“Would you mind calling me Mom?”
“But what if—”
“I believe in you and Brock.”
I was glad someone did. “I haven’t called anyone Mom since I was a little girl.” My voice shook. I hadn’t even called Grandma Mom when they took me in. By the time I thought of her as my mother, the name Grandma had stuck.
“You don’t have to.” She seemed embarrassed.
“It’s not that I don’t want to . . . I’m afraid to.”
“I’m not going anywhere, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I nodded.
“You’re stuck with me.” She smiled.
“Mom it is, then.” My eyes welled with tears.Chapter Twenty-ThreeI rubbed my continually tired eyes and reached for my phone in the semidark. “Hello?” I answered without even looking at who it was.
“Dani. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
For a brief moment, panic set in. Why was Brock calling so early? I sat up. “Are you okay?”
“I miss you.”
I looked at the time. “You called at six in the morning to tell me you miss me?”
“That’s not the only reason.”
I could hear the trepidation in his voice. “What’s going on?” My thoughts immediately went to Brant and Edward.
“I’m going away for a while.”
“With the military?” I felt sick to my stomach.
“No. Actually, I’m taking a medical retirement.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “When was that decided?”
“Last week. I was going to tell you, but there were more important things to worry about.”
“How do you feel about it?” The military was everything to him. He had, literally, almost given his life for it.
“That’s not important right now. What is, is trying to keep you safe.”
My heart beat double time. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing yet, and Brant and I intend to keep it that way. But I’m going to need you to do something for me.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
He paused. In the silence, my mind played out every sordid scenario it could imagine. Everything from Edward sabotaging Children to Love to him sacrificing virgins in the White House.
“According to Brant, there are rumblings,” Brock interrupted my sickening thoughts, “about the validity of our marriage and the timing of it all.”
“Edward thinks the baby wasn’t yours,” I eked out.
“Edward would love that. More leverage for him to use against my family. But Edward has no proof, and we don’t want to give him any reason to believe that. In Washington, some people don’t care about proof; they care about how they can manipulate the narrative. Once the damage is done, proof is only a minor inconvenience.”
“Why would he do that to his daughter’s fiancé?”
“He wants to own Brant like he owns my father, apparently.” Disgust wove through his words. He was livid with his father for what he had done to me and for cowering to Edward. His hero had fallen, and I knew it broke his heart. “More like he wants to own Brant’s votes when he becomes a senator.”
“We can’t let that happen.”
“Agreed. Which is why I need you to come home.”
Did he say what I thought he’d said? “Wait. We aren’t . . . I mean, we’re . . . Well, I don’t what we are, but we’re . . . separated.” It was the only way I could think to describe our situation. Though the word sounded ugly saying it out loud.
“I know,” he said solemnly. “Which is why I won’t be here.”
“I’m confused.”
“I’m going to go to an inpatient treatment center in Utah. I leave late this morning.”
“You’re what? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“It’s not my first choice, and if they start holding hands around a campfire and singing ‘Kumbaya,’ I’m out of there,” he teased.
I softly laughed. “I know a good therapist here.”
“I know, but I need you to come home. I need to keep you safe.”
“How is coming to your place going to keep me safe?”
“Dani, being married to me—especially right now—means living in the public eye. If anyone finds out you’re staying alone at the loft, that is going to cause a stir. If you come here and I go to receive treatment for PTSD, people will understand, especially given our recent loss. And my mom will be staying here to take care of you, which will also serve to cover up my parents’ separation.”
I rubbed my forehead. “It sounds like we’re playing games.”
“No. We’re buying time is all. Time for Brant to make his move and put an end to this.”
“How is he going to do that?”
“He’s going to drop his election bid.”
“No,” I gasped. He couldn’t do that. It’s what he’d always dreamed of. The first time I met him, he’d said, “You just touched a future senator.” I flashed back to the coffee shop where Brock and I had been studying when in walked Brock’s twin, every bit as achingly handsome and confident as his brother. It was double the trouble and double the fun with those two. But Brant was cockier than Brock ever had been. I knew, though, that we would be good friends from the moment he had shaken my hand.