Incumbent Read online

  Incumbent

  Copyright © 2015 Joanne Schwehm

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN: 978-0-9905526-8-0

  Edited by

  Pam Berehulke, Bulletproof Editing

  Cover Design by

  Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  Formatted by

  Tami Norman, Integrity Formatting

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, including photocopying, recording, or by information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The use of artist, song titles, famous people, locations, and products throughout this book are done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way been seen as an advertisement. Trademark names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Note from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Stay in Touch

  Books by Joanne Schwehm

  PROLOGUE

  ~ Lucy ~

  History is a subject we learn from.

  As children, we’re groomed to learn from those who came before us, not just to understand where we came from, but so we won’t make the same mistakes. Whether we studied wars between countries, families, or lovers, the lesson was to grow so we could educate ourselves and others.

  However, sometimes personal history was so painful, it was better forgotten. Although my history taught me in ways I’d never wish on anyone else, it still happened and was ingrained in me. Lies were told, truths overlooked, and when my world spiraled out of control, the damage was irreparable.

  Rather than being consumed with my past, I submerged myself in the history of my country. I became a teacher, and enjoyed stoking the imagination of my students so they could understand why we needed the past to better our future.

  To be honest, my motive was a bit selfish. I knew that studying and lecturing others on governments, politics, and wars would remove me from the struggle that waged within me every day. It was a battle I’d fought for the past thirteen years, and still did each time I looked in the mirror.

  The only thing worse than my own reflection was the day I saw the disgust in my parents’ eyes when they looked at me. Their reaction confirmed all I knew to be true—that no matter how hard we tried, history couldn’t be rewritten or forgotten. We could attempt to run from it, but it always had a way of catching up with us.

  Then there is love. History dictates that even the deepest love isn’t enough to withstand obstacles or conquer barriers. Look at the great couples in history—Romeo and Juliet, Cleopatra and Mark Anthony, Napoleon and Josephine—there was always struggle, and not necessarily a happily-ever-after. My life, like theirs, isn’t a fairy tale. Those are best left to children’s books that give children hope until they grow and become adults, and then reality sets in.

  Moving to Virginia and making a new best friend, Mason, was my attempt at a fresh start. I began a life where no one knew me or my family, a life in which I could do my best at creating a new history for myself, one I could be proud of.

  Then I met him.

  ~ Drake ~

  History is the foundation our wonderful country is built on.

  I loved everything about it. Our founding fathers created a glorious path I chose to follow, and my heart and soul geared up to serve my country. Although I couldn’t serve in the military due to a football injury, I decided to serve my country with my time. I volunteered at every opportunity, and once I assisted with the Republican National Convention at age eighteen, I knew the direction I needed to take.

  After I graduated with a political science degree and became a lawyer, I put my education to good use in our nation’s capital. I ran for the United States Senate when I was thirty, and was elected. My parents and siblings couldn’t be prouder, and to be honest, I was very pleased with the accomplishments I’d made in a short time. Although my mother would like to see her oldest son married, I hadn’t had the time or inclination to become involved with anyone.

  That was another thing I learned from history. Politicians and their families were scrutinized for everything they did, for each and every move they made. We were under a microscope.

  My campaign manager and supporters urged me to run for president when my first term ended, but I wasn’t ready. There were things I needed to accomplish as a senator, and it was my seat to lose. If I could help it, nothing or no one would stand in my way because I was the incumbent.

  Then I met her.

  CHAPTER 1

  ~ Lucy ~

  “Come on, people!”

  It was the worst possible day to be running late for work. A strange mix of annoyance and excitement coursed through my veins as I fumed while stuck in traffic, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles had turned white. Rush-hour traffic in any metropolitan city was frustrating, but here in Northern Virginia, it was especially brutal, even on Fridays when traffic was normally lighter.

  I could see my highway exit just up ahead, but we were at a standstill. My Metro card peeking out from my cup holder mocked me, and I cursed myself for not taking public transportation.

  After what felt like an eternity, during which I memorized all the stick figures’ names on the minivan’s back window in front of me, I finally pulled into Northern Ridge High School.

  Five minutes before the first bell. I can do this.

  Planner and tote bag in hand, I hurried to my classroom, trying not to knock anyone down as I made my way down the locker-lined hallway. Naturally, there were a few students milling about outside my classroom, chatting with their friends. The others would stroll in just before the bell rang.

  The classes I taught varied from US History to Government, which was my last class of the day, and today it was the one I was looking forward to. We were in the second half of the year, and mid-semester exams were under way in all my classes except for my Government class.

  I went through the motions all day, watching the clock as I counted down the minutes until my last class. Today was special because I’d invited a special visitor, and had been thrilled when he’d accepted.

  By the time the eighth-period bell rang hours later, my nerves were tight with anticipation. Students leisurely poured in, and the familiar sound of chairs scraping the linoleum floor was welcome. My dry-erase marker squeaked on the whiteboard as I wrote today’s class agenda—GUEST SPEAKER.

  I pivoted to face a sea of blank faces. “Class, today we’ll be visited by a very significant man who is a United States senator. He’s hoping to be our president one day. Isn’t that exciting?”

  My boisterous voice might as well have been a murmur. The students groaned, but I felt as if I could practically burst out of my skin. Apparently, high school juniors didn’t find this thrilling, but I did. I’d majored in political scienc
e, and the thought of a real politician coming to speak to my class was the most exhilarating thing to ever happen in my life.

  “Ms. Washburn, can I go to the nurse?”

  When I looked at the young lady twirling pink gum around her pointer finger as she stretched it from her lips, looking as bored as could be, I raised my brows in question as she rolled her eyes.

  “Are you sick, Veronica?”

  She pulled her gum from her finger and put it back in her mouth. “No, but I hate politics.”

  The class’s laughter was interrupted by a knock at the door. All eyes went to the open doorway, and Veronica sat up in her seat and said quickly, “Never mind. I feel better.”

  I’d never seen him in person, but Senator Drake Prescott was breathtaking. Magazine photos and television definitely didn’t do him justice; in person he was even more impressive. Standing at about six feet tall with an almost military bearing, he had piercing blue-green eyes, impeccably styled brown hair, and a dimple that could make a nun kick the habit. He was imposing in his navy suit, light blue tie, and the obligatory American flag pin on his lapel.

  I could barely take my eyes off of him. The man was definitely model worthy.

  When I glanced at my class, the girls were staring with wide eyes, giggling or touching up their lip gloss, but the boys just looked bored and unimpressed.

  “Ms. Washburn?” The senator’s voice was so deep and rich, it reverberated in my chest and bounced around like a pinball between each of my ribs. “I’m Drake Prescott.” He strode into the classroom and extended his hand, and when I placed mine in his, it seemed small.

  I was thankful I’d worn a black dress today that hit just above my knees, and a pair of simple black pumps. Most days I dressed casually, and I rarely wore heels. My coworkers probably noticed that I’d made an extra effort today, but I didn’t care.

  “Very pleased to meet you, Senator Prescott.” I cleared my throat, trying to free the lump that formed so I could swallow and be articulate. “Class, this is Senator Prescott, who represents our fine state of Virginia, and Senator, this is my class.” I motioned toward the kids with a hand that trembled slightly, and jerked it back to my side.

  “Thank you for having me here today.” He turned to look at the students. “I was going to give a speech about our wonderful country and the sturdy foundation our past leaders have set in place for us. But if it’s okay with Ms. Washburn, I’d rather field questions from you. You’re all young adults and will be voting within the next couple of years. You may not realize it yet, but you’re our country’s future.” He turned toward me. “Will that be okay?”

  My tongue slid over my lips, which were now devoid of any moisture, rivaling the Sahara Desert. “Yes. That would be wonderful. Wouldn’t it, class?”

  The girls agreed with shining eyes and appreciative murmurs, but the boys fidgeted in their seats.

  Senator Prescott flashed his dimple that turned my legs to Jell-O, and nodded before addressing my students, who shifted in their seats. “So, who has a question for me?”

  At first, no one raised their hand. Then Marcie, one of my star students, broke the ice.

  “Yes, young lady.”

  He raised a hand to point to the back of the class. When the other students turned to see who he was talking to, they grumbled, and Marcie’s face reddened.

  “Please introduce yourself.”

  She stood. “Hi. My name is Marcie Smith. I was wondering what your stance is on gay marriage.”

  My heart raced. Marcie’s father was gay, and she had been raised by him and his partner. They were wonderful with her, always present at every parent-teacher conference and very involved with her academic career, but I couldn’t clue the senator in that this was a very personal issue to her. So I just held my breath as some of the students snickered.

  Drake’s straight posture commanded authority, and when he spoke, the class silenced and stilled.

  “That’s an excellent question, Marcie.” He leaned his long frame against the front of my desk. “The Supreme Court has ruled that states can’t keep same-sex couples from marrying and must recognize their unions. Therefore, it’s legal.”

  Marcie looked a little confused but she wasn’t timid, which she proved by her follow-up question. “I wanted to know what your personal stance was. Do you support same-sex marriage?”

  “My views may not be popular in the party I’m affiliated with. For lack of better words, they have some very old-fashioned and conservative thoughts regarding same-sex marriage, and whether the issue is truly a federal one. I was raised to believe in the love that two people have for each other regardless of their sexual orientation.”

  “Thank you, Senator.” She smiled and slid back into her seat as he asked for the next question.

  More students piped up to ask a few general questions, softballs in comparison to the curveball he’d just fielded.

  “Have you met the president?” Yes.

  “Have you ever been in the Oval Office?” His response was no with an easy chuckle.

  The back and forth now had a more relaxed feel, and his responses were quick.

  Jasmine raised her hand, and he nodded in acknowledgment.

  “Will you be running for office again?”

  “Yes, I’m the incumbent, and would love to keep my seat.” He was confident and his eyes shone with pride, which affected me even more than his good looks.

  “Who are you running against?”

  I’d never see Jasmine so engaged before. Maybe I should have the senator here more often. The thought made my thighs clench. Then again, maybe that’s not such a great idea.

  “The primary is this June, so we’ll see then who my opponent will be.”

  Another student raised his hand and stood. “Hi, I’m Robert. Are you a Democrat?”

  Drake smiled. “No, Robert. I’m a Republican.”

  Mike, who usually spent more time in the principal’s office than my classroom, raised his hand. He pushed to his feet and shoved his hands in the front pockets of his baggy cargo pants.

  “Yeah, so, what’s your opinion on weed? I mean, legalizing marijuana.”

  He sat down, and some of the other students laughed while he collected a few high-fives from his classmates sitting nearby.

  I stepped next to the senator, and a rush of nerves passed through me. “Class, please settle down.”

  My worried eyes found calm ones as Drake held up his index finger and gave me a confident nod.

  “What’s your name, young man?” His voice boomed over the chatting going on. Some of the kids straightened in their seats just at the sound of it.

  “My name is Mike. I don’t want to get busted or nothing.” His hands went up, palms facing us. “I don’t use the stuff. I was just wondering.”

  His buddies snickered, and Mike’s lips twitched as he struggled to contain a grin.

  “Legalizing marijuana has been a hot topic of late, but it’s not as cut and dry as one may think. There are a lot of factors that contribute to legalizing a Schedule One drug. Other governmental departments, like the DEA, need to be involved. Yes, some states have legalized it, but it wasn’t done overnight. That being said, if all research pointed to a positive effect medicinal cannabis had on certain ailments, and it could be administered and dispensed correctly, I wouldn’t be fully opposed to it.”

  Mike and his friends slapped each other’s hands, and the class tittered.

  “However,” the senator raised his voice and pinned Mike with a pointed look, “I wouldn’t agree to a law that let you and your buddies buy it to get high. Many think they can’t get addicted to it, but you can. Searching for the next high can lead to stronger narcotics. There are reasons laws are in place. They’re there for your protection.”

  The boys quieted down, and I took over. After letting out a deep breath, I smiled. “Okay, class, the senator has time for one more question.”

  I couldn’t believe how fast this period flew by. Usual
ly, the hour dragged, but sadly, not today.

  Veronica stood. “Yeah, do you like . . . have a girlfriend?” She ran her gaze over his expensive suit, as if wondering what lay beneath it, before she sat down.

  When Drake glanced at me before answering, heat rose on every inch of my skin. It’s warm in my classroom today, isn’t it? Can he see me sweat? No one else seems to be sweating. While my mind raced, his gaze never left mine.

  “No. I’m single.”

  He smiled at me, producing that adorable dimple again before he shared it with the class, and I internally fanned myself to regain my composure.

  “Okay, class, let’s thank Senator Prescott for taking time out of his busy schedule to be with us today.”

  The bell rang, and my students scrambled and were out the door in a noisy flash. This period was the last of the day—as well as the last of the week—so they looked forward to hearing the final bell sound, signaling the start of their weekend. To be honest, on most days, so did I. But I wouldn’t have minded if today’s class were a tad longer.

  Once we were alone, Senator Prescott turned to me. “Thank you for having me in your class, Ms. Washburn.” He extended his hand.

  “I appreciate your answering their questions. It had to be such a thrill for them.”

  I shook his hand, and when he didn’t let go right away, I was glad. His skin was soft, but his grip was firm, and the feel of it sent tingles up my arm.

  “I don’t know how thrilling it was for them,” he said, holding my gaze, “but I enjoyed being here.” The scent of his cologne drifted toward me as he released my hand.

  His expression shifted as he said, “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Your student Marcie. When she asked about gay marriage, it seemed to be a very sensitive topic for her.”

  “It is. She’s being raised by two men. Her mother left when she found out her husband, Marcie’s biological father, was gay.”

  His eyes closed briefly. “I hope my answer didn’t sound too political.”

  I laughed. “You’re a politician. Of course it did.”