"There are of course multiple ways to look at this situation," my attorney, John Barlow, is telling me as he leans back in the chair in my library. "But the only way that’s going to get you through it is by looking at it from a perspective of saving yourself."

I shake my head and take another sip of the scotch. Honestly, I have no fucking clue what’s going on anymore. Every time it seems like I’m making some progress or even Vivian and I are getting somewhere or Carter and I are patching things up, something seems to drop and make things even worse.

I mean, this has been a litany of getting slapped around by life, if you ask me. Talk about what could go wrong actually going wrong? It’s as if someone sat down and made a list of all the bad things that could happen to us and then actually made them happen. All so someone else could read about it and be entertained.

Well, as much as I hope you are entertained, I hope you fucking know that it's not fun being impeached by the people you used to call your friends.

Or watching the woman you love being forced to stay the fuck away from you.

Or watching someone you could have gotten along with pretty well end up stabbing you in the fucking back.

So, yeah, I hope you’re entertained. Because my life is a piece of shit right about now.

"I don’t even know if I can save myself right now, John," I say, taking a deep sigh.

He looks at me and says, "Sure you can, Liam. You’re just going to need the mental discipline to be able to follow through."

I look at him with a puzzled expression as he continues. "You’re going to need to follow along with what Carter is going to do and blame everything on Vivian Hawthorne. How you were working toward a deal with Carter before Vivian came in the picture. How the only reason you spoke to Tina Ling was to get all possible viewpoints. Remember, Tina and Vivian were at some fundraiser a couple weeks ago put on by China First Bank. That’s where you snare that sumbitch Carter too. How because you don’t play the money game they’re trying to get you out."

I’m fucking shocked as I look at the lawyer sitting in front of me.

"Jesus, you want to take a breath in between stabbing people in the back that many times, John?" I ask my lawyer. "I don’t think Vivian or Carter would ever fucking work with Tina Ling, and I don’t see how Vivian could ever have led us to the shit show that’s going on right now."

John shrugs. "It doesn’t matter," he says looking at me with an almost open expression. "What matters is that we start getting it out there and get the media to start smelling for it. Before you know it, they’ll have done most of the work for us. They’ll dig out a story, but more than likely they’ll put enough allegations and half-facts that they find out there that it’ll cloudy up the waters enough to get you out of the predicament you’re in now."

Jesus fucking Christ. John leans back in his chair, satisfied with himself for coming up with a brilliant approach.

"How long you been doing this, John?" I ask. He’s supposedly one of the best political operatives there are in the state. And I can see why. The man has the compassion of a snake.

"Fifteen years," he beams at me proudly. "I’ve helped too many politicians through too many scandals. I can’t even remember what they are anymore.

John is the type of consultant and operative that people call when shit really starts hitting the fan hard. He’s the person they call when they need someone to fix up a giant and colossal fuckup that they may have committed.

He’s also probably right. Muddy up the waters. Confuse people. Give them a common enemy to get angry at. And they’ll devote less of their energies toward trying to crucify me. It’s a model that politicians on both sides of the aisle have used before. And they’ll use it again.

What’s even more fucking telling is that John doesn’t have any sort of allegiance to the fucking truth. The truth is to him whatever he fashions and other people believe. If all of a sudden people started believing in ghosts, John would probably accept it. But he’d have a plan ready to get people to start believing anything else as well.

There’s nothing fucking real about this man. It’s all 100% fake.

That’s not what I got into politics for. There’s nothing fake in how I grew up. Nothing fake in the misery of being poor.

"John?" I ask, walking towards the hallway as I head out the library.

"Yeah, Liam?" he answers, curious as to why I’m walking away.

"Get the fuck out of my house," I say to him.

There’s a pause. I hear him sigh and shuffle some papers in the other room and slowly get up and walk down the hardwood floors till he comes to the hallway.

"You sure?" he asks with a pained expression. "It’s only going to get uglier."

I shake my head. "I don’t care how ugly everyone else gets," I tell him. "I didn’t get into politics to start throwing people under the bus."

John nods. "You’re a good man, Liam," he says to me as he walks out the door. He pauses and looks at me. "Maybe too good for this game."

I close the door and take a sip of the scotch I’m still holding. I got home to take this meeting with John and decided midway through that I needed a drink. I just didn’t want to deal with the level of fucking bullshit that saving myself was going to entail.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? I could maybe save myself. Throw some people under the bus. Owe a few favors.

But then what? Someone else would come knocking looking to get back at me for fucking over their friends. Like a fucking vendetta. And someone I owed favors to would collect. And I’d be building more fucking alliances and spend even more time protecting my fucking back.

This is what our politicians do all fucking day. No wonder shit is so fucked up.

But I mean, am I any different? Sure, I came into this job determined to help people. I didn’t want these people in New Kingston to keep going on with their lives without someone hearing their voices. Because it’s one thing to be poor in America; this country still gives you the chance if you want to pull your shit together and make a living somehow to give your kids a better life.

But it’s another thing to be powerless and voiceless in a fucking democracy. When no one can hear your voice calling out in pain, no one is going to stop doing it.

But once you’re heard, you’re 90% of the way there.

Maybe I could have done things differently is all I mean, you know? Maybe I was being just like the people I’m complaining about when I sat there and told the press that if Carter had a problem with the factories he could just fuck off.

Why the fuck did I do that? Because he stopped on the way to the city to tell a small town mayor what to do? Because he made me feel small—that he fucking owned me—and I wanted to show him?

And Tina Ling. Why couldn’t I just go and come out and let people know what was going on with her? How she was trying to fucking bribe me, and maybe even fuck me. Oh, right. Because I was worried what Vivian would think. But it all came out in the end anyways, didn’t it? Now everything is fucked up.

But it doesn’t have to stay like that, I think.

What? You think it can’t get any worse, right? I bet you’re even wondering how we could ever get to a HEA from here.

Well, I don’t know the answer to the second question. Or even the first.

But I do know that Carter and I were on the cusp of something close. We had something worked out almost. But we let it all fall to shit.

I think I know how I can bring it back again. No, I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you. You’ll find out soon enough.

Don’t give me that look. Just know that it’s going to be fixed soon. And no, I won’t tell you even if you suck my cock, so please don’t fucking try it, babe.

I head once more from the library where I was sitting and finishing my scotch to the hallway where I open the door.

I need to get to New York City where I can find Carter and Vivian.

I open the door.

That’s when I see Carter walking up the steps to the deck that leads to my front door.

His motorcade is quietly waiting for him in my driveway.

"We need to talk, Liam," Carter says. "I think we need to figure out a way to fix this now that they’ve started attacking Vivian."

I nod. And smile—slightly.

"I’m willing to work with you if it means protecting Vivian," I say to him. I mean it.

I was angry at Carter for talking down at me. But I can’t let anger cloud the…love…I feel for her.

"I think I would agree if you said, ‘We’re going to make those fuckers sorry they ever fucking bothered to fuck with us’," Carter says with a smile.

"What the fuck? You think I’m 12 years old or something, Carter?" I ask with a smile.

"No," Carter says, extending his hand. "But I’m willing to work with you to find a solution to this mess. Because I can’t the two of you out of my head."

It’s a good sign if we’re already thinking the same fucking thing.

Carter walks inside. We’re going to have a lot of talking to do.