Knight (Political Royalty Book 1) (12 page)

“Maybe until after the caucus.”

“That’s a shame. There are a bunch of people who are going to be disappointed at your rallies today.”

“I’m sure they can find one of Collins’s nearby.”

He still hadn’t looked at her, and her patience for the whining baby act was wearing thin. She started rethinking her method. Maybe her original
suck it up, buttercup—get off your ass and get out there
tactic might get her better results. She opened her mouth to lead with that, but before she could find a nicer way to say it, he pushed a button. The treadmill started to slow down and him with it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for a towel and wiping sweat from his face.

“You don’t have to apologize to me. You’re the one who wants to be president. I’m just along for the ride.” It wasn’t, strictly speaking, true. She wanted the win as much as he did. She’d never wanted anything more, but saying that wouldn’t help either of them.

“Liar.”

“Fine. You still don’t have to apologize. But you do have to get your ass ready for today’s events. Is Mrs. Walker joining you on the trail?”

“Mrs. Walker left after the debate last night,” he said, shaking his head. “She and the girls took the jet and went home. She didn’t want to stick around to watch me lose.”

She thought about telling him he was wrong about losing, but she didn’t think he was. She doubted he’d believe her lie anyway.

“Probably. You know who else lost Iowa?”

“Clinton, Bush, and Reagan,” he said fast enough that she bet he’d looked it up earlier. “I don’t like to lose.”

“No shit. Who does? I hate it.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, but this time it sounded more like an apology than a defense.

“Listen,” she said, shifting her body so he had to meet her gaze. “I don’t know what you were expecting from me, but I can tell you what I expect from you. Tell me the truth. Always. And do the best you can. You don’t owe me anything more than that and you don’t owe me an apology. If you keep doing it, you’re just going to piss me off.”

He laughed, his dark eyes crinkling around the edges in a way that made her want to smooth them with her fingertip.

“Well,” he said, stepping off the treadmill. “We sure as hell can’t have that. You’re hard enough to deal with as it is.”

“I
CAN’T WATCH,” SAID HAVEN, leaning close enough so only Justin could hear her. “How bad is it?”

The church basement was stifling and as the evening wore on, it had started to smell like chicken corn noodle soup layered over the odor of too many bodies in too close a space. It amazed her that the remaining holdouts didn’t just pick someone—anyone—so they could get out of there and into the fresh air.

“It ain’t good,” said Justin under his breath.

Haven turned to face the crowd of Iowa caucusers who still had yet to decide on a candidate. At least they cast ballots instead of standing in clusters for the candidate of their choice and shouting to try to get others to join their side like some kind of weird Red Rover playground game. It was bad enough watching the volunteers wearing Walker
Moving America Forward
T-shirts trying to convince the undecideds, only to have them follow the Collins’s people to cast their ballots.

The same thing was happening in high school gyms and rec centers across the state. Given the messages that continued to show up in the private captains’ group, it seemed like the results across the state were similar to what she and Justin were witnessing in their own little private slice of hell.

“He’s going to lose with Iowa farmers.” Justin sounded depressed. The fact that he showed emotion one way or the other clearly illustrated how bad things were.

“We knew this was probably going to happen,” said Haven, more to remind herself than to convince him. “Polls have been showing this for days. It’s one state.”

It was the first state and an ag state but Walker had never seemed to get traction with the Evangelicals. Despite his Bible thumping, voters could smell Jenson a mile off as a fraud. It could have still been a Walker win if it weren’t for Collins. Aside from the record turnout at her rallies, the press couldn’t get enough of her. She was everywhere, on all the political shows and on the major networks in profile-in-courage pieces. She was a war hero. How the hell was Haven supposed to win against that?

“Let’s go,” she said, caving to the inevitable. “I want to be with him when they call it.”

She’d made the last-minute decision to send Walker back to the hotel. He’d been out on the trail all day and the mood had started to wear him down enough she’d started to worry he’d cost more votes than he’d earn.

“I’ve got the ballroom ready. I cancelled what I could and toned back what I couldn’t.” Justin shrugged, bending to the inevitable.

In anticipation of a big win before the debate debacle, Haven had Justin book the hotel and plan for their first celebration of the primaries. It would be a much different night than the one she’d imagined.

“We can do the concession as soon as they call it and he’s ready. At least it will be an early night,” said Justin, finding his normal optimism.

“That’s something.”

Haven crossed the rec hall to personally thank the volunteers and to invite them back to the party. They perked up a little at the attention and she made a note to extend the room reservation an extra two hours. It would be good for the volunteers to commiserate together and hopefully unite against a common enemy. And if Walker took second, they could spin it as something of a win. Collins had changed the metrics.

They hiked across the freezing parking lot to the rental car. They’d left the bus at the hotel, at least, saving themselves the ride of shame across town. Justin flipped the heat to high, blasting them with cold air, but Haven stopped him when he went to turn on the radio.

“I just need a little bit of time,” she said. “Just for the drive. We’ll be blasted with news as soon as we get back to the hotel. I want to get my head in the right place.”

“It’s just the first contest,” said Justin, pulling out of the lot and onto the main road. “Plenty of candidates lost Iowa and went on to win the presidency.”

“Clinton, Bush, and Reagan. I know.”

“New Hampshire is next week.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing. Collins is from Massachusetts. What makes you think New Hampshire will go for a senator from the South?” The more Haven looked at the upcoming contests, the bleaker things looked.

“We’ve got South Carolina after that. He should win huge in his home state, giving him all the momentum going into Super Tuesday. You can’t let this drag you down, and you sure as hell can’t let it get to him.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” she said, too tired to do all the things still on her list for the night.

“When I find something, I will.”

By the time they made it to the hotel, the lot was full. She didn’t know whether it was the free food and booze or the voyeurs ready to watch the mighty fall. Probably the booze.

“Double-check things in the ballroom,” she said after they made the pilgrimage across the lot to the main entrance. “Oh, and add another couple of hours. Give the staffers time to console one another. I’m going to go find him.” They’d need their volunteers for the general election and showing them the senator didn’t cut and run with his tail between his legs would gain them more than the added hours would cost.

She swung past the gym on the off chance he’d gone to run off his frustration, but aside from a woman holding an e-reader and walking on the treadmill, the room was empty. She could text him, but she wanted time alone with him before he had to face the cameras and she didn’t want to give him the chance to put her off. She also didn’t want him watching the results by himself. When it became clear things weren’t going to turn around for the senator, Mrs. Walker made the decision to stay in South Carolina with the girls. They’d spun it to look like the senator and his wife didn’t want to disrupt their children’s schedule any more than necessary, but Haven knew the real reason. Mrs. Walker didn’t want to stand beside her husband when he lost. For better or for worse seemed a nebulous concept for the senator’s wife.

The elevator dinged on the second floor and an older couple got on, laughing and holding hands. They both smiled at Haven and went right back to paying attention to each other. She thought that kind of obsession was limited to the under-twenty crowd, but apparently not. The car stopped a handful of floors later and the man ushered the woman out in front of him, giving her ass a smack as she scooted past. Haven snorted back a laugh, grateful they’d waited at least until they were off the elevator to do more than hold hands.

When she got to Walker’s floor, she sent him a quick text letting him know she was on her way. Instead of trying to put her off the way she’d feared, he waited for her with the door open. He’d taken off his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing his strong forearms still tanned despite his time behind a desk. His hair stuck up in the front as if he’d been running his hands through it.

“I’m glad you’re here. The caucuses just closed. They’re getting ready to call it.” He moved aside, letting her into his room.

The room looked tidy—clothes hung up and papers stacked neatly on the desk. The only thing out of place was the divot in the center of the made-up king-sized bed where he must have been sitting to watch the news shows. He glanced from her to the bed, quickly shifting the television on its stand to face the small seating area.

“It’s as bad as I think, right?” he asked, collapsing into the chair farthest from the screen.

“Probably. But it’s just one night. What matters is what you do next.” She’d been practicing the words in her head long enough that she almost believed them.

He nodded as the talking heads launched into a recap of how badly things had gone for Walker since his debate debacle and how Collins’s momentum seemed unstoppable going into New Hampshire. She debated turning off the television and urging him to go downstairs to meet his supporters, but he seemed remarkably stoic and it would be a better visual if he didn’t show up until he was ready to concede.

“You can redeem yourself Saturday night in New Hampshire. Our ground staff is up and running there and I can build some extra debate prep time into your schedule.”

“She’s going to win New Hampshire, too,” he said, echoing Haven’s words from earlier.

“Maybe.”

Walker cut his gaze to her and waited like a parent waiting for an errant child’s confession.

“Okay probably, but with a good debate you’ll get some media attention that will help with the rest of the country, and you’re going to kick ass in South Carolina. Right before Super Tuesday.”

He laughed but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “I’ll win my home state where my father also happens to be governor. There’s a staggering political accomplishment.”

“For now we’re going to take them where we can get them. Do you know what you’re going to say?”

He reached for a tablet sitting on the desk and handed it to her. He’d scratched out a basic concession speech, congratulating General Collins on her win. He’d included two lines praising her public service and then went on to talk about the importance of more than military service, but he’d crossed that part out.

“It’s better with your edits,” she said.

“Yeah, I figured that out on the third time through.”

The lead talking head interrupted the endless replaying of how badly the Walker campaign had screwed up the past couple of days to say the Iowa results were in. For a moment, she and Walker simply watched the screen, not saying anything. The reporter read the results with an almost feverish glee, and then a commercial for some kind of fast-food restaurant came on. Haven shifted in her chair to face the senator.

“Third,” said Walker, sounding slightly stunned. “I came in third. Behind Jenson. Third.”

“It doesn’t change anything.” His gaze met hers and she could see the disbelief burning in his eyes. “I mean it, Shep. It doesn’t change anything. It’s still just one state, just one contest.”

“I like it when you say my name.”

She blinked, shocked for a minute at his admission. She’d gotten so used to calling him Senator as a sign of respect and Walker when she was pissed. She said his name because she’d needed him to believe her.

“You need to give your concession speech. Do it exactly the way you wrote it. Don’t mention Jenson. He’s not relevant.”

He rolled his eyes and she leaned forward, resting a hand on his arm. His bare skin felt warm under her palm and she felt his muscle tighten. Their eyes met and something flashed between them. Something too dangerous to look at more closely.

“He’s not,” she said, pulling her hand away. “We’ll make sure of it.”

He opened his mouth to say something but a knock at the door stopped him. Walker peered through the peephole and opened the door.

“Are you ready to go down, Senator?” asked Travis, standing in the doorway. He looked past Walker and nodded when he saw Haven.

“Give me a minute.” Walker stepped to the side, letting Travis into the room. Abby followed behind him, gazing around with the same kind of wonder people usually reserved for churches and beautiful buildings.