Free The Phoenix Campaign (Grace Colton Book 2) by Heidi Joy Tretheway Page B

in the dark, gathering my courage to ask a question that’s been pecking at the edges of my mind for weeks. The interview today brought it home.
    “Tell me about your family.”
    Jared pulls back, his face turned to look at me in the dim light that filters in from the hallway. “What do you want to know?”
    “You showed me the house you grew up in. Tell me about your parents.”
    “Parent,” Jared corrects me. “I told you my mom was single when she had me. When she got pregnant, her boyfriend didn’t want to deal with a baby. So he took off and she was stuck with me.”
    “Stuck with you? That’s a pretty harsh assessment.”
    “She never made me feel like I was unwanted, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says. “But the asshole who left her sure did.”
    “You’ve never met him?”
    “Never wanted to. I figure, anyone who’d abandon his girlfriend and their child isn’t someone I’d want to know.”
    I fidget with the sheet, needing to draw a connection between then and now. “So would you ever, I mean, could you ever consider … being a father yourself?”
    Jared sighs heavily, and I wish I had more light to see the expressions crossing his face. “I don’t think I’m cut out for that. Look at my life: I spend more time in hotels than at my apartment. I’m chained to my phone, and working sixty hours a week feels like fucking vacation.”
    “But would you—ever?” I press.
    “All I know is that I deserved more than what that sperm donor left my mom. A kid deserves more than I’ve got to give.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

    Small wars have been fought with fewer logistics than the 2016 Conover-Colton campaign.
    Volunteers, pollsters, writers, social media specialists, communications coordinators, media buyers, web and mobile tech, graphic designers, travel planners. Everyone is part of the machine.
    Even me.
    I feel oddly disconnected. When I walk in the temporary campaign base on the outskirts of D.C., three days after the interview with the Hales, I can’t help but stare at the hugeness of it all. We need to reach one hundred and fifty million registered voters. Less than two-thirds of them will show up to the polls, but we need to make sure it’s our two-thirds, not voters in the Republican base.
    Volunteers raise their heads and smile at me. They give me a nod or a little wave. I feel like a celebrity with Mac and Eric as entourage, but I also feel like I’m going to my sentencing.
    Could Shep kick me off the ticket?
    Will he hate me for screwing up our chances?
    Will he tell me to terminate the pregnancy?
    “Congresswoman Colton. What a nice surprise.”
    I smile at the pretty volunteer receptionist and read her name tag. “Thank you, Allison. Can I grab a minute with Shep?”
    “Mr. Rankin’s in a meeting with him now. I’ll let them know you’re here.”
    He’s here? Jared’s supposed to be in New York working out something with Jim Boyle, a Democratic presidential primary contender who, for a short time, was Conover’s presumed running mate. I’ve been cagey about spending time with Jared, complaining of being tired, and he hasn’t argued the point since it seems like he’s on a plane every other day.
    The reality is I’m stuck in my apartment with herbal tea, too many briefing papers and speeches to memorize, and a restless mind that won’t let me sleep.
    “Grace.” My name on Jared’s lips is a low rumble, a summer thunderstorm heavy with warmth and promise. We’re out in the open with dozens of volunteers’ eyes watching, so I can’t reach for him.
    He takes my hand and shakes it as if this is a formal meeting, then leads me to a conference room with frosted glass windows. He touches my back lightly to usher me inside, then closes the door behind us.
    “I thought you were in New York?” I turn to him and his arms are around me in an instant, his mouth on my neck, his hands moving under my jacket to pull me close to his chest. I relish his hot breath that sends