Brady stood up and paced the room. She could see him trying to process everything she had told him. She knew he already believed her. It would be a pretty elaborate story for her to make up, and what would be the point in that? She was here. She was with him. She wasn’t about to start lying now.
He pivoted and stared at her. He took in every aspect as his eyes roamed from her body clad in his baggy clothing up to her messy towel-dried hair to her face, open and vulnerable to him. With everything she was worth, she wished she knew what was going on inside of that head.
“So, the real concern is where to go from here,” Brady said, his voice even and level. She could see the mask slipping into place, see the wall slamming down and closing her out.
“Please don’t do that,” she whispered.
“What?”
“I’m right here. You can talk to me. You can tell me what you’re thinking,” Liz pleaded. “I’m not the public. I’m not the threat. I don’t want you to think that you have to hide.”
“How do you do that?” he asked in disbelief.
“Do what?”
“See through me so easily. All I did was look at you and ask a question.”
Liz slowly shook her head. “That’s not what I see when I look at you, Brady.” She brushed her hair off of her shoulder, moving it all to one side. “You’re not the campaign with me. You’re not a congressman with me. You’re just the man I fell for, and that man tried to shut me out once. I’m not letting it happen again.”
Brady broke her gaze and let his eyes shift out the window. “I think there was a bit of mutual fault in that instance.”
“Yeah. I guess we were both stupid.” Liz sighed. There was so much she wanted to know. She didn’t even know where to start . . . or where exactly they could go from here. “What was it like not having me at your side at all of those events?”
“What does it matter?” he asked, glancing back up at her.
“I was just curious. Like, was Erin all that great? Why were you with her to begin with? She was out there in public with you, on your arm. It seemed so wrong. And you just let her talk about all of that stuff at the dinner with your parents and I just had to sit there. I mean, a morning talk show host who does charity work with inner-city kids? Really? She must have given really great head, because she sure was boring . . .”
“Are you about done?” Brady snapped.
Liz eeped. “Um . . . yeah.”
“Good. Now that that’s off of your chest, let’s try to put all of that behind us and think about what we’re doing right now. I can’t change anything that happened the past year, and I can’t change any of the circumstances we’re currently in. I can only think about the future.” As Brady messed with his hair, he walked back over and took a seat next to Liz. “I want to go public.”
“What?” Liz gasped, standing abruptly and covering her mouth. She was sure that he hadn’t just said that. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Liz, I want to go to public. I’ve had over a year to think about what I would have done differently. I’ve missed you enough that I want to do this. I want to try to make it work. The public already knows you exist. Sure, it won’t be easy to be out there, but I’d rather it be our choice than the media’s. We didn’t go public before because I couldn’t see anything past my career. Well, now I want both. I should be able to have both.”
Liz swallowed. She felt a bit faint. She never thought that she would have this conversation with Brady. Not in a million years. Every time she let herself think about being public with him, she had pushed the thought down and buried it. Now that she was faced with the possibility, she didn’t even know what that would look like.
“Um, whoa. That’s . . . that’s kind of huge, Brady. I mean . . . Hayden and I just broke up. I just got the job offer at the New Yorker. I’m still in school, editor of the paper, and those articles. You’re up for reelection.”
“Liz, I don’t care,” Brady said, standing with her. He grabbed her hands and pulled her closer. “I want to do this. All I hear is wasted time. You left. I get why you left, but I was stupid for letting it happen.”
“I just . . . I want to, Brady, but . . .”
“No,” he said, touching his fingers to her lips. “You want to.”
She smiled up at him, but her stomach was in knots. This was exactly what she wanted and it scared the shit out of her. Everything had changed so fast.
“I do, Brady. I want to be with you, but this is really sudden.”
“I know. It’s kind of crazy,” he said. “I’m not normally a rash person. You really do f**k me up.”
“I just . . . I know I was the one who wanted to go public last time, so I shouldn’t be hesitating about this, but it’s a lot to think about all at once.”
Brady smiled and then bent down and kissed her on the lips. “I think I’d be more surprised if you were completely okay with everything. It’s a big decision. I’m used to the limelight. You’d have to be in it too, baby.”
Liz froze. She hadn’t thought about that. Well, not really. She had always thought she was better behind a camera than in front of one. She preferred writing articles to working in broadcast. What would it be like to be out there with Brady?
“Can we . . . can we wait to see if all of this blows over first? I just don’t want to be rash and put us out there, only to be under worse scrutiny.”
“I’ll do it your way,” he said with another tender kiss, “as long as it means you’re mine.”
“I always have been, Brady.”
Chapter 28
AROUND THE BLOCK
Brady and Liz spent the rest of the weekend locked away at his lake house. Not wanting to risk being seen by any reporters who might wander by, they didn’t leave the house. But there were few objections from either of them about that. It was nice and peaceful compared to the hellfire they were walking back into when they left the lake. Neither was looking forward to it.
The drive back to Chapel Hill seemed to take half as long as the drive to the lake house . . . and she had been asleep for most of the drive there. Liz chewed on her nails compulsively until Brady slapped at her hands and made her stop. She grabbed his hand, laced their fingers together, and leaned on his shoulder. She wasn’t ready for their weekend of tranquility to be over.