by Kennedy Ryan
The sobriety that has hung around him all night as he fully grasped what he has achieved lightens, and he smiles. “There’s no question—I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“It was an honor to be on you team, Governor.”
Music reaches us through the walls of the hotel, and he proffers his arm to me. “I guess I better report to the dance floor. They’re playing my song.”
When we step out into the hall, his wife and family are waiting, along with a security detail. His wife watches him with such pride, it touches even my politically jaded heart. I allow them to walk ahead, to make their entrance into the ballroom where they’re greeted by wild, almost deafening applause. That’s the sound of people who have witnessed history and pulled off what was practically a political miracle. I’m humbled to have been a part of it.
I use a different door than the one that led to the stage. The governor’s inaugural ball has assembled Georgia’s most powerful, influential citizens all in one room. I make my way to the table designated for my friends and family. Piers, Carla, Felita and the rest of my team convene there, and we begin our own private celebration.
“Excellent work,” I say, toasting them all with my glass of champagne. “You are the best of the best, and I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else. Let’s keep making history. Let’s keep making a difference.”
“Let’s keep making money,” Piers interjects with a laugh.
“I have no objection to that either.” I smile over the fragile rim of my glass. “Girl’s gotta get her paper.”
“So what’s next, boss?” Carla asks, sipping her champagne.
“Believe it or not…” I sigh. “We need to start shifting our focus to President Cade’s re-election campaign.”
“Already, huh?” Piers asks, biting into a fancy pig in a blanket.
“It’ll be a lot different than electing him the first time. Now he has an actual governing record that everyone will want to pick apart,” I remind them. “But Maxim Cade is a once-in-a-lifetime candidate. The man himself will be our greatest resource.”
“Excuse me,” a deep, familiar voice drawls from behind me. “Can your brother get in on this celebration?”
I turn to grin at Keith and study him with pride, not just because he looks so handsome in his tux, but because he comported himself so wonderfully during his own campaign. Because he’s standing with his wife, who looks genuinely happy and has for some time.
“Congressman Allen,” I tease. “I do believe congratulations are in order to you, too.”
“I literally couldn’t have done it without you, sis.” He looks from me to my team who helped him, too. “Without all of you. I can’t thank you enough.”
“I’m sure I’ll think of a way you can,” I say.
They all laugh along as my mother, Kayla, and her husband Lawrence walk up and take their seats at the table. Carla scoots over so Mama can sit beside me.
“It’s a great night for the Allen family,” Mama says. “What is it your father always said? Big moves make big waves. Do big things. Make big waves.”
She looks at me and then to Keith, who sits with his arm draped over the back of Delaney’s chair. “He would be proud of you.”
She shifts her eyes to Kayla. “Proud of you all. Not just for tonight, but for how you’re living your lives, serving others. That is the Allen legacy.”
The emotion etched into Keith’s and Kayla’s faces pricks my heart. I blink back tears. I’ve found myself close to crying more over the last year and a half than I have my entire life. Probably all the hormones I’ve had to inject into this body, but I hope it’s not a permanent state of affairs.
“It is a great night for the Allens,” Keith says, his grin growing even wider. “Not only am I going to be a congressman, I’m going to be a father again. Delaney’s pregnant with our third.”
Everyone at the table claps and exclaims and pats my brother on the back. Joy and jealousy wrangle in me. I lift one and squash the other, offering my brother and Delaney a genuine smile.
“I’m gonna be an auntie again, huh? That’s incredible. I’m so excited for you guys.”
“Laney says if I think being a congressman means I don’t have to change diapers,” Keith says, leaning over to kiss his wife’s cheek, “I can think again.”
We all laugh, but my smile is starting to hurt. At the fertility clinic, I have a freezer full of eggs and no guarantees. Now that the campaign is over, I need to figure out what I want to do with them.
“You look so pretty tonight,” Mama leans over to tell me as everyone at the table returns to their dinners and conversations.
“Thank you, Mama.”
Lorette styled my hair into an elaborate diadem of curls. Lotus created my cayenne-colored off-the-shoulder gown specifically for this occasion. Its mermaid design sighs around my curves, curves I’ve had to work hard to keep in check the last year and a half as my weight fluctuated, the hot flashes flared and the mood swings swung, all while managing the nation’s most hotly-contested gubernatorial campaign.
A year and a half.
My entire adult life has been measured in runs, in races. Mayors. Governors. Senators. President. I’ve never regretted the personal sacrifices I made for each campaign. I saw it as a call to service, putting people in positions to make a difference.
Tikkum Olam.
Repair the world.
Ezra went about it his way, and I’ve gone about it mine.
Ezra.
Heat coats the inside of my throat and the plate in front of me blurs on the table through a sudden film of tears. A sense of purpose has driven me every step in every race, and it’s always been enough. More than enough. It’s been fulfilling. For the first time, as happy as I am to have done my part, this victory feels hollow somehow.
“Tell me something,” Mama says, her voice pitched low enough for only me to hear.
I turn my head to stare into her wise, dark eyes.
“All you did to make these other folks happy,” Mama asks. “When is it Kimba’s turn?”
I glance around the room. Mateo and his wife stand in a receiving line, accepting everyone’s congratulations. Kayla and Lawrence eat from each other’s plates, checking their phones every few minutes for messages from the sitter. Keith and Delaney laugh and talk softly, basking in the glow of his victory and their baby news.
For the last eighteen months, this night has glowed at the end of the tunnel, a beacon that kept me on task and focused. This night was my reward. He was my reward.
“You’re so much like your daddy,” Mama huffs, but softens it with a smile. “Needed everything to be done his way. Had his lists and goals and it needed to go the way he planned it. Let me tell you what I told him. Life don’t care about your plans. Life will make a mess of your plans, honey.”
Mama squeezes my hand. “Haven’t you waited long enough? Hasn’t he? Are you ready to clean up that mess yet?”
I’ve spent my whole adult life cleaning up other people’s messes. For the greater good, yes, but I’ve become adept at covering naked asses, spinning bad decisions and making indiscretions go away. I’ve never met a mess I couldn’t handle…until Ezra Stern. It’s easier to deal with someone else’s mess than it is to clean your own. Hand me someone’s problem? I can fix it. But when Aiko got pregnant with Ezra’s baby, that was not just their future on the line. It was mine. My happiness in the balance. My heart on my sleeve. I glance at Mama, but she’s not looking at me. She’s caressing that tiny ice chip diamond Daddy gave her more than forty years ago, so small you can barely see it from a distance. She’s lost the love of her life.
Will I lose mine?
“I have to go.” I stand and spread my farewell around the table. “I’ll see you…when I see you. I got shit to do.”
Carla’s startled glance bounces from me to the stage. “But Congressman…Governor Ruiz has a speech planned. He’ll acknowledge you, bring you up on stage. We talked about this.”
Bring me up on stage. Acknowledge me. I don’t do the things I do so people can pat me on the damn back. The only thing Ruiz can do for me is keep the promises he made when he campaigned. And the only man I need to hear call my name is not in this room.
“You go,” I tell Carla, grabbing my clutch from the table. I look to Piers, Felita. “Or one of you. I don’t care.”
“You’re really leaving now?” Felita asks, a frown gathering between her brows. “The speech is later in the program. You don’t want to wait? What do we tell the governor?”
I glance at Mama, warmed by the knowing approval in her eyes, in her smile. This may be my greatest move yet.
“Tell him I waited long enough.”
I don’t know where Ezra lives.
I got off his old exit only to realize I don’t know where his new house is, or if he’s even in it. He said he was renovating a house “nearby,” but I can’t plug “nearby” into Google maps.
A lot has changed for him over the last few months, least of which may be a new house. As I predicted, his book was a huge success, hitting all the lists. I was in the thick of managing multiple campaigns, but I did see him on a few morning shows. Texted him my congrats. His book is in airports. There’s a Netflix documentary in the works about the YLA story. New baby. New book. New success.
New house?
Absent of a better idea, though I’m sure there is one, I park in front of their house. It looks like no one is home, but then the front door swings open.
“Shit.” I resist the urge to duck down behind the steering wheel like a stalker.
Aiko walks out onto the porch, hand in hand with a tall man…who is not Ezra. I recognize the guy who stood awkwardly by the door with Aiko’s luggage the day she dropped the bombshell about her pregnancy.
Chaz.
I wish I could disappear, but I just sit perfectly still, hoping my mother’s Benz will miraculously become invisible before they notice it.
“Kimba?” Aiko asks from the driveway where a car, presumably Chaz’s, is parked. “Is that you?”
Great.
I open the door and poke my head out, smiling as if it’s perfectly normal for me to be sitting outside her house dressed in formal wear.
“Hi.” My wave is as stiff as my smile. “I was just wondering if…is Ezra home by any chance?”
“He might be.” Aiko smiles, tilts her head to the side. “I can’t say for sure since he doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Oh. Right. Could you maybe…direct me?”
“Next street over.” She points to the right. “Fourth house on the left. Gray with red shutters.”
“Uh, thank you.” I smile at Chaz. “Good…seeing you again.”
His wry smile mocks us all.
I climb back in and pull away before this becomes any more cringeworthy. Ezra’s house is easy to find. The shutters are red and his Rover is in the driveway. I get out of the car and stand in January cold for a moment, searching my mind for the perfect thing to say.
“I’m ready?” I ask out loud, leaning against the car. “Sorry I took so long. Let’s do this.”
I keep trying out opening lines all the way from the car, down the driveway, up the steps and onto the porch. When I ring the doorbell, I still don’t know what I’ll say, but I know I can’t wait any longer.
“Kimba.”
Ezra’s tall frame fills the doorway. I can’t see beyond him into the house, but I also can’t tear my eyes from his face anyway. Stubble shadows the ridge of his jaw. His hair is a little longer than I’ve seen it in awhile, the coarse curls dark and springy. His eyes under the porch light – volatile blue. The emotion emanating from him, a tempest in a thumbnail, barely contained.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
“Uh, sure. Yeah.” He steps back, allowing me entrance. A modern chandelier of wood and blown glass hangs from the foyer ceiling. There’s very little furniture in the sitting room off to the right – a couch and a television. A mismatched coffee table.
“You just moved in?” I ask, my question slicing through the tension.
“Few months ago. I didn’t want to choose the furniture…by myself.”
He holds my stare and I bite my bottom lip, look away. I’m always in control, but I feel completely out of my depth right now. What if he has found someone else? Even though Aiko seems to be with Chaz, who knows if Ezra remained single? He’s still staring at me, his eyes intense, alert. His posture, deceptively indolent, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. But there’s so much tension in his broad shoulders, in the tight muscles of his neck.
Unsure what to say next, I step farther down the hall to inspect photos on the wall. There’s a series of collages. The first holds pictures of Noah, as to be expected. Lots of them with Ezra and a baby girl who could only be Mai.
There’s no pain in my heart seeing her, at first swaddled in Ezra’s arms and then growing bigger, rounder. Eventually standing on her own, her smile bright with a few tiny teeth. There’s no jealousy or resentment. How could there be? With her midnight blue eyes, sulky-sweet mouth and dark curls, she’s so obviously, like Noah, an extension of Ezra.
And I fall in love with her on sight.
“She’s beautiful, Ez,” I breathe.
“She is.” He comes to stand beside me, slips his hand into mine. I squeeze his fingers, but still can’t look away from the little dark-haired cherub Noah holds like a priceless piece of art. Ezra runs a finger over a picture with both his children. “He’s great with her.”
I nod, still processing the strength of my response to his daughter. My eyes drift to a collage of photos on the wall beside the one with him and his kids. At first, I don’t recognize the two children in the photos. They’re obviously older pictures, not shiny and glossy like the others. It’s easily a dozen of them. A girl and a boy at the park, on swings. Riding bikes. Eating dinner, surrounded by family. And at the center, them as babies in a bathtub.
“It’s us.” I can only gather enough air to manage those words. “Ezra, it’s—”
“Us.” He smiles and points to the photos on the wall. In one, it’s a Saturday evening meal, one at my old house. Our parents are there, my father and mother holding hands. Kayla, Keith. Ezra and me.
“Where did you find these?”
“My mother’s attic, garage. She has a lot more. These were just some of my favorites.” He pauses, turns his head to stare at my profile. “Are you here to stay?”
I don’t look away from the two babies at the center of the collage, caught mid-splash in the tub. A lifetime. We’ve known each other all our lives, yet missed so much. Wasted so much time. Not anymore.
“If you still want me.”
The words have barely left my mouth. He pulls me into him, pushes me to the wall. His body cages mine, protective and aggressive at once. I slip my hand into a gap between the buttons of his shirt, finding velvet over stone beneath. He squeezes my ass with one hand and clasps my neck with the other, tipping my mouth up and open. His kiss is deep, craving, the press of his shoulders and chest and hips and thighs a delicious weight that pins me in place so he can take all he wants.
God, how I’ve missed this—missed him. The textures, the taste and scent of him. He feels and tastes and smells like mine. I reach between us to palm his cock, sliding my hand up and over the hard, extended length of him.
“Let me give you a tour of the house,” he pants into my neck. Grabbing my hand, he drags me up the stairs. “There’s a kitchen, a half bath, a rooftop patio and some other shit.”
He crosses the landing, rushes us down the hall to a large bedroom and pulls me into his arms.
“Tour’s over.”
I drop my forehead to his shoulder and laugh, trying to catch my breath. “I don’t get to see the rooftop patio?”
He sets his thumbs under my chin and pushes up until our gazes lock. “After.”
“After what?”
His eyes go black-blue and he
licks the arch of my neck, sucks my earlobe, cups my breast, brushing the nipple to hard life. He takes my mouth, the kiss a drugging, thorough exploration that makes my head spin.
“I want you so bad,” he says, his breath coming harshly. “My dick is telling me to take you right here on the spot.”
He gives me a head-to-toe heated perusal, licking his lips. “But you’re my gift. I also want to take my time unwrapping you, spreading you out on my bed.”
“As long as you’re inside me in the next five minutes, I don’t care which option you take. It’s been a long time, Ez. I need dick, not options.”
“Bed then.”
Holding his hand, I walk backward toward the large bed, never taking my eyes off him. It’s been so long since we were in the same room, much less alone. The bedroom is barely lit by one single lamp. When my knees hit the edge of the mattress, I reach behind me to undress.
“No.” Ezra gently turns me around, sliding his hands over my bare shoulders and arms, settling at my hips. “I want to.”
The hiss of his breath through his teeth mingles with the hiss of the zipper as he lowers it, peeling the brocaded silk back so air kisses and pebbles my bare skin. The dress slouches at my hips and then surrenders, falling to the floor in a spill of decadence around my ankles. He traces the bare curve of my ass in the skimpy thong, my thighs. He slips his fingers under the lacy scraps at my hips and slides the underwear down. I step out of it and he caresses the inside of my thigh.
“On the bed.”
His deep voice breaks the quiet in a rumbly rasp, and I climb on the bed, waiting for him. My breath comes heavy. My stomach muscles clench, anticipating his hardness. Fully clothed, he stretches out and pulls me on top, straddling his hips. He urges me up farther until my thighs bracket his face, my pussy hovering over his mouth. Our eyes connect, never breaking contact when the slightly callused pads of his fingers spread me open.
“Such a pretty pussy,” he whispers, close enough that his breath mists the wetness of my most private place. A sanctuary I’ve reserved for him, for just this moment since the last time we kissed.