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twenty-four
Dillon
West has a few days before he has to go back training, so he’s taking me out to do some sightseeing. He asked if there was anything specific that I wanted to do, but considering I don’t know much about Baltimore, I wasn’t sure, so I said I’d leave it up to him.
We’re in his car, which is a black Range Rover, destination unknown. He said he wanted to surprise me. He’s wearing a ball cap. I have a feeling he wears a ball cap a lot when he’s out. I’m not sure I like it. I can’t see his hair, and I happen to really like his hair.
His Secret Service guards are following us in a black car. It’s weird, having people following you and guarding you. Not that they’re guarding me, but I’d like to think that if some wacko with a gun tried to shoot me, they’d do something about it.
It’s kind of cool if you think about it. First time in America, and I have government security. Well, West’s security, but still, it’s cool as hell.
Although I kind of get the impression that West isn’t so keen on the security. Not the guys. He seems to like them well enough. Just the whole people following him around thing. I sense that it bugs the shit out of him.
“Question.”
“Will I want to answer?”
“Possibly.”
“Hit me.”
“Literally?”
He slides me a look before looking back to the road. “Funny.”
“I know.”
“So, are you gonna ask me or not?”
“Oh yeah. Do you dislike the security? Not Nick and Aiden, just having to have them?”
“You’re on a first-name basis with the agents?”
“Of course. Aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but they’ve been guarding me for the last four years. You’ve been here two days. Do you make friends with everyone?”
I roll my eyes. “Not everyone. But it’d be rude not to know the names of the men who are guarding your life.”
“Guarding my life sounds a little dramatic.”
“Well, what would you say they do?”
He goes silent a moment. “Follow me around in case someone decides to make an attempt on my life.”
“That’s the same thing!” I laugh.
He slides me another look, his expression impish. “Nuh-uh.”
I shake my head, exasperated. “So, back to my question. I get the impression you’re not so keen on it.”
“I’m not. When I was a teenager, we used to have security with my dad being a senator back then. It was annoying, them following me around. I couldn’t do anything.”
“You managed to go to a party and snort coke.”
He chuckles. “True. But they were around a lot. When I got older, I figured I had freedom from all of that. Then, my dad got himself elected president, and here we are. I fought the security at first, but the threats that came in couldn’t be ignored, so I had to accept the way it is. But hopefully for not much longer.”
“How long has your dad been president for?”
“He’s three years into his first term.”
“They serve for four years, right? And can do up to two terms?”
“Someone knows her American politics.”
“I really don’t. Just that. You said he’s running for a second term, right?”
West sighs. “Yeah. If he gets elected again, I’ll have to live with this for four more years, and then I’ll be free.” He goes quiet for a moment. “I feel like shit for thinking this because all things aside, he is a great president, but I really don’t want him to get elected for another term. I want my life back. Once I’m out of the public eye, the security will go, and I can just get back to playing ball without all of his political shit following me around. I’ll be talked about for my football again and not the fact that I’m his son. I’m twenty-seven; I’m at my peak. If he leaves the White House this next election, I’ll have my good years left, where I can really make my mark as a ball player and not the president’s son. If he gets reelected, I’ll be nearly thirty-two when he’s out of the White House, and I’ll be heading for retirement a few years later.”
My heart squeezes painfully for him. For once, I actually don’t know what to say. So, instead of words, I slide my hand into his, link our fingers, and give his hand a squeeze. For a moment, he stares down at our entwined hands, like he’s never seen me hold his hand before.
Which is weird because we’ve held hands tons of times before.
But not like this. In a comforting way.
Not wanting to freak him out, I slide my hand out of his with the pretense of getting something out of my bag.
I’m still rummaging around in it, looking for the fake thing, when he says, “We’re here.”
He pulls into a parking spot outside this huge gray stone building and turns off the engine. Unclipping my seat belt, I get out of the car. I notice the black car belonging to the Secret Service agents pulling up behind the Range Rover.
