Chapter 165

I’m worried about Thea, but knowing our parents are unlikely to mistreat her, I pull myself back into my car and force myself to drive away. There’s nothing I can do if Mom won’t let me see her. I hope she at least knows that I tried to come and visit.

Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference. Maybe our budding sisterly bond was built more on the presence of the sedatives in my sister’s system. Maybe she doesn’t remember our conversation at all and really does think I abandoned her.

I can’t know without speaking to her, which I can’t do.

After everything I’ve done for Thea and our family over the years, I would have thought I’d earned more than what they are showing me here. But perhaps this is how things had always been and would always be since Thea reentered the family all those years ago.

They had their real daughter back, and I wasn’t needed anymore.

It hurts, but for now, I have to respect my parents’ wishes and leave this to them.

So I pull myself together and after driving back to the campaign office, I return to work.

For the final push before the primary election day, Miles visits three states in one day, while I stay behind and help rally the volunteers and the campaign workers.

Everyone remains nervous – well, except for Miles, who goes out in front of filled concert venues or packed town halls with a smile.

It’s nearly midnight the eve of election day when Miles finally comes through the door to my house. His suit is wrinkled from a long day on the campaign trail, and his entire body seems to be sagging with exhaustion.

I lead him into my bedroom, slowly removing his clothes as we go. At this point, I’ve learned to store some of his clothes in one half of one of my drawers so I help him into his pajamas before we both fall into bed.

“Long day?” I tease.

His eyes close immediately.

Smiling, I turn off the lights.

Then, in the dark, he whispers, “I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose.”

I look at him, but before I can say anything, his breathing evens out, his face relaxes, and he starts to snore.

Maybe he’s not quite as confident as he lets on. I wish I would have noticed sooner so that I could have assuaged his fears. He’s been so busy calming everyone else. Who was left to calm him?

It should have been me

I don’t know what our relationship is. We don’t really have a label for what we mean to each other.

But whatever we are, I should have been better. I should have done better. For Miles. For us.

“In the morning, I’ll fix this,” I say, and allow myself to drift off to sleep, comforted by the presence of the man beside me, even if I’ve failed him.

When I wake up the next morning, I blindly reach for Miles before opening my eyes. His side of the bed is cold.

Blinking open my eyes, I spot a handwritten note on Miles’s pillow.

It reads, Big day today. Getting an early start. Sleep in. Miles.

Sighing, I get out of bed and check the house. The pajamas he wore are in the hamper. He made eggs, there’s an extra plate for me, wrapped and covered on the kitchen counter. The coffee pot is on, keeping half the pot warmed for me.

Miles himself is long gone.

At work, I’m so busy organizing the volunteers that I don’t see Miles at all until later in the evening, at the final rally we arranged. A hotel’s banquet hall is filled with only the closest of Miles’ supporters, as well as the biggest donors.

His parents are there, as are the George’s, who I desperately avoid. Many members of the press are there too, including Sabrina. I avoid her as well, unsure which of the two I would hate to talk to more.

I’d voted before coming here, and it’s late enough now that the voting stations are closing, at least for the eastern half of the country.

Everyone seems to be in good spirits. There are televisions around the room showing the 24-hour news stations, including Harbinger’s. All of the sources say that it’s far too early to call the winner. Exit-polling currently shows the two main candidates, one of which is Miles, as being neck and neck.

“Where’s Representative Hamilton?” I ask one of the volunteers. Perusing the rally floor, I see absolutely everyone I could think to see – but not Miles himself.

“He’s in the staging room,” the volunteer tells me and directs me to a side room where Miles can sit privately and prepare.

That’s where I find him, sitting alone at a table covered in drinks and snacks. He’s not touching any of them, though there is an opened water bottle near him.

I’m glad he’s not drinking. He’s going to need his head on straight tonight, most likely. If he loses, he’ll need to give a graceful speech, nothing embarrassing that could ruin his future aspirations. When he wins, he’ll need full use of his faculties to help unite the party for the final push to the main election.

“Miles?” I say, making my presence known as I enter the room and close the door behind me. I don’t want to startle him if he’s deep in thought.

“Hey, Esther,” he says.

Something’s off. He has a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

Coming closer, I move around to face him.

He’s hunched forward on the chair, his elbows on his knees with his hands dangling in the space between them. He’s staring down at the floor.

“You okay?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I think so? But I don’t know.”

I grab one of the nearby chairs and bring it over closer to his. I arrange it so that we are facing each other and sit down. I don’t say anything for a while, and we sit in silence. At this point, he could just want company.

I trust him to speak if he wants to.

After another few moments, he does, “I’ve been through elections before, but everything is different this time. This one is so much more important. It has so much weight…” He inhales and exhales; it comes out a sigh. “They say on the news that the exit polls show my competitor and me in a tie, but the truth is messier. Our own polls show that I’m falling behind.”

“It’s early yet,” I remind him. “Some of the voting stations are still open.”

Miles nods, but he doesn’t seem to have gained any confidence. “Esther. What do I do if I lose?”

I’ve been thinking about what to say to this, ever since he whispered the words close to this in his near-sleep last night. There are no easy answers, but I speak from my heart.

“It will hurt. It will be a setback,” I tell him honestly. “But you are young, and your ambition is unlimited. Losing this election doesn’t mean you can’t ever run again. If you lose, we’ll spend the next four years learning from the mistakes we made and then you run again better.”

Miles lifts his head, glancing at me. For the first time since I entered this room, I hear the hope in his voice as he says, “We?”

Did he think I was going somewhere? “We,” I assure him. “I’m going to be right here every step of the way.”

That seems to calm him even further. “Okay.”

For the next few hours, we talk lightly, but mostly sit in silence. At one point, Miles reaches for my hand and I’m happy to hold his.

Then, near midnight, one of the volunteers knocks and opens the door.

“Excuse me, but the news stations have called us and said they are ready to project the winner…”