10. Break Me

10

brEAK ME

EVANGELINE

I place the Chinese take-out container on the ground with the others. They’re scattered around us as we sit with our backs pressed against the wall of the office. Darren’s shirt is loosely buttoned on me, and the sleeves are long and hang over my hands, but it smells like him, and I’ve missed that so much.

“So, this is what adulting looks like?” I tease.

“Well, not this in particular.” He motions to the mess we’ve made of his office.

I look around, and even in the darkness with only a small lamp to illuminate the room, I admire the posters on the wall, a few pictures—one in particular—of his father during his own campaign. It looks like a gift because of the ornate frame.

“If only he could see you now,” I offer.

Darren tracks my gaze to the photo. “Rausch gave that to me.”

I turn to look at him. “The two of you are getting along. Seems like I missed more than I thought.”

“A temporary truce, I suppose,” he smiles.

“It’s a good thing. He’s always cared for you, and he’ll make sure you win.”

“What were the two of you talking about earlier when I interrupted?”

I didn’t think he’d noticed. Especially since he was in uproar over Rory Colton getting front page coverage.

“A temporary truce of our own,” I answer cryptically.

Darren settles back against the wall, his long legs stretched out before him.

“And Ethel?” I laugh.

“What? You don’t think I can charm old ladies with canes?” he teases.

“I think if you can win her over, you can win over just about anyone,” I tease back.

“I’ll have you know campaigning is more than just kissing babies and shaking hands,” he jests.

“What has it been like for you?” I ask in a serious tone.

“More difficult than I thought,” he sighs. “You saw the rally today. I could barely get a few hundred voters to show up. And then Rory gets front page coverage, and I don’t know,” he lets out a frustrated breath.

“Did you think you could win on name alone?” I question.

He rests his head on the wall and angles it so he can look me in the eyes. “Maybe,” he replies and then looks down at the container in his hand, pushing the food around with the chopsticks. “Everything’s always come so easy. This,” he motions around the office, “is out of my grasp.”

“It may feel like that now, but the race isn’t over yet. You still have time to turn things around.” I offer him a small smile, but I can’t help but feel that I will still hold him back.

Darren rests the container against his thigh. His hair is tousled, and he’s bare chested, since I’ve appropriated with his shirt. His pants are still unbuttoned, the zipper yawning open just enough to see the smattering of dark hairs that dip below the waistband.

I wonder if I will ever get enough of him. He’s already fucked me on his desk, in the chair, against the glass partition—which was flimsy enough to almost be taken down—and yet I still want him.

He sees the way I’m looking at him and smiles. Setting the container down with the others, he drags me onto his lap. Fingering the collar of his shirt that I’m wearing, he says, “You know how much I like it when you wear my shirts.”

I feel the guilt bloom inside me as I remember folding his Georgetown shirt and leaving it on the bed when I left. I couldn’t bear to take it with me. I yearned for it every night when I went to sleep.

I touch his face. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, but in the silence of the office with the moonlight streaking in through the front blinds, it sounds louder than I meant for it to be.

He furrows his brow as he grips my waist. I feel the pads of his thumbs run along my hip bone.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” I try to explain.

“I’m stronger than you think. If you had just trusted me…” He leaves the sentence hanging.

“I trust us , Darren. What I don’t trust is everyone else. They’ll use me to get to you and I wanted to protect you from that. Protect you from me .” I place my hand on his face, and I feel the tic in his jaw.

I know he’s still angry with me. He fucked me like he didn’t know if he wanted to break me or piece me back together.

“I’m back because I love you.” I search his face, looking for any sign of his love in return.

“I know,” he says, touching my face, and I place my palm over his, leaning into his hand like a cat searching for affection.

I feel the wedding band on his finger as it scrapes along my cheek. I run my thumb over it before threading my fingers through his.

“I couldn’t take it off. I didn’t choose to fall in love with you, but now that I have, I wouldn’t change it. I can’t change it, so don’t ask me to.”