34. Breaking News

34

brEAKING NEWS

EVANGELINE

“ H urry up, turn it on!” Ethel yells, and Rausch reaches to the TV on the wall and flicks it on. We all gather around in the bullpen—sitting on the desks, others on the floor, but Darren can’t sit. He paces at the back of the room like a nervous father waiting for his baby to be born instead of the results for the election.

“Whatever the results, you did your best,” I tell him.

“I don’t like losing,” he gripes.

“Oh, I know,” I tease him. “But there’s still so much you can do, even if you don’t win.”

“Remind me not to have you give a pep talk,” Ethel interrupts, pursing her lips with a hand on her hip. “You’re putting bad juju out into the universe,” she accuses.

A Breaking News banner runs along the bottom of the screen. The room is silent while the newscaster speaks.

Senator Jonathan Langley was arrested today on charges of insider trading involving his wife’s family’s luxury hotel chain, Horizon écarlate. Federal investigators allege that Langley used privileged information to benefit from stock movements tied to the high-end hotel empire. The scandal has sent shockwaves through the political and business communities, raising serious questions about ethics and transparency in both spheres. Langley has denied all allegations, asserting his innocence and vowing to fight the charges vigorously.

The story was first broken by investigative journalist August Wilder of the Los Angeles Vanguard.

The room fills with chatter, and I look over at Rausch. I’d assumed he handed it to someone at The Post or the SEC.

“It would have been too obvious if it came from Washington,” he explains with a wink.

Darren gives him a nod and we watch a clip of Langley being walked out of his home in the Kalorama neighborhood.

“Have you heard from Rebecca?” Darren asks.

“No, but I didn’t expect to. She took the kids overseas until all this blows over,” I explain.

“Probably for the best,” he says, tugging me into his side.

The screen goes back to the regularly scheduled program, displaying all eleven districts in Virginia and the percentage of votes that have been counted so far.

“It’ll be a little while before the official count is done,” Darren announces. “Anyone up for pizza?” he asks the volunteers, and he gets a few grumbles. “It’s on me.”

Suddenly everyone starts calling out orders. “I’ll call it in.” Rausch excuses himself.

“I like my pizza well done and none of that pineapple or whatnot. Barbeque chicken but you tell them not to be skimpy on the chicken. You know what, hand me the phone,” Ethel demands, trailing after him.

Darren grabs a hat off the desk and places it on my head, pushing it down over my eyes. “Hey,” I protest, and adjust it so I can see.

He takes my hand, kissing the back of it and I look at him thoughtfully, rubbing along the stubble that lines his jaw.

“What?” he questions with a smirk.

“Nothing. I just love you.”

“That’s not nothing.” He shakes his head, pulls me closer, and kisses me deep, leaving me longing for more.

“Is this a party or what?” Alistair barges in, setting down a bottle of whiskey.

“It’s not,” Darren groans, releasing me.

He inspects the bottle of whiskey and raises an eyebrow.

“Only the best for Congressman Walker,” Alistair says.

“I haven’t won yet,” he tells him.

“Yet is the optimal word,” Alistair points into the air. “And when you do, we will celebrate like kings.”

True to Alistair’s nature, something shiny catches his attention, and he’s off, weaving through the volunteers.

I look back at the tv screen and the results are steadily coming in but still a long way off from calling a win. District eleven is still showing Calhoun ahead, which is disarming.

“There’s still time. The polls haven’t closed yet,” I contend, trying to lift his spirits.

Darren fishes his phone from his pocket and then holds it out to me with a smirk.

Rory: Good luck, Walker.

It’s just one of many encouraging texts Darren has received today from various friends and political colleagues of his father’s.

As soon as the pizza is delivered, everyone descends on the boxes like a pack of wild animals who haven’t eaten in days. Plastic cups of soda are passed around the room, and I can’t help but feel the immense level of emotion that washes over me at the support for my husband. It’s inspiring. He’s inspiring, and I’m reminded of something Rausch said to me which feels like so long ago: and to think, he’s only scratching the surface of his potential .

The thought fills me with both excitement and trepidation.

As the hours go by, all that’s left of the pizza are crumbs and grease stains. I make myself useful by gathering them and the plastic cups that litter just about every surface of the office and take them out to the dumpster.

When I come back in, I notice Alistair leaning against Ethel’s desk as she shows him the chain stitch on the blanket she’s been making for her granddaughter who’s having a baby.

“So, this is how blankets are made?” Alistair inspects the crocheted square.

Ethel looks at him with a horrified expression. “Boy, you’re lucky God made you cute because he must have been short on smarts that day.”

I snort laugh into my fist.

Alistair’s head pops up, furrowing his brow at me, and I turn quickly to go find Darren.

“District five’s polls are closed!” Angie yells over the chatter and we all settle down.

Darren slides into the chair next to me and his hand rests on my thigh watching the numbers come in. Across from us, Rausch rests his hands on his thighs, leaning toward the screen as if it’s overtime in the Super Bowl and his team has the ball.

I feel Darren’s hand clench my leg as the numbers flip: fifty-two percent Walker and forty-eight percent Calhoun. It’s just skirting the line, but it’s enough.

District five has been predominantly Republican , the newscaster says. The numbers are suggesting a shift as Lynchburg begins to report results. In recent years as the district has been split, conservative democrats have been in control. This would be a first for a liberal democrat to be elected by Lynchburg voters.

The newscaster pauses, placing a palm over his earpiece as he listens intently. This just in. Danville has been called for Walker.

The room erupts in cheers and back slaps.

Rausch peers at him with a proud smile.

“Doesn’t matter now what Lynchburg’s results are. They’re gonna call it early,” he explains, and I still don’t understand.

As if on cue, Rausch’s phone rings, and he stands. Instead of answering it, he hands it ceremoniously to Darren.

He hesitates to take it but then hits the button to answer. “Jordie,” he answers with his eyes cast to the sticky, soda slicked floor. “It’s Walker.”

He nods and grunts and I can’t take it anymore. I paw at him like a puppy looking for attention because Rausch isn’t giving anything away.

“Yes, I know,” Darren gives a small laugh. “It was. You too,” he lets out a breath. “Thank you.” He hangs up, handing the phone back to Rausch.

“Calhoun conceded!” he announces loudly, just as the news announces Darren as the winner.

The room erupts again as Dare for Change hats fly in the air as if it’s a high school graduation, and someone opens up the dollar store confetti poppers we passed out earlier. Volunteers and staff take their turns patting Darren on the back.

He swipes a hand through his hair and looks across the aisle. Rausch holds out his hand. “Congratulations, and God help Congress,” he teases.

Instead of shaking his hand, he pulls Rausch in for a hug. Rausch closes his eyes momentarily and gives Darren’s back a proud slap, the sound like a clap of thunder. When he lets go, Darren gathers me up in his arms, lifting me into the air.

“We did it!” he cheers loudly and when he gently lets my feet touch the floor he says again, quietly and with deep emotion, “ We did it.”

After the last of the volunteers and staff leave, we walk back to the office to gather our things where we find Alistair sitting behind the desk, his feet propped up and a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Our first order of business should be legalizing prostitution,” he declares, wiggling his eyebrows.

“First of all, I don’t have any authority over that, and second, there is no ‘us’.” Darren pushes his feet off the desk.

Alistair stands indignantly. “Well, as your chief of mischief affairs, I outvote you.”

“There is no such title,” Darren says with an annoyed tone, and I giggle.

Darren pushes him out of the office and towards the door. “This is the thanks I get for helping you get elected,” Alistair says.

Darren rolls his eyes, giving him one last push out the door. “Get home safely, Alistair,” Darren remarks, patting his shoulder, and then he turns to look at me with a smile that I know all too well.

“I know when I’m not wanted,” Alistair bemoans with mock hurt but then his expression turns serious. “Proud of you, Dare.”

Darren nods and we watch as Alistair walks to his car.

“I’m having business cards made up tomorrow. Chief of Mischief Affairs. It’s happening!” He waves behind him and Darren laughs.

I like the sound of it.

Darren pulls a Dare for Change hat out of his pocket and places it on my head, pulling it down over my eyes again. I readjust it and give him a kiss.

“You won,” I whisper against his lips.

“Oh yeah?” he grins. “Where’s my prize?”

I roll my eyes teasingly. “What do you want?”

“I want you to wear this and nothing else,” he commands, tapping the bill of the hat.

“Yes, Congressman.” I smile.