Yeah, yeah, I know I’m not supposed to have been here. I’m not supposed to steal the fucking thunder or whatever the fuck it is that I’m doing right now. Well, I’m here. So fucking sue me.

“If you’re done picking on my girlfriend, I’ll take the rest of her questions and tell you whatever you want to know,” I say to the gaggle of journalists who were getting ready to tear into Jocelyn.

Besides, it looks like she actually is appreciating the fact that I’m here.

“Don’t worry, I’m here now. Everything is gonna be all right,” I tell her. She nods to me. She’s overwhelmed by what she had to go through—she hasn’t had something like this that she’s been thrust into ever. It takes a lot of fucking balls to do that.

If I ever had any fucking doubt that she loves me, it’s all gone now.

Now it’s time for me to save the fucking day.

“Get your cameras ready folks, because that baby, as far as I know, is mine,” I say into the microphone.

And boom. The photographers just let that shit fucking fly. They’re taking so many fucking pictures of me I’ll probably be on every single magazine and newspaper cover in the morning.

They’ll probably put the most controversial fucking headlines they can. Think about it. The son of the mayor of New York City just admitted to fucking his wife.

Only let's get one thing straight right from the get go here, folks.

I am not fucking related to Michael Anders. Or to Jocelyn Carter.

That’s right. It’s about time we start using her maiden name because by the time I get done, there won’t be a person in this city who will want her to stay married.

“Did your father know at the time the baby was conceived?” a reporter from the front row asks.

“Are you ashamed of yourself?” another reporter asks over him. I turn to him on that one. It’s the same guy who brought out the whole line of questioning as to whether or not the babe was mine—the one who torpedoed a perfectly good press conference.

This is the guy who I’m gonna destroy first.

“I’ll take that question…sorry, I don’t know your name,” I say into the microphone, looking at him.

“Carson Maddox, from the Downtown Metro,” he says back to me.

I nod. Here I go.

“Well, Carson Maddox, you asked a pretty crazy question. Am I ashamed for what I did?” I start and the reporters quiet down. “Absolutely not.”

The commotion picks up again. Along with the camera flashes and more questions.

But I’m not done yet and I start speaking into the microphone.

“And I’ll tell you why not,” I begin and the hubbub starts to die down. “When I first came back to New York, I was the Lance Anders that the Daily Journal had gotten used to. Hard partying, chasing after anything in a skirt, and ready to fight for anything.”

People start to quiet down and listen to me now that they realize I’m not just talking in a fucking sound bite.

“I have to be honest, that kind of life is great if you want to go through life protecting yourself from getting hurt,” I tell the crowd. “But if you ever want any sort of relationship at all where you care about someone, it’s not going to be possible.”

A few photographers snap pictures. I continue.

“I was a master at protecting myself. Not just from women. But from my own family. Ever since my mom died, I’ve been building walls around myself. So much so that what little family I did have left I was able to effectively sideline. I did that so well I didn’t even know what was going on in my stepfather’s life till I got to his house,” I say talking directly into the cameras in the back. “But when I did finally arrive, I didn’t see a marriage between dad and Jocelyn. I saw two people who were unhappy with each other.”

Now I got their attention. Time to bring it home.

“I’ve always operated according to my own personal code of honor, folks,” I tell the press. I’m fucking serious about this too. “I would never break up a happy home or a solid marriage. But what I saw wasn’t a happy home. And it sure as fuck was not a solid marriage.”

People are starting to soften. I can tell just by looking at their faces.

“Over the course of time I came to realize that not only was there no love in this marriage, but it was an union that would be better off it were dissolved,” I conclude. Let’s see what counterpunch the news has.

“Does your father share that opinion?” a reporter from the back asks me.

“First off, he’s my step-father, as Jocelyn said,” I reply without missing a beat. “And secondly, yes, by his own actions my stepfather had conceded that this marriage was not suitable for him. Don’t get me wrong, we still had a fucking argument when I brought this up, but it was something that we all knew was under the surface.”

“Do you think this will help or hurt Mayor Anders in the campaign?” another reporter from the crowd asks.

“I think without having to be tied down with a marriage that wasn’t working out for either of them—and without going into the specifics let me fucking assure you that it really wasn’t working out for either—I think this can only help my stepfather do his job as the best Mayor in the history of this city,” I say all in one sentence. I have no fucking idea if dad will turn out to be a shitty mayor in his second term or not, but I need to play nice right now. I’m backed against the wall enough as it is without needing to take on someone who makes Machiavelli look like a little kid.

If you’re shaking your head at me, hear me out, okay? Can you really deny the possibility that Michael Anders—who we already know is capable of seducing a man and then blackmailing him about it for the rest of his life, including to force him into giving him his only daughter’s hand in marriage so he can carry on a charade—wouldn’t stoop to the level of setting this whole thing up to blow up in our faces?

I’m sorry to start throwing conspiracy theories out there, but it’s gotta be fucking said. Who’s to say that Michael didn’t just plant a reporter in here to ask Jocelyn the question that got her tripped up? If you’re thinking the election, think about how many pity votes he could come out getting as the husband who’s wife cheated on him. How many women would vote for him based on the fact that they don’t like cheating? And we know he polls not so well with women.

That’s why despite all the planning, I still wanted to be close in case anything like this went down. Because when push comes to shove, I’m going to protect Jocelyn over my stepfather.

“At the end of the day, Michael Ander’s first and true love is public service and holding office,” I say into the microphone. “He’s better suited than his wife. He lives and breathes for something like that. Neither Jocelyn and I are like that.”

The cameras continue to roll and I can tell it’s time to bring it all home.

“Let me be clear and make this final point,” I say in a commanding voice. “I was rescued from my aimless and stagnating ways by this woman standing next to me. It takes a lot of courage to come up here and admit you did something wrong, and she did that with class, grace, and humility. I admit that I did wrong as well. I’ll probably have to atone for my sins one day, but right now, I want to move on with my life and I’m sure she wants the same. There’s nothing nefarious going on in that.”

“Lance,” a female voice shoots out. “Did the estrangement of several years cause you any contributing desire in addition to your attraction for going down this path and potentially torpedoing his campaign?”

She thinks I fucking planned this out?

“I think you give me too much credit,” I quip back sharply. There is a light ruffling of laughter. “All I did was find two unhappy people when I entered their lives.”

I look to Jocelyn and she smiles at me. “Hopefully by the time I leave at least one of those people is happier with me.”

“But you still engaged in an improper affair, did you not?” the reporter follows up. She’s not letting this one go.

I sigh. “Is it cheating if there is no love in the marriage?” I ask.

There’s several murmurs of discussion and the voice replies back. “If there was truly no love, why didn’t your father and Mrs. Anders file for a relatively simple divorce? Why go through the pitfalls of cheating on a spouse?”

Fuck.

Where did that come from?

In my pause, the reporter pounces. “In fact, isn’t it true that the only reason you’re standing here today is because Mrs. Anders got pregnant? That if she hadn’t, you would simply carry on as before.”

Fuck, he’s just backed me into a corner.

Michael made it explicitly clear not to air the dirty laundry, but I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do now to defend Jocelyn and me. I can’t talk about the specific cases where the marriage looks fucking fake, because it’ll make dad look bad. And he’ll retaliate with enough overkill to steamroll us.

But on the other hand, I can’t talk about knowingly cheating, or helping a woman cheat.

Seriously, this smacks of a Michael Anders setup, doesn’t it?

I look to the right of me and see Jocelyn standing there, placing her complete faith in me.

I just wish I knew what to say.

That's when another voice comes from behind the crowd.

“He didn’t cheat, because the marriage was never proper to begin with,” the voice states with commanding authority.

I can’t see who it is, but I see the people part—similar to how Moses parted the Red Sea.

And out of the corner of my eyes, I see the front row begin to split up in different sides.

And my dad comes walking out.

He turns his back to me and faces the cameras. “Maybe I should say some words now too, give my side of the story.”

Yeah, he’s definitely up to something.

I just wish I knew what.