Veronica

---

I couldn’t run for city council if I was dead.

Which was why I’d saved the house in the woods for last. That way if the person who lived there turned out to be an ax murderer, I’d at least get my canvassing in first.

No one could say I wasn’t dedicated.

I hiked up the long, wooded drive on the very edge of town, feeling exactly like a horror movie heroine before things got really bad. If I were in the audience right now, I’d be screaming at me to turn back.

Who would live out here?

I rounded the last bend and stopped.

The house’s windows were dark, with no cars in the driveway, but it was the only house I hadn’t gone to that didn’t sport a Rylie for City Council sign in its yard. I had to at least give it a try.

I could barely see the violet glint of my sneakers as I picked my way through soggy, overgrown grass and up sagging steps to a porch that had seen better days. It wasn’t until I got to the door that a wave of something hit me—a prescience or foreboding.

This house will change my life.

Ignoring the shiver that worked its way up my spine—it felt kind of good under the sweat I’d worked up these past few hours—I tried checking the time on my phone only to find the battery dead. Right. Now, I couldn’t even check the app again to see if this house had been canvassed since an hour ago, or even what party they were registered under. Or call for help if this was, in fact, a murder house.

Whatever. It was still light out. I squinted over my shoulder. Well, lightish. Everything was muted this deep in the woods.

I lifted my hand to rap on the door, defeat already settling heavily on my shoulders, and stilled. What was that? Eyes narrowed, I leaned closer to the chipped wood.

Music! Ha! The house was inhabited. Something itched between my shoulder blades and I knocked.

I counted the seconds in my head to the tune of “Wheels on the Bus,” like I’d done at every other house I’d visited today, and for the past few months. Earworm from hell.

Nothing.

But someone was in there, dammit.

It was almost full-on dark now. For about twenty seconds, as my yard signs started to slip from my sweaty hands, I considered turning back and calling it a day. Everything would be so easy if I just let those signs drop and walked away, not just from this house, but from the election, from everything.

Clint S. Rylie—or Wily Rylie as we’d known him in high school—chose that moment to park at the far end of the driveway in his pristine black Audi. He emerged with his pretty blond wife, who let two well-behaved children out of the backseat. All that perfection and I still didn’t trust him. I remembered, even if nobody else seemed to, how he’d cheated to get his straight As. Everybody’d known it was happening, but he’d never once been caught.

It looked like he and his wife were unloading a slew of items—probably their magnets, stickers, goody bags, for God’s sake—and rather than curl up and hide like the low-budget fraud I was, I gripped my garish Veronica Cruz for City Council yard signs tighter and kicked the shit out of the creepy house’s front door.

I must have pounded pretty hard because I didn’t hear footsteps or anything, but suddenly the door was yanked open and I was frozen in raised-limbed limbo. I had no idea how long I stayed in that position—suspended with a foot and a hand up, about ready to claw my way through that door.

“Yes?” The man in front of me was nothing like the monster, or the sad, wizened old woman I’d expected to live in this house. Not this…this…gosh, Amazon was a description just for women, right? Okay, so Superman, maybe. With dark hair, smooth, pale skin and wide cheekbones, and eyes that made me blink a few times and look away from their strangeness. Oh…and the man was clearly not happy with my intrusion.

Following a path created from repetition rather than instinct, my hand opened and shifted to waist level, ready to clasp. Shaking hands with parents was one thing, but as a politician…

I steeled myself against the usual imposter syndrome and widened my smile.

“Hello, I’m—”

“Can I—” He cleared his throat and ignored my hand entirely, his words overlapping mine. “Help you?”

“Hi there. My name’s Veronica and I’m running for city council.” He looked like he might open his mouth to interrupt and, rather than stop and listen, as I’d generally do, I rushed through my pitch. “Are you aware that there’s an election coming up? If so, do you know who you’ll vote for? It’s a decisive moment for policy in our town.” I glanced over my shoulder and gave up entirely when I saw the Rylies trundling up the walkway. So close, I could smell the sanctimony. “Can I come in please?”

“Uh. No.”

“Please.” Why was I so frantic?

I knew exactly why. Because at house upon house I’d struck out. People had no interest in what I had to say. They’d seen Rylie’s signs, had heard of his campaign, knew his family, and didn’t give a crap about his actual platform. He was a known quantity, whereas I was a stranger. A dark-haired, dark-skinned stranger, with a message they didn’t even want to hear. “Please.” This last came out as a whine.

“Are you in danger?” The man’s face tightened, his scruff-covered jaw grew hard, his too-curvy mouth thin and aggressive. I stopped myself from stepping back, and I refused to look behind me, but Rylie and his family were close. I could hear their cultured voices in respectfully quiet conversation.

“Oh my gosh, am I?” I didn’t have to fake the tremors in my voice, because they scared me, or intimidated me, at the very least. I shut my eyes for a second, wishing I’d just headed home.

“I don’t—”

“Are they coming?” I whispered. I couldn’t look behind me. I refused to. But if this man caught sight of them, with their tasteful signage and their strong economic message, I was screwed.

“They?”

I searched for something to make this forbidding person invite me in. “Yes. Um. They’re after me.”

“Who—”

“The perfect family behind me. See them?”

“I can’t see—”

“They’re carrying signs, headed this way.”

“I hear them. They’re not—”

Ok. Change of tack. “Could I use your restroom? Please?” I paused, finally, and listened to him breathe. It was easy, given that my face was right in front of the guy’s lean, muscle-packed chest. I blinked.

Oh no. He wasn’t going to do it, was he? He was going to leave me out here to pit my mess of an existence against the pristine, polished perfection of Wily Rylie. And everybody knew who’d win that battle.

A sigh and a step back were the only invitation I needed. I followed him inside, the door closed, and the last thing I noticed was the Captain America logo on his T-shirt before everything went dark.

What have I done?

“Hang on. I’m turning on lights.”

Why aren’t there any lights on? What kind of person hangs out in the dark?

He flipped on a glaringly bright overhead and I stood, transfixed. There was nothing—or close to it—in this room. A quick swivel of just my eyes showed a clean, bare wood floor, with nothing but a pair of sneakers lined up neatly beside the front door. The rooms leading off the entryway were big and open and mostly empty. I sucked in a breath.

“You know, I should probably go. This wasn’t the best—”

“I’m blind.”

“Huh?”

“That’s why there are no pictures on the walls or rugs and stuff. No pictures because I wouldn’t be able to see them. No lights because what’s the point? Everything’s bright to me all the time anyway. And rugs are just obstacles.”

My relieved “oh” came out sounding like a sigh. I focused on him again—all chiseled cheekbones and wide jaw, with big, light eyes. There was a bump on the bridge of his nose, which was possibly the only thing between him and perfection, but even that was masculine in a charming way.

“I can’t read whatever it is you’re toting around. The thing that’s stabbing me in the leg right now.”

“Shit! I’m so sorry.” Shit! No cussing in front of the voters. One hand flew to cover my potty mouth as I threw my yard signs down and bent to look at his leg. “I mean crap. I mean—”

“I know what you mean.” He paused. “Am I bleeding?”

“I’m an idiot.” I was babbling, now, but I couldn’t seem to stop. This whole thing screamed lawsuit. “Please don’t sue me.”

I sank to my knees and leaned in close to this man’s shorts-clad leg, words all the while spewing from my mouth. It must have been exhaustion pushing me to this verbal diarrhea.

“I should have listened to Mami. She told me this was a bad idea. Keep your nose out of their politics, she said, over and over. But Mira’s dad got taken away—to some holding facility, it turned out, before they sent him back to Honduras—and then Jace’s mom got sick and wouldn’t have been able to pay for chemo if it weren’t for us teachers and some of the parents pitching in. Then sweet little Devon wearing that confederate flag T-shirt. I held it together. Right up until the end of the school day, when I pulled him aside and explained that the symbol could hurt people’s feelings, but he’s just four. He cried because his favorite cousin gave it to him and…”

Dear Lord, how on earth did I end up at this moment? Staring at a random stranger’s leg, spewing word vomit. The leg was a little too thick and muscled and hairy for me to pretend he was anything but a young, attractive man, but I did my best.

“Look,” he said. “You don’t have to—”

Sucking in a breath, I searched for the wound. And still, the words wouldn’t stop.

“What kind of moron runs for city council because the world is imploding, right? What kind of idiot gives up binge watching my favorite shows and going to the gym in exchange for canvassing and calling and begging people to care?”

“I care.”

I sat back on my haunches to look at him. “You do?”

“Yeah.”

“I feel impotent, you know? Every time I think about where the world’s heading, I get to the same sad ending.”

“That’s why you ran?”

“I kept looking for another way, but running for city council, making a change at the grassroots level, was the only solution I could come up with. I needed to do something.”

“I get that. Now—” He reached down, probably aiming for an arm, but came up with the stuffed rabbit tied to my backpack instead. “What’s this?”

“It’s a bunny.”

“A bunny.”

“On my backpack. It’s a good luck charm, from one of my kids.”

“’Cause you’re a teacher.”

“Preschool.”

Remembering what I was doing on the floor, I glanced back at his leg and saw it: just above the hem of his shorts, there was a mark from one of my sign’s stakes. Only a small indentation, a little purplish at the center. No blood. He’d be okay. Unless…

“Have you had your tetanus shot?”

A strange sound emerged from his body before he sank down in front of me, his limbs folding up into an uncomfortable-looking crouch as he settled at my eye level. That was when I realized that this impossibly gorgeous man was laughing. At me? With me? It was all so freaking strange it didn’t matter.

“Yes, Veronica Cruz. I’ve had my…shots.” He finally got it together enough to stop. “You are something, you know that? I don’t think I’ve ever—”

A knock sounded at the door just a couple feet behind me and I gasped. I could’ve sworn the man’s eyes flew to meet mine, but that was probably wishful thinking.

“Don’t answer it,” I whispered.

---

Zach

---

I leaned in and cocked my head to the side. “Why not?” I whispered, close enough to tickle her ear. I wanted to lick it.

“It’s my opponent. I’m running against the Rylies. Well, against Wily Rylie.”

“You’re running against Wily—”

“Rylie.”

“But you won’t talk to him?” Man, she smelled good—lavender or violets or something with a hint of sweat beneath it. I willed her not to shift away from me.

“That family is scary,” she hissed. “Like pod people. I’ve never trusted Wily, and his wife makes me feel like—”

Another knock interrupted us and we both stilled.

A second passed, then another. We shared something in that suspended millisecond on my smooth wood floor. Was she watching me? I had to fight to stop myself from reaching out to touch her face. But the urge was huge.

Whatever this thing was, it was interrupted when a kid complained just beyond the wood panel of the door. Beside me, Veronica sprang up like a shot.

“I’ll get it. It’s fine. I should face him, you’re right, it’s just that he’s got so much more influence than I have, with his law degree and his family money and the kids and—”

I stood and nudged her to the side, pulled open the door a few inches and spoke. “Yeah?”

“Oh. Oh, I just… Ahem.” Rylie, I guessed, fumbled and his wife stepped up to bat. Maybe the wrong person was running for council.

“Hello there! I’m Tamara Rylie and this is Clint.” Clint. That made a lot more sense for a first name than Wily. “These are our children, Tyler and Tucker, and we’re here to tell you a little bit about our campaign for city coun—”

“I’ve already made my decision.”

“Oh, but our platform is based on strong family values.” She had one of those high voices, syrupy and long-voweled. “We’re a hard-line, progress—”

“Here.” I reached back and grabbed the sign sitting in my hall and passed it through the door. “Mind putting this in the yard on your way out? Thanks.” I smiled and closed the door.

“Oh…my…God.”

I turned to face her, arms folded across my chest. “You gonna beat him?”

“I’ll beat him.” Her voice was shaky.

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“The voters are the ones who need convincing.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m close to being convinced.”

“Why?”

“You’re adorable.”

“What? That’s a terrible reason to vote for som—” She paused, breathing audibly. “What do you mean I’m adorable?”

“I like your passion. You believe in what you’re doing. Not to mention…” I tilted my head and frowned toward where I figured her stuff was. “You’ve got a good luck bunny tied to your bag.”

“Oh.” She paused. “So… I have your vote?”

“Tell me more.” I leaned against the door and waited for her voice to do that thing again. That strong, angry thing that got me worked up.

She swallowed audibly. “I’m the council member for the people.”

“What people?”

“People like me. People whose parents worked two jobs, but still couldn’t afford preschool or health insurance.” Her breathing was raspy, with that passion again and it did something to me. The more worked up she got, the more I wondered how it would feel to touch her. Was her chest moving up and down with the power of those inhales and exhales? Were her cheeks hot?

“Did you know they’re cutting eighty percent of funding to resources that affect our area’s low-income families? Afterschool programs, nutrition, libraries. It’s all being cut, while the power company’s getting a tax break. They’re talking about jobs, but the only work coming is temporary. Two years of employment, at best, while they shove that pipeline right into our backyards. Once construction’s done, the jobs are gone and families will have even less.”

“You a socialist?” I could feel her tense up, though we weren’t touching.

“I believe in giving a voice to those who are under-represented.”

“You sure avoid direct answers.” Now I was just pushing her buttons. Of course, she probably didn’t know that. “That’s very politician-like.”

“I don’t believe in labels.”

I waited for her to go on, but that was apparently it.

“Passionate. Like I said.”

She gave an awkward little half-laugh. “Like I said, I’m Veronica Cruz, Mr.…”

“Zach. Hubler.” Something rustled. “You holding your hand out?”

“Um. Yeah.”

I reached out, brushed her hand, and grasped it. Soft, small, a little shaky. We shook a couple of times and I let go with regret.

“Hello, Mr. Hubler.”

“Ms. Cruz.”

“Well, then. Are you planning on voting in the upcoming elections, sir?”

I swallowed. Yeah. About that. Shit. “Call me Zach. And, yeah, I’m planning on it.” After meeting her, I was. Although I wasn’t quite sure how I’d manage it without leaving.

“Okay. Wow. Great.”

The doorknob gave its familiar rattle, which meant she’d grabbed hold of it. I shifted away to let her through. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For helping me with Rylie. With the sign. And for not suing me.”

I laughed outright at that. “It was fun.”

She opened the door. “Fun?”

“Best visit I’ve had in a while.” Ever, possibly.

Her steps sounded on the porch, where she paused before continuing down the stairs.

I switched on the outside light, shut the door, and grabbed a beer before heading down to my lair.

Time to find out everything there was to know about Veronica Cruz.

---

Veronica

I was in a weird mood as I walked the four blocks to Main Street. It wasn’t until I made it to the bus stop that I realized what it was—excitement. And it had Zach Hubler written all over it. I had that giddy crush feeling. Over a man I’d just met.

If there was one thing I knew about running for city council, it was that you weren’t supposed to hit on the voters. But I liked him. And I had questions. Like, why was the outside of his house such a mess, while what I’d seen of the inside was pristine? If a little empty.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had this feeling—interest in a man.

The 21 bus to downtown pulled up and I smiled at Milton as he slid the door open for me.

“How’s the canvassing, Cruz?”

I sighed. “Weird.”

“You racking in the votes?”

I waved at Myra who sat in her wheelchair halfway down, the only other occupant heading into town at this hour, and settled into the first seat. “One.” I shoved back the fizz of excitement I felt at that pathetic proclamation and turned back to the issue at hand. “People trust Rylie, you know? He’s got money, he makes money, he helps other people make money. They don’t trust a 28-year-old, Guatemalan preschool teacher.”

“You hit the Tremont neighborhood today?”

“Yeah.”

“Different downtown,” he said, always the voice of reason. “Nobody downtown trusts anyone that earnest.”

“True.” I smiled, fighting the urge to hug this big, sweet man. He’d been driving city buses for over two decades. I’d never forget my first bus ride to The Academy. Everybody I knew walked to school or took yellow buses, but I’d been one of the lucky few chosen to head out to the magnet school in the city’s posher neighborhood.

“Maybe you should concentrate on making sure the voters you do have make it to the polls on Election Day.”

That was the crux, wasn’t it? I had a team working for my campaign, but we didn’t have the funds to do all the big-money events Rylie’s donors put on. I met voters in grocery stores and coffee shops. He met them at the country club. We’d just blown the bank on bumper stickers and yard signs that nobody in this part of town seemed to want.

“You wanna run extra buses?” I joked, past the tightness in my throat.

“You know I would.” He flew past an empty bus stop. “We’re countin’ on you, kiddo.”

I reached forward to pat Milton’s shoulder. He wasn’t supposed to campaign for me while on the clock, but the Cruz button I’d given him was front and center on his bag, sitting right there on the dash.

The sight of that button came close to crushing me. I sank back in my seat, eyes squeezed shut, and breathed through it.

I’m not a fraud I’m not a fraud I’m not a fraud.

So, I didn’t fit the typical politician profile. That was a good thing. I knew, from the bottom of my soul, that I would be better for this town that Rylie. Now we just had to convince everyone else.

So many people counted on me—people who worried about whether they’d be able to pay next month’s rent, or how they’d make their seventy hours of minimum wage labor cover child care and food and shoes for their growing kids. People like my grandmother, who wouldn’t survive the next few months if the health clinic lost funding.

I opened my eyes and blinked past my reflection staring back at me from the bus window, to the blur of fast-moving street lights beyond.

“Countin’ on you, girl,” Milton repeated, his words tearing through me like the voice of doom on a crash course straight to hell.