Chapter 18

It was late when Harrison got home from Arkansas three days after he’d left. It was late and he was a mess. He was a black hole; he was antimatter.

And so, when he got into the condo he went right to the liquor cabinet. Because what black holes needed was to get blind drunk.

“Harrison?”

He barely managed not to do a spit take.

“Ryan,” he said, turning to find her on the couch, an unfamiliar red blanket over her legs. “I thought you’d be in bed.”

“What time is it?” She sat up and he saw that she had her laptop wedged next to her body. She was sleepy and rumpled and … here. She was here in his lonely apartment. His lonely life. And for one acidic and strange moment he was so damn glad. Glad that he wasn’t alone. And that it was her on that couch, rubbing her eyes, feisty and wrong in every obvious way, but somehow right in ways that he couldn’t quite capture.

“Two … maybe three.”

“In the morning?”

He smiled into his drink. “Yes.”

“How was Arkansas?” she asked. Harrison finished off what was left in the glass before pouring himself some more. “Not good, I take it?”

“Fine,” he said, before shooting that drink back, too. He said fine because that was what he was used to saying. Because that was the answer his mother told him to make when asked anything.

Fine. Everything is just fine.

And because he didn’t know how to put into words all of the ways that things were exactly not fine. And because … he didn’t know where he stood with Ryan. For a second the other day in her bedroom when he’d handed her the key, he’d nearly kissed her. And she would have let him; she all but spelled out her welcome in those languid lines of her body.

But he couldn’t. And now he was glad he hadn’t.

He’d realized the last few days in Bishop that the reason his night with Ryan had been so amazing was that they had come together as equals. On every level. And that happened only because he’d lied.

“What happened to no lies between us?” she whispered.

He poured himself one more drink and then went to sit on the opposite side of the couch. She set down the computer and curled her legs under her, making sure the red blanket covered her toes. Perversely he wanted to fling back that blanket, reveal her toes. Her long legs. Her beautiful self.

“My sister is in love.”

“That’s bad?”

“She’s in love with a bodyguard, that man Brody who got her out of Somalia. But he has worked for some very bad people in the past. In particular, a dirty former senator who was selling arms to even dirtier people overseas.”

“Oh my God,” she breathed.

“Well, it gets worse. Because that senator was murdered in Cairo this morning, the security company Brody was working for is now under investigation. He will undoubtedly get subpoenaed, and in order to try to keep the blowback from hurting my sister, I made it clear that Brody wasn’t good enough and he had to break it off with her.”

Somehow the words did nothing to convey what happened in that back alley behind a bar in Bishop, Arkansas. The way he saw another man’s heart break wide open and all his self-loathing and despair come pouring out.

Brody had been in ruins and Harrison made it worse—he used it to his own end. He took all that self-loathing and turned it into a tool to drive the man away from his sister.

He moaned, in his throat, staring blindly out the window at the night.

“What I did,” he whispered, “was exactly what my mother would have done. Exactly. Protect the family, no matter who it hurts.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah,” he laughed humorlessly, remembering Brody’s resigned, dead eyes. Ashley’s livid, tear-filled ones. “Ouch. But he was already there; he knew they had to break up. If it was any other situation maybe it could have worked, but he was protecting really bad guys. He’s on his way back to Washington, D.C., to face the whole shit storm.”

“I meant ouch for you,” she said.

Oh don’t, he wanted to say. You’ll kill me with your sympathy and I don’t deserve it. “I doubt Ashley sees it that way. I’m pretty sure she hates me right now.”

“Well, she’s a grown woman. And her own person, so she can make her own decisions. It’s not fun having your brother interfere in your love life.” She ducked her head, catching his eye and smiling. “As I well know.”

Right. Wes. He remembered with sudden clarity that night in New York, how her faith in Harrison’s ability to save his sister stemmed from her faith in her own brother.

“What if … what if we brothers in our efforts to protect our sisters end up doing all the wrong things?”

Have we done the wrong thing? That was part of what he was asking. Is our strange relationship proof that Wes fucked up your life in much the same way I am fucking up my sister’s? Making sure that happiness is more elusive than it needs to be?

She didn’t answer the question, and the suspicion that he’d done the wrong thing with Brody and Ashley felt more and more confirmed. Nearly cemented, even.

Your brother didn’t treat you like you were your own person and I’ve turned around and done the same.

If we were any other family, he thought but realized he was just giving himself and his behavior an excuse.

“Where is Ashley? Wasn’t she supposed to come here with you?”

“She’s still in Arkansas, waiting for Brody to come back to her.”

“Is she coming to the fundraiser?”

“I have no idea.”

He heard the rustle and shift of the blanket, felt the cushions dip as she moved. She’s leaving, he thought, and he couldn’t blame her. He felt sick himself. Sick about the way he’d had to talk to Brody, sick that Ashley had finally found happiness with the wrong man at the wrong time.

But she didn’t leave. She sat right next to him, her knees still curled up so they pressed against his side, her kneecaps practically in his armpits. She touched him, briefly, softly brushing the hair over his ears.

His breath escaped his chest in a rush.

“That must have sucked,” she said.

Words beyond him, he nodded.

“Do you think this is going to hurt your campaign?”

“Yes. But mostly I think it’s going to hurt her. It’s going to open her up to all kinds of pain.”

“Well, that’s unavoidable, isn’t it? She’s in love, and that’s kind of what love does.”

“My family doesn’t do love, Ryan.”

“Nonsense. You just said your sister loves this Brody guy. And you clearly love your sister.”

He jerked away from her touch, frustrated and uncomfortable.

“How was the luncheon?” he asked, changing subjects. “Did they serve the peach cobbler?”

“How’d you know?” She laughed.

“They always serve it. It’s famous.”

“It was the most delicious thing I’ve ever had. I ate nearly every serving at the table.”

“I’m glad you’re eating. How … how was the doctor?”

He could not hide his interest and she sat back slightly, as if that interest were slightly repellant. Or perhaps just totally unexpected. Oh, man, that’s where he was with her.

She was surprised that he would be interested in the results of her doctor’s appointment.

And he was too much of a coward to try and change that impression, in fear that she didn’t want him to be interested.

“He said now that my appetite is back, I need to concentrate on gaining the weight I lost.”

“Did he say everything else was good?”

“I’m officially ten weeks, they count from my last period, not when we had sex and I heard the heartbeat.”

“Really?”

She smiled at him because his voice had kind of cracked. “I go for an ultrasound in a few weeks.”

Ask me, he thought. Please ask me.

“Would you like to come with me?”

“Yes. I would.”

She smiled, and then he did, and it didn’t feel awkward at all to touch her. He squeezed her hand, the smooth skin of her palm against his. She wore a loose shirt, the sleeve coming off her shoulder, and he imagined sliding his hand up her arm. To that velvet place at her elbow. Higher, to the curve of her shoulder; his fingers would find the edges and ridges of the muscles there. And then across her chest, the fluted collarbone under his fingers, the flat of his palm just touching that tender skin at the tops of her breasts.

Between his memory and his desire he could feel the pound of her heart under his hand, hear the hitch of her breath in his ear. He found himself bending, turning toward her, his arm reaching across the back of the couch as if he could just pull her against him. Into him.

It was what he wanted; at this moment he wanted it more than he wanted anything else.

But he was a Montgomery, doomed to live a rather incomplete life.

And he’d signed a contract promising he would not expect this of her. That sex would not enter into this arrangement.

And how could he deny his sister this and take it for himself?

“How did things go with Mother?” he asked, pulling his thoughts away from sex with the surest device at his disposal: a conversation involving his parents.

“Maybe you should have another drink,” she said in a dry voice.

His head shot up. “How bad was it?”

“It’s not selling-weapons-to-bad-guys bad, but it’s not good, either.”

“Just tell me.”

“Your mother is looking for Paul.”

“Your ex? Why?”

She shrugged. “Leverage against me? Who knows what she’s thinking.”

He groaned and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. She touched his back, one long stroke along his spine, and then she stopped and he wanted to beg her to do it again. He wanted to pick her up and pull her into his lap, forget the alcohol, forget his family, forget the thousands of ways everything could fall apart tomorrow and just … breathe her in.

“Noelle told me. She said I should have a plan for when this is over.”

“Didn’t it just start? We’ve been married less than two weeks.”

Her smile was sad. Grim, nearly.

It took a surprising amount of courage, it really did, for him to reach over and touch her hand. To gather her fingers in his. He expected with every breath for her to pull away. To sit back on the far side of the couch or to stand, leaving him alone in this dark room with his dark thoughts.

And he didn’t want that.

If this was taking advantage, he wanted that. Whatever it took to try and feel better. That’s how despicable he was. He didn’t care.

“I think … I think I’m going to go back to school,” she said to the blanket in her lap. “Take some college courses.”

“Really?”

“I’d like … well, I don’t know what I’d like. But I’m interested in psychology, and there are some night classes at Georgia Tech that I can take.”

“I think that’s a great idea. And you have most of the textbooks.”

She laughed, and he was so stupidly pleased to have made her laugh. “I’ll save so much money.”

Money. He sobered, his stomach bottoming out for the hundredth time tonight. “I can’t send you to school right now.”

“I don’t expect you to,” she said. “I’ll get financial aid—”

“You won’t qualify. Not anymore. Not as my wife.”

“Oh.” She sank a little farther into the couch. “I didn’t think about that.”

He couldn’t have predicted what came out of his mouth. For all his scrupulous plans for so many years, things had been going batshit wrong in his life lately, so it shouldn’t have been all that surprising when he opened his mouth and just told her the absolute truth.

“I’m … I’m broke, Ryan. I mean, like … I’ve got nothing. Between the campaign, getting my sister out of Somalia, and the stuff we set up for your family—I have nothing left. I’m running on credit. And that is truly about to run out.”

She turned wide eyes toward him. “Are you kidding?”

“It won’t be like this forever; it’s temporary. When the election’s over and I’m back at work—”

“What about the private jet?”

“My parents’.”

“Your car?”

“The contract was paid; when it runs out, it’s over.”

Her dark level eyes just stared at him and he didn’t know what she was thinking. But he’d never been broke before and he was amazed at how guilty it made him feel. Like he’d done something wrong.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t.” She shook her head. “You’re just never quite what you seem, are you? I have some money saved. I’ll see where that gets me.”

They sat there in heavy silence for a long time. “Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I think for a guy surrounded by so many people, you seem awfully alone a lot of the time.”

He imagined climbing the stairs to his bedroom with her. He imagined undressing in the half-dark and sliding under the sheets where he would find her, warm and welcoming, and he would pull her close, close enough that he could feel through their skin, their bones and muscles, the beating of her heart.

Sex wasn’t part of the fantasy; they were entirely too estranged for that. And he couldn’t shake this sense that he was taking advantage of her. But he imagined comfort. A hand in the darkness. Warmth where he was cold.

She stood, gathering her blanket and her laptop, and he knew the reality would be him taking those stairs alone. Climbing into his cold bed alone. Staring at the ceiling alone and thinking of her.

He grabbed her hand, pressing it quickly to his lips just to taste her, because though he could not imagine how they would get to his bedroom, it didn’t mean he didn’t long for it with every cell in his body.

“Stay with me,” he whispered. To his utter astonishment, he begged. “For just a little while. Just a little while longer.”

He held his breath waiting for her to make up her mind. Wondering why every quiet moment between them felt so dangerous, as if they were alone in a vast minefield.

He thought again of his sister and Brody, the way they seemed to genuinely care for each other, find comfort in each other. The way Brody broke it off with Ashley despite the devastation it caused him, because he knew it was the right thing for Ashley.

Harrison believed they were in love—his sister and Brody. And he believed that their love was good and selfless and in any other world, if Ashley were born in any other family, that love should have a chance to thrive.

But Ashley was a Montgomery, and that meant any emotion that could not be spun into gold for them had to be crushed out of existence.

This thing between him and Ryan—it was selfish. An agreement to keep them all safe. That practically guaranteed they’d never care for each other.

That is who I am.

That is what I know of love.

“Never mind,” he breathed.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

She’d gotten used to the political candidate. The man she’d signed the contract with, who saved all his smiles for voters, who projected warmth and compassion to everyone but her. This guy … on the couch, with the drink and the messy hair. All that confusion and grief in his eyes. This guy needed her—not to dress up and pretend to be someone else, but needed her warmth and her ear and her compassion—damn it! It was Harry, and she liked him.

Really liked him.

Which was why she should leave. Because they’d signed contracts that made liking each other nearly impossible and punishable. Because she would throw herself into his fire without thought, without care, until there was nothing left of her.

Because when she liked this guy—historically—it made her do reckless and foolish things. With a sudden spasm, like the shutter on a camera opening and shutting super fast, she remembered those foolish things. Her body remembered. Her skin, her breasts, between her legs—they twitched with memory.

“Never mind,” he said, and coiled to stand.

“No,” she said and sat down next to him, the blanket gathered in her lap. “I’ll stay.”

A plane flew across the night sky, red lights blinking in the distance. But he was silent, as if asking her to stay had exhausted what he had left of conversation.

“What was Arkansas like?”

“You’ve never been?”

“No,” she said, unmistakably sarcastic. “I’ve never had that pleasure.”

He turned to look at her, half-smiling. “Now who is the snob?”

Desire like speed entered her bloodstream and she felt every inch of her skin, so close to every inch of his.

“Point taken,” she said after a while.

“It was nice. Really nice. She’s met some good people, and Bishop is a nice community. She started this shuttle service for senior citizens.”

“She’s been there, like, less than a month!”

“I know,” he smiled, “she’s remarkably determined. And she doesn’t see obstacles. This thing with Brody, she only sees that she loves him.”

“She believes love conquers all?”

He lifted his nearly empty glass in a toast.

“Do we admire that?” she asked, trying to jolly him out of his bad mood the way she had that night at the bar. “Or make fun of it?”

“I don’t know.” Oh, he seemed so lost when he said that. Not at all the confident politician, the gleaming freshly minted Golden Boy of Georgia Politics.

He seemed like a man who hadn’t been loved in a very long time. If ever.

And as shitty as her family life was now, it had been amazing at one time. She had been loved and loved well by all the people she needed.

Harrison never had.

“Oh goddamnit,” she muttered before leaning forward, pitching forward, really, right into his chest. Her arms slid around his neck, her belly pressed against part of his shoulder.

His entire body jerked at the contact as if he’d been startled awake from some dark sleep.

“What are you doing?” he asked. His hand without the drink in it landed against her back, his touch searing through her shirt and the light sweater.

Oh God, the thoughts she had. The memories of that night, the feel of him in her hands, her arms. The way he tasted. Smelled. She wanted to add a second chapter, a whole new set of memories.

“I’m hugging you. This is a hug.”

“Oh.”

He put down the glass and turned slightly in the couch, embracing her fully, pulling her up against him. Cheeks, chests, arms all touching. The blanket in her lap kept her from crawling into his and she supposed she should be grateful to that red blanket, but in actuality she thought she might burn it tomorrow.

Her body’s hunger, its desperation after weeks of being numb, was shocking. It hurt almost like blood flow returning to a leg that had gone to sleep. She wanted him more than she’d wanted anyone. Ever.

The Internet was right. And she was one of those women for whom desire roared back, fueled by hormones and a certain lush new way of living in her body. Her breasts felt weighted, her skin like velvet. Between her legs, blood pounded like some kind of tribal drum.

Oh for fuck’s sake, she thought. Let’s not go overboard.

“What if … what if I needed to kiss you,” he breathed.