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Chapter 19
"I'm telling you, no one is going to follow up on it."
Brandon was trying to convince me again the next morning while we moved about the kitchen fixing breakfast.
After the arraignment, Dad had been eager to contact his sponsor, and Bubbe had just wanted to watch the Murder, She Wrote DVDs I'd bought her last year for Christmas. Brandon and I had holed up in the apartment, watching Star Wars while we both worked. It would have felt normal if I hadn't been so obsessed with scouring the news for our names.
"Fuck," I muttered under my breath as I leaned against the kitchen island.
My phone had about twenty Google alerts on it. Since I'd started keeping track of Brandon's and my names in the news, that in itself wasn't a surprise. Brandon was becoming a public figure, so he was going to be in the papers, especially during the campaign. In the space of a few months, Brandon had gone from a notoriously private citizen to the hottest thing on the Eastern seaboard. Everyone in Boston wanted a piece of him, not to mention a sizeable contingent in the New England area. He had the clout of Michael Bloomberg with the charm of Brad Pitt. The guy was a unicorn, a political gold mine, and everyone knew it.
But it was this moment that I had been bracing myself for––the moment where the connection between my name and face was finally made.
"What is it?" Brandon asked as he gathered things to make scrambled eggs.
After he set the eggs and milk next to the stove, he slipped an arm around my waist and lifted me easily onto the countertop so I was sitting next to him. I barely noticed––he did it almost every day. I suspected he liked having me at eye-level, since it made it easier to sneak kisses.
He had just gotten back from his morning run, which had been even earlier than usual, since another second nightmare had woken us both up at just after four. If I hadn't already been so absorbed by the headlines, I might have been distracted by the way his sweaty tank top clung to his six-pack. But instead, all I could see was the news, and the fact that after yesterday, my name and face was in it.
Most of the headlines were nothing new, rehashing the timeline of Brandon's and my relationship. Apparently, Cory had decided to take a foot-first tactic with the fact that Brandon was still involved with his "mistress", although I thankfully couldn't be called that anymore now that his divorce had actually gone through. The campaign had released a formal press release about me a month ago, highlighting all of the parts that would make me most palatable: my elite education, the fact that I was the daughter of a city worker, my interest in nonprofit and family advocacy. Our engagement wasn't announced yet, but it would only be a matter of time until someone spotted the ring on my finger.
But then I scrolled down to a headline that made my heart stop. It was a two-bit tabloid, something probably run out of some random person's basement. But it was there, just like I'd known it would be.
"Red?" Brandon took one look at me and set down the bowl of eggs he was whisking. "What is it?"
I set the phone down on the counter, buried my face in my hands, and crumpled into his shoulder.
"What the..." Brandon trailed off as he read the headlines over my shoulder. "Oh fuck."
"It's official," I said through my fingers. "I'm a baby-killing whore."
"'Our sources have confirmed that Skylar Crosby was seen entering a free clinic on the morning of May twenty-seventh'," Brandon murmured as he scrolled through the article. "'And just last night, Wikileaks posted actual documents of the visit, including a treatment plan that included "the abortion pill." Skylar might be a family lawyer, but she isn't family friendly'."
I cringed at the last line, and my stomach dropped about ten stories. Brandon just stood there, silent for a moment, until he set the phone down. Finally, I looked up.
"I'm so sorry––" I started to say.
"Stop," Brandon cut in gently. He pushed my legs apart so they dangled loosely on either side of his waist, then cupped my face gently so I couldn't look away. "We're past it. Don't go there."
"But this...I'm...this is going to cause so much trouble for your campaign."
"You think I give a shit about the campaign?"
I blinked, confused. "Well, yes. I mean, it is your dream, right? That's what you said."
Brandon clenched his jaw, but eventually shrugged as he released my face. "I care about you, Red. I care about us. This...yeah. This is bad. But that's what I hired Cory for––a shark to deal with sharks. We knew this might happen eventually, so let's just let him do his job." He twisted his full mouth around in thought. "What do you think about getting out of here for the day?"
I scrunched my eyebrows. "Don't you have that event this evening? Cory's going to go nuts if you blow off something else."
Brandon shrugged. "I've got the speech dialed, and we can be back in time for the dinner."
"Where were you thinking?"
Brandon scratched his head. "I don't know. Nowhere far, just out of the city. Clear our heads before the chaos finds us––if it even does. I'm still not convinced anyone will pick it up."
I tipped my head to one side. "You do realize we literally just got back from France six weeks ago."
Brandon gave me a look. "You do realize that the emotional equivalent of a tornado just happened to us? And another's about to hit? Even if this doesn't get picked up, you've seen the primary schedule, Red. The next six months are going to be crazy."
