K. Linde - Off the Record

“Oh, it looks like the results are finally in,” Stacy said with a smile.

Liz watched the screen along with the rest of the crowd. She was solely focused on what was about to happen. Brady was going to win. He had to win. This was his dream.

“And it looks like in an incredibly close race with a win by only a thousand votes,” Stacy cheered, “State Senator Brady Maxwell has won the primary. Congratulations, Senator.”

The room erupted into applause. People were screaming, clapping, hugging one another, dancing with strangers—Liz could even see one lady crying on her friend’s shoulder. And all she did was stand there and stare.

Brady won. He had actually won. He had beaten a very qualified candidate, someone who had been working in politics two or three times longer than him. Yet, he had come out on top.

Liz had known deep down that he would win, but still the magnitude of what had just happened washed over her all at once. He had two and a half more months of the campaign to find out whether he won his seat in Congress, but at this point, he had surpassed expectations. If he won his seat in November, he would be the youngest sitting representative. She was so proud of him.

Actually standing there, knowing that Brady was the nominee for the House of Representatives, changed everything. Everything.

He wasn’t just a chance. A hope. He was a sure thing.

And it was in that moment Liz knew that Brady had been wrong the other day. He had been wrong to say that there was never a choice. No matter how stubborn he was in wanting both the campaign and her, there was always a choice. Always.

But the choice wasn’t his. It was hers.

The whole time Liz had been acting as if she didn’t have a choice in what happened between her and Brady. That things would work out or they wouldn’t. That he was the one who would make the ultimate decision to pull the plug. He had set the rules from the beginning in that little diner, and he had been setting them ever since. Brady decided when and where and even who could know that they had a relationship at all. Brady had decided the risks they would take.

Liz had simply acted like a passenger, letting him guide the car wherever it might go. She had been active and even demanding at times, but she never really pushed the limits. She never did anything drastic enough to make him say enough was enough.

But she knew now that she had to make the choice; otherwise Brady was going to keep making it for her. He had been making decisions for her long enough.

What it came down to was that she loved him and he loved her. It was an inevitable, impossible existence where they stood currently. Their feelings bore down on them with a hopeless, crushing desire, with a need that bordered on addiction. It would forever be that need that she felt, that craving to be with him, to be around him because they were never allowed the opportunity to let their feelings bloom and grow. At this standstill, they couldn’t truly develop their relationship.

And the biggest problem. The one above all else was that Brady wouldn’t let her love him.

Plain and simple.

So the choice wasn’t her or the campaign. The choice was whether or not he would let her love him.

And that answer scared her, terrified her.

Because Liz knew that if it was her decision, she would choose his happiness over hers any day.

Brady stared out across the sea of people. The ballroom was full to the brim with his supporters chanting his name, cheering his victory, and waiting for him to give his acceptance speech. He had won the nomination to run for the House of Representatives in his party. He had won.

All of the time, energy, planning, strategizing…everything he had given up had been worth it. The people in his district had voted, and here he was preparing to step up to the podium to accept the nomination. It was surreal to finally have within arm’s reach what he had been working toward all this time.

Yates’s dropping out of the race had helped the situation. He had been a more formidable contender than Hardy, though still Brady had beaten him by only a thousand votes. He wished he knew how much of his success rested on the name his father had given him compared to the amount of effort he had put in himself.

In the end, it didn’t matter. He was still here, exactly where he wanted to be.

“Congratulations!” Heather cried, rushing toward him with a giant smile plastered on her face. It was the first real smile he had seen from her in a while. She had been even more stressed than he was these last couple weeks.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him into a hug, the way she used to when they had been running in smaller races. She didn’t even touch him anymore; she was too worried about appearances.

Brady patted her on the back and Heather released him, looking a bit flustered.

“I knew you could do it,” she said, straightening diplomatically. Even here, right after they had won their greatest feat to date, she still couldn’t be herself. Sometimes he missed the old Heather.

“Thanks,” Brady said, for once not knowing what else to say.

“How does it feel?” she asked. Her delight was written all over her body. Most other people might not have noticed, since she wasn’t skipping around the room and bouncing up and down, but Brady noticed the little things—like the way she gripped her hands together, the set of her shoulders, and her easy breaths. They had been in this business together too long already.

“It feels damn good.”

“Don’t go saying that to the press,” Heather said cheekily.

“Would I ever?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Heather leaned in closer and checked to make sure no one was listening. Everyone was milling around them, but they all seemed too engrossed in their own excitement to pay him too much attention. It was a bit ironic.

“Fuck, Brady. We actually did it. We beat the odds. We beat Yates and Hardy. Despite you messing around with that reporter, and the press having a field day, we still made it through. We can win.” Her voice was tight with emotion. “We can win.”

And there it was. It always came back to Liz. All of the dates that Heather had put on his arm had shown up in the news in a negative light, but it didn’t matter. Because to Heather, he had slipped up, he had fucked Liz, and he had carried on an illicit relationship behind Heather’s back. Even though he wasn’t dating someone else, or married, or had kids…it still always came back to that.

Brady wondered whether Heather even noticed how irritated that made him.

“Yes, I believe we can win,” he said curtly. “Excuse me, Heather, I need a minute alone before I go onstage.”

“Of course,” she said. “Congratulations again. Alex said for you to take two days off, and then we were going to sit down and plot strategy. I know that we already have the skeleton in place, but now that we have the nomination, he wants it all finalized.”

“Sounds perfect. Friday it is,” Brady said. Heather turned to leave, but Brady stopped her. “And hey, Heather…”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for all of your hard work.”

“Wouldn’t have done it for anyone else,” she said sincerely before departing.

Brady sighed and walked away from the crowd, hoping to find a moment of peace. He pulled out his phone, glad that he had a new number that wasn’t tapped…yet. He understood that people wanted to get dirt on him, but the never-ending cycle of new numbers was exhausting.

Not that he could ever let on that anything exhausted him. Some days everything did. He had followed in his father’s footsteps, and they were big shoes to fill. At least Brady believed that he could do it. He had been one of those kids who, when asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, had answered without pause, “The President of the United States.” That dream had never faded, and luck seemed to be on his side.

He was counting on that luck to get him through this election. He just hadn’t anticipated Liz. She was the one game piece that didn’t fall into place. Yet for some goddamn reason he couldn’t get her out of his head.

Brady entered the empty lounge and took a seat on a brown cushioned chair. He leaned forward with his arms resting on his legs. He had about fifteen minutes until he got up onstage before all of his supporters, staff, and press. He wanted those fifteen minutes to be peaceful, because he knew the rest of the night…the rest of the campaign would be without a moment of peace.

He typed in Liz’s number by heart; he’d had too many phone changes not to know it.

Hey, are you in the crowd?

Liz’s response was almost immediate. Yes, I’m here with my boss.

Brady frowned. Her boss. He was sure she didn’t mean the professor who had given her the research assistant position, which meant she was here…at his event…with that douche bag.

Brady clenched and unclenched his fists a few times, trying not to let his anger overpower him. He knew he wasn’t giving her what she wanted, but he couldn’t do anything about it right now.

And then the fact that she had run to someone else…just infuriated him. She said that it wasn’t like that, but still. Despite it all, he still wanted to be with her. He still really wanted to give her what she asked of him.

I have some time and wanted to see you.

Heather will flip her shit if she saw me. I don’t want to get you in any sort of trouble. This is a big day for you.