Zach

---

“That was the wrong thing to say, wasn’t it?” I asked on my way back from the bathroom, the question an echo from the other night.

“It wasn’t. Not at all.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You’ve got more courage than me. I guess that’s what it is.”

“I have more courage than you? The guy who never leaves his house is more courageous than the schoolteacher running for city council?”

“You’re blind, Zach.”

Great. Now she’s using the blind card as an excuse for the way I live my life. I love her for it, but I can’t let her do it.

“You saying you’ve never seen a blind person out in the world?”

“I have, but—”

“I was blinded in a car accident, okay? A trick of fate that took my parents and left me without one of my senses. I’ve adapted. But look at me. I can’t even make myself leave my house. You’re the one who’s brave, Veronica. You’re willing to get out there and fight, while I do everything from here. Hiding.”

“I don’t feel brave.” She wrapped an arm around my chest and gave me some of her warmth.

“Why’d you run? I mean you explained who you’re fighting for, but what was the last straw? Or was it a gradual thing?”

“It was gradual, I guess. And then sudden.”

“Oh, that clears it up.”

I loved the light smack she gave my arm before kissing it.

“It was the library,” she finally said. “Library and lunch, in the same day.”

“What do you mean?”

“They proposed to cut funding for both the school library and the city branch, downtown.”

“I had no idea.” If I’d known, I might’ve done something. Or maybe not. I was always connected, but my world was way outside of this place. It was starting to sound like I should have been paying attention to things closer to home.

“Well, you wouldn’t. It doesn’t exactly make headlines with all the crap happening around us nowadays. But these little things matter, you know? There are folks who wouldn’t read a book if not for the library. It’s a place to learn, to congregate. It’s shelter and warmth for some. I grew up hoarding library books. We couldn’t afford to buy books, but I read.”

“What about the lunches?”

“The policy in our school system has always been to let kids accrue debt as the year goes on. We’d never turn away a kid who couldn’t afford to pay. And it’s a buck freaking fifty, you know?” An ache started up in my chest at the emotion in her voice. “If a family can’t afford to send their babies to school with that much cash—even when they’re already on a reduced lunch program—how can they possibly get them clothes or books, for heaven’s sake? So, our fiscally conservative school board has voted to make those kids pay, starting next year. Can you picture the embarrassment? You’re ten years old and you get to the register and Nana Schwartz has to shake her head no, that you can’t have that crappy slice of pizza and carton of milk? Every kid will see you’re one of the poor ones? And what if it’s the only food you’re getting all day?”

I was stroking her, not interrupting or making any noise, just giving her what comfort I could.

“Look, Zach. I don’t… I can’t love a man I just met, okay?”

I nodded, about to tell her it was fine, I’d wait, but she went on, leaving me blinking. What did she just say? Did that even just happen?

“Those babies, when I’ve got them in my class. They’re four or five and they’re hungry to learn. Playing is learning, you know, and they’re smart. They want to read, they want to count. They want it all so badly. But if they’re malnourished, if they haven’t eaten a veggie in two weeks? If they don’t have a single book in their house? If their parents can’t read enough to decipher their field trip permission slips—much less pay for that field trip? Well…”

“I’ll bet you pay for them to go, don’t you?”

She cry-laughed and nodded against me and I rolled into her, wrapped both arms around her and held her. I wanted to do more, give her more. I wanted to fix everything.

And I would, dammit. I’d do whatever it took. Give her whatever she needed.

“You’re amazing. You know that, right?” I asked her.

When she started to shake her head, I held her tighter, and rested my chin on the top of her head with a sigh. “You are some kind of magic, Veronica Cruz, waltzing into my life like this. I know it’s cheesy to say, but I feel like the luckiest man in the world right now.”

I soaked in the happy sound she made and listened to her breathing.

When she fell sleep, I peeled her warm, lush body from mine, slipped into my jeans, and padded my way quietly down to the basement, where I sat at my terminal and started typing.

It was time to ramp things up.

I hated doing it this way and I had a feeling she wouldn’t like it, but I had no choice. The wrong person was winning this election and I knew, without a doubt, what my mission was—it was easy. Take care of my girl. Keep her safe and happy. And do whatever it took to make sure she won this seat.

---

Veronica

---

It was two days before the election and I was tired, but buzzed. I was standing in the middle of a group of hyped up four-year-olds, which added to my overall dizziness. Add to that the three events I had to attend after school, and I wouldn’t see Zach for hours. But I’d see him. I’d spent every night but one at his place for the past few weeks and, even so, I missed him.

Which was ridiculous.

And scary. Because I was so head over heels in love that I didn’t think I’d ever get over him.

But, God, he was perfect. He cooked for me, took care of me, made me feel coddled and beautiful and then, in the bedroom…

I let out an inappropriate sex-sick sigh before glancing guiltily at Betty, who was holding her favorite book up, and saying, “Weed, weed Miss Ronica. Weed Pweese.”

I grabbed the book, with a glance at the clock.

“The day’s done, Betty. Time to clean up and go outside.” I put a hand on her head. “But we’ll look at this tomorrow, okay?”

“‘Kay.” The others stampeded to their cubbies and waited for me to let them out the door.

Once the last kid was out, I pulled out my phone and turned it on.

Holy shit. Somebody’d blown up my text messages.

O’Neal, asking me to call her early this morning, which was totally unlike her. A couple from Zach, checking in, and then a slew more from my campaign manager and various friends.

Everything good? The last one was from Zach, who’d sent more than usual. Also weird. Something a little off slithered down my back.

Great. Just off. Headed to Southwood for a Meet and greet. Town Hall after that.

His response dots appeared and I switched over to O’Neal.

What’s up?

Back to Zach.

There’s a car for you outside. Blue Audi in the teachers’ lot. You can’t make it on the bus.

Could too. I smiled. God, I loved him. But thank you. I accept. This once.

:-)

I sent a kiss in response to his smiley and went back to O’Neal’s texts.

Can we talk?

Yeah. Will call in a sec.

I ran out to the car, chatted with the driver and took off, a little giddy at not having to bus it. I’d be early, for once!

I tapped her name and put the phone to my ear.

“Hey, O’Neal!”

“You got a minute?”

“Um, yeeees.” Why did this sound ominous? “Seriously, why are you blowing up my phone?”

She paused, which sent another wave of foreboding through me. Hesitation was so not my best friend’s bag.

“Okay, O’Neal, now you’re scaring me. What the hell?”

“Did you see my piece today?”

“In the paper?”

“Yeah. Front and center.”

“Oh! Congrats! That’s amazing! No, I’ve been at school since—”

“I’m sending it to you. Call me back.”

I clicked on the link and read.

Clint Riley Embezzlement Claims Rock Election

I scanned it. Riley’d been caught stealing from the company where he was COO. No charges had yet been filed, but…

Another link popped in. This headline read: Clint Riley, Jr. Drops City Council Race Handing Victory to Cruz.

I dropped the phone, my hands numb, my face, my nose, everything prickling.

The phone rang from the floor of the car and stopped by the time I got to it. Breathing hard, I called O’Neal back.

“What’s going on?”

“You won!” Her excitement sounded forced. “Congratulations, V!”

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. I didn’t want it this way. Victory was meaningless if my opponent dropped out of the race. I needed the voters to be behind me, not resentful of my presence there. It felt like I’d cheated.

“Who broke the embezzlement thing?”

“I did.”

My eyes narrowed. Why did she sound so uncomfortable? “Where’d you get the lead?”

“You know I can’t divulge sources to you, Veronica. It’s about journalistic integrity. That would be—”

In that moment, something switched in my brain and everything crystallized: Zach’s mystery job, his seemingly endless amounts of money, the army of college kids at his beck and call: Horde. “Did Zach have anything to do with this?”

She stuttered to a stop. “Uh, not that I know of. Why?”

“There’s a guy named Horde. He’s big in—”

“Can’t talk about this.” She was firm in her denial. It was all the confirmation I needed. “No idea who it was who got in touch with me, and you know I’m not allowed to…”

I was breathing so hard I stopped hearing her. Was this a panic attack? Oh my God, it was. I was having an attack.

“Veronica?” O’Neal sounded concerned. How long had I been sitting here, breathing hard like this? “Veronica, you okay? Where are you?”

I turned, tried to focus on the passing landscape. Where? Where am I?

In a car. In a car that he’d ordered. Wearing shoes that he’d given me to replace the Chuck Taylors I’d worn out canvassing. Winning an election that he’d somehow rigged.

Was Rylie even guilty? Oh no, if Zach had planted evidence to make me win, this was—

O’Neal’s no-nonsense voice cut through my freak-out. “Hand the phone to the driver.”

Dumbly, I did.

He gave me a look, but listened. “Headed to the Loft on Main.”

The shit you’re a crazy lady look he sent me would’ve been funny if I could’ve laughed through this. But I couldn’t. It felt like I wouldn’t laugh again.

When the car dropped me in front of the building, I stood there, head hurting like it was caught in a vise, everything else numb, and I blinked.

Someone spoke to me, I shook their hand, nodded, smiled, got caught up in their wake and headed toward the door. At some point, my campaign manager talked to me and, when I didn’t answer, she took me aside.

“What’s up?”

“I can’t do this.”

“Tonight? You sick?”

I shook my head and the world wobbled. Plastic chairs slid across my vision, sending my hand out to the side. Someone caught it: O’Neal.

The two of them spoke and, slowly, their words started to emerge. I wasn’t okay, they needed to get me home. Event canceled.

I let them do it, feeling like a coward, but incapable of doing it on my own.

I blinked and found myself beside O’Neal in her big, old mess of a Subaru.

“Let me get you home.”

I nodded. About five minutes into the drive, I slapped a hand onto the dashboard and yelled—not a good idea to startle O’Neal, who was a crappy driver at the best of times, but she kept it together.

“What the hell, man?”

“Take me to his house.”

“Zach’s?”

I nodded. She knew. She knew it was him. He’d done this, somehow. Because he hadn’t trusted me to win this election on my own.

I gave her the address and sucked awareness back into my body with each breath.

She pulled up the drive and whistled. “What the hell is this place?”

“His beard.”

“It’s huge.”

“Yeah, well, it’s bigger than it looks.”

I reached for the door, swung it open and turned back to her. “Wait for me. Please?”

At her nod, I got out and stomped to the door.