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“Please, I will answer your questions in just a moment. First, though, I want to thank those who have campaigned tirelessly for me already—especially my campaign manager, Tyler Rothstein. To my donors, I am taking steps to return every dollar donated to my campaign. I also want to thank my family for standing by me, especially my brother, who has shown me what true courage is.”
Brock wiped an errant tear that trickled down his cheek.
The press relentlessly peppered him with questions.
“What will you do now?”
“How does your fiancée feel about this?”
“Where is Jill?”
“There are rumors that you are no longer together. Is that true? Did that affect your decision not to run?”
“What made you change your mind?”
“Are you afraid this will ruin your chances for a future run?”
Brant, with grace, skipped over the questions about Jill and answered everything else the best he could. His party had already told him he’d betrayed their trust and confidence, and he was basically dead in the water for any future run. Brant didn’t share that with the press. He only said he would be taking time to reevaluate.
As I watched Brant personify courage, I thought about Charlotte. If she’d had the chance to grow up, she would have done well to follow in the steps of her father. He was a great man. I prayed he would find his happiness. I prayed we all did. Even John, who was notably standing on the outside. He had chosen his fragile reputation over the strong family he had built. I wondered if he still believed that consequences were more important than his conscience. Could he live with the choices now?
For the next half hour, we watched Brant take a beating from the press. He walked off that stage and into his mother’s arms figuratively bloodied and bruised, yet he was free.
Brock and I watched mother and son embrace while John stood back. His silence said everything his family didn’t want to hear—his legacy would be his empire, not his family. I wanted to scream at him that it wasn’t too late. That we would stand and fight with him. But he had to be willing to take off the gloves he’d been hiding behind, dodging Edward’s punches. He had to be willing to be knocked out. To trust that we would help pick him back up and figure out how to win the matches that really mattered. Instead, he watched while his family stepped out of the ring.
None of us said a word to John as we walked past him, though he did reach out for Sheridan. For a moment she stopped and looked between their joined hands and John. A deep longing in her eyes cried out.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he finally spoke.
She let go of his hand. “You’re right.” With that, she grabbed Brant’s arm and walked out.
Brock and I followed them.
John headed in the other direction to no doubt try to appease the press.
Our heels clicked and clacked down the desolate hall leading to the private parking garage.
“Come with us to Ariana and Jonah’s,” Brock broke the heavy silence and encouraged Brant.
Brant and Sheridan stopped and turned around.
“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Sheridan mustered up some enthusiasm for her son.
Brant rubbed the back of his neck. “I have so many loose ends I need to tie up, and I don’t think I would be good company tonight.”
“Business can wait, brother,” Brock wisely advised. “You need to unwind.”
“And there will be spiked wassail,” I sang. “That will put anyone in a good mood.”
Brant tugged on his tie as if it were choking him. “Kinsley’s wassail?”
“We’re still all friends. Everyone loves you,” I read his mind. I couldn’t imagine breaking up the gang after everything that had happened. We had informed our little group about what was going down today so they weren’t taken by surprise when they saw it on the news. We couldn’t tell them all the ins and outs. Regardless, they all wanted to support Brant, even Kinsley.
“Is Tristan still in town?” Brant asked.
“He went home yesterday.” Kinsley was brokenhearted about it, which was good. It meant they’d had a great time together. She was planning a trip to London over Christmas and New Year’s.
Brant sighed while mulling it over.
“Come on, man.” Brock grabbed his shoulder. “You need to be with family and friends tonight.”
Brant looked at Sheridan. “What about you, Mom?”
“Don’t worry about me. I have some packing to do, and I want to do it alone.”
“Let us help you later. Come with us too,” I begged her. I couldn’t stand the thought of her being alone, especially while she was preparing to leave the house she loved so much and the man she loved more. She was planning to stay with Brant for a while until she figured out what to do.
