-death situations. I don’t want to go to Congress and do what’s popular. I want to do what’s right. That’s what—”

“Are you saying I won’t do what’s right?” I cut in sharply. My heart is pumping rapid-fire in my chest as I realize he just accused me of just doing what’s popular.

“Your idea of what’s right comes back to who exerts the most pressure on you,” Jude says to me. “And that’s no fault of yours, it’s true of most politicians. I’ve got broad shoulders, and I can say no to the special interests. I don’t cave under pressure.”

“Neither do I.”

“You did when you cast your vote on state pension reform. Our state is broke, Representative Preston. We’re deeply in debt, but you kicked the can down the road instead of making a tough decision because your vote belongs to the teacher’s unions.”

His comment draws light applause.

“I voted my conscience,” I say, turning back to the audience. “Our teachers earned their pensions. I’m not raiding what they earned. I’ve cast votes on tough decisions.”

“During your short tenure as a state representative or while you were a law school student?” Jude asks sharply. “I’ve decided who would be first in line facing insurgents in battle, which means certain death.”

This is my moment. I don’t even think before speaking. “I guess I am nothing like you, Mr. Titan, because as a leader, I’d choose myself.”

“I did.” His voice is strong but laced with emotion. The auditorium falls silent. “I did,” he repeats, looking down at his lectern to compose himself. “I made choices that got men and women killed. Men and women with families. With lives in front of them.”

I swallow hard, not seeing my political opponent anymore. Now I see Jude, the man whose dark, haunted eyes reach straight into my heart.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly.

He meets my eyes for a brief second, and I see emotion swimming in his. It almost looks like regret.

“I’m no career politician,” he says to the audience. “But haven’t we all had enough of those? I think it’s time to elect an average person who’s worked for everything he’s got. No one’s spoon-feeding me answers or underwriting my campaign. This is just me, asking you to give me a chance to lead for you.”

The audience applauds loudly. I want to refute what he said, but I’m afraid to. I don’t know unequivocally that my father hasn’t seen to donations into my campaign. He’s told me he hasn’t, but he wants me to win so badly that I wouldn’t put it past him.

I’m gutted. I just got my ass kicked out here. That was the defining moment of the debate, and the momentum stays with Jude until the end. I keep my game face on, but it takes everything in me to remain composed. For the first time in this campaign, I want to cry angry tears. Jude is gaining on me, and instead of being the cutthroat badass I thought I was, I secretly fawn over him just like all the other women do.

Jude’s playing me. My weak spot is him because he wanted it that way. I feel like such an idiot for letting him set me up privately and then knock me down in a televised debate.

When we shake hands at the end of the debate, I still see emotions swimming in Jude’s eyes. I do what I have to do, posing for photos and doing two interviews before I go back to my small dressing room. And once there, I close the door and sit down, burying my face in my hands.

I’m falling apart, and the one person who could comfort me is also the reason I feel this way. I’ve never felt so backed against a wall—or so completely alone.