The World: According to Graham (27 page)

“Well,” she says, placing her laptop on the bed beside her. She takes a deep breath and then lets it out. “I’ve learned to listen to my body, and that it’s okay if I feel like I’m emotionally all over the map. That some women need months to recover mentally and physically while others bounce back quickly. I found out that miscarriages are much more common than I realized, and it doesn’t mean that we can’t have a healthy baby.” She pauses and swallows hard. “But most of all, I’ve read that I have to forgive myself. But that might take some time.”

I turn to face her, expecting that she will need comfort and reassurance that losing the baby wasn’t her fault. Instead, I see the Rachael that touched my heart so many years ago when I was a young college graduate and in desperate need of direction. She has a determined aura about her. Strong. Beautiful. I brush a piece of hair behind her ear and raise her chin with my finger so she’s staring me in the eyes. “Every morning I marvel that I can love you more than when I fell asleep the night before. But, right now, my heart is swollen with so much love and pride that you are mine. You, Rachael Early, are the most amazing woman ever.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “Thank you for being you.”

For the first time since we lost the baby, she smiles. Her cheeks are flushed red like candy apples. Her eyes twinkle, and my heart does funny things inside of my chest. “Go. Leave. I want to savor this moment before you say something to screw it up.”

I smirk and kiss her goodbye without speaking. Don’t want to ruin whatever emotion made her smile like that.

I jerk awake, flailing for my phone in the unfamiliar hotel room. “Hello?” I answer, not recognizing the number. Normally I would send it to voicemail, but it’s after midnight. Usually the only time the phone rings this late is because someone died or is in jail.

Bryan, our accountant, clears his throat. “Sorry to call so late, Graham, but well, we have a problem.”

I flip on the bedside table lamp in the hotel, as if the light will help me listen better, and slide my glasses on. “I’m all ears.”

“Well, we’ve completed the audit on the bank accounts and it seems to be far worse than we thought.”

“Wonderful,” I reply sarcastically, as I sit on the edge of the bed and slip my glasses on. For some reason, I need my glasses to take a late-night call.

“Best guess is that someone has been siphoning off funds from the accounts for a while. It’s not huge amounts. Fifty dollars on a five thousand dollar deposit here, or five hundred dollars on an eight thousand dollar deposit there. They’re small amounts that add up to a huge theft.”

I run my hand through my hair. “We already knew this, right? You told me a couple of weeks ago.”

“Yes. That’s true, but we’ve just discovered that it’s happened in more than one account. See, we set you up with multiple checking accounts. One for payroll, one for expenses, one for venue fees, etc. Whoever is doing this has access to all the accounts.”

My stomach churns with acid. There are only four of us who have access to all the accounts. That’s Max, Jake, Hank and myself. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll take care of this first thing in the morning.”

I hang up, feeling the sick ache of dread. Max and Jake might as well be blood. They wouldn’t take a beer out of the fridge without asking. It has to be Hank, but I can’t just come out and accuse him of being a no-good, stealing, rat bastard. I need proof. He’s under contract. I can’t fire him without having to pay it out, and frankly, there’s not enough money in all the accounts combined to write him a check.

Maybe he knows this. Maybe that’s why he’s stealing. He knows that we’re too much in the red to do anything about his thievery.

But, it’s a crime. If I can gather enough evidence, then I can turn him over to the police and let them deal with him.

I’m too wound up now to sleep. I text the guys to see if anyone is awake and wait patiently while no one responds. Instead of texting Veronica to see if she wants a drink—I’ve stepped in that pile—I grab my laptop and place it on the glass desk.

While it turns on, I open the mini-refrigerator that’s built into the dresser and peruse my liquor choices. There’s a mini bottle of bourbon. Perfect! I fix a glass and carry it to the desk.

I open a blank document and begin creating a procedure notebook for our tour. The ideas flow so easily from my brain, through my fingers and ultimately the computer screen. It’s like placing the words on paper relieves my agitated mind. Yes. This is what needed to happen. We now all have a document that we’re held accountable to.

Late into the night or early morning, I crawl into bed, feeling for the first time since the tour began that I might actually have a handle on what’s going on.

“What needs to happen is for me to rejoin this tour full time,” I tell the faces surrounding me. It’s eight o’clock in the morning on the day of our show. Max, Jake, Hank and I are having coffee at the Starbucks in the hotel lobby.

I chose the location because the tables are small. I wanted to be very close to everybody when I revealed the depths of the theft. I wanted to read the looks on their faces. Max and Jake looked shocked. Hank looked nervous, but of course, that’s not enough proof to fire him and then send him to jail.

“So what’s the next step?” Max asks.

“Well, I created a handbook of sorts for this tour. Maybe call it a code of conduct. I sent it over to the closest print shop this morning. I’m requiring everyone on our payroll to read it, sign it and it’s what we’re going to use to hold everyone accountable for their actions.” I pick up my paper cup and take a sip. “Then I’m going to fire their ass if they screw up.”

Max’s cheek rises in a smirk. “That’s the Graham that I know and love.”

This feels good. This feels real, and I love being back in charge of my tour—my Sons of Liberty. “I have a few things to finish sorting out back in D.C., but I plan on being back on tour full-time by the end of the week.”

Jake reaches across the quaint table and gives me a fist bump. “Graham’s back,” but it feels forced as if he doesn’t quite believe that I am.

What the loss of our baby taught me is that life is precious. Each day is not guaranteed. We’ve been given an opportunity that most people only dream of. Here we’ve turned my little idea over beers at a local Irish bar into an opportunity for us to change the way our nation’s government is run. This is our time—the Sons of Liberty’s time—and we must seize it.

Our meeting concludes with little fanfare. The guys and I have a meet-and-greet in an hour for the local sponsors. Hank? Well, Hank has an actual job to do—to maybe get our show started on time for once, while robbing us blind.

“Shit! Did you hear that crowd? We were on fire,” Max exclaims in excitement after we’re back in the dressing room.

It felt good. Damn good. We were all on the same page, firing on all cylinders.

“That was your best show yet,” Marissa congratulates us as she wraps her arms around Max’s waist. Marissa doesn’t care that her man is a wet, sticky mess with crazy, wild hair. By the end of a show, Max resembles Sideshow Bob. His loud shirts cling to his fit physique. I’m a bit envious that his girl is here to congratulate him. A pang of sadness hits me, but I dismiss it quickly. I’ve learned to enjoy these brief moments of bliss for what they are.

All three of us are drenched in sweat. If we’d been thinking, we would have scheduled the northern states for the summer. Instead, it’s the end of April and we’re in Lubbock, Texas.

“God, the adlibbing was great,” Jake chimes in, as he opens a bottle of water and pours it over his head. He looks as if he should be selling shampoo by the way he shakes the droplets from his long, floppy hair. “Did you hear the crowd when we went off script? They loved it.”

I smile. These guys are so enamored with what we do. It makes me feel awesome that my idea has created this opportunity for the three of us to be business partners. “What about when you drew the comparison to all the presidential candidates using campaign funds as a twelve-month branding campaign?” I turn towards Jake. “Brilliant.”

Jake beams. “I’m too pumped to go back to the hotel. Let’s party. Like college. Hit up a club.”

A female voice behind me says, “That sounds like fun.”

I turn and see Veronica standing there. She’s ever the temptress. Long, black flowing locks, clear blue eyes and clothes purchased from the pre-teen department. “We haven’t all been out together in a long time.”

Before anyone can object, Max has his phone out and has scheduled a car to take us to the local hotspot.

Two hours later, we’re in a bar that is playing the hell out of country, pop and dance tunes on rotation by a half-assed DJ at best. Who cares? Max, Jake and I are partying like old times. When Marissa and Veronica went to the restroom about fifteen minutes ago, Max purchased a bottle of Fireball Whiskey. Tonight is going to be ugly.

“Did you see that stripper’s ass tonight?” Jake asks, as he leans against the wood railing surrounding the dance floor.

“The one whose ass looked like two tiny piglets making love in a thong?” Max replies with a dreamy look in his eyes. He pretends to squeeze the imaginary behind and we all laugh.

“That’s the one. Butt implants or good genes?”

Max holds his shot glass up, “God thanking us for being male.”

I laugh as we all three toast fine asses. “How’s Rachael’s ass?” Max yells over the blaring bass.

“Her ass is much better,” I shout back.
Much
might be a bit of an overstatement. I feel like I should cross my fingers behind my back, as if I’m six again. I haven’t begun to discuss with Rachael the idea of her joining me on tour, and I just promised the guys this morning that I would be. I slam a shot of Fireball, hoping that it will make my dreams a reality.

“Will her ass be associated with the likes of us?” Max asks, motioning to all three of us.

I lie through my teeth, “Why not? She’s ready to be a part of the Sons of Liberty.”

I don’t miss Max’s frown, but I ignore it and pour us all another round.

It’s not a total lie. Since the day in the car that I forced her to give me her opinion, not the White House’s spin, she’s been more forthcoming with discussing politics, which makes me hard. Smart and beautiful—she’s a deadly combination. She also loved the idea of us backing candidates for more high-profile positions that have proven themselves already. I’ve just never come right out and asked her if she wants to play with the Sons of Liberty. She’d make a great CEO.
That would make her my boss? It would be Rach’s job to take care of me.
It’s a novel thought, one that I think I’m okay with.

Veronica and Marissa stop by our table long enough to do a shot and then head for the dance floor. The bar is packed tonight. Bodies are pushed tightly together and the smell of sweat and sex permeates the air. This feels like college—and damn it’s awesome to feel normal again.

We’ve been recognized a ton, but the fans are being so respectful, only asking for a handshake or a high five, and someone even bought us a round of beers.

“Care to dance?” a female voice whispers in my ear. Her hot breath sends involuntary shivers down my spine.

I turn around a see a pretty, brown-eyed girl with long dark hair. She’s probably in her early twenties and a student at Texas Tech. Her shirt leaves little to the imagination and her cut-off, fringed, shorts, make her legs look a mile long. Before Rachael, this girl was my type. Young, tan, with big tits.

Laughing, I reply, “No thanks,” and turn back to my beer.

She presses her large boobs against my back as her hands make their way south. “Fine. We can skip the dance and just head straight back to your hotel room.”

Oh! This girl was definitely my type. I turn back around and place my hands on her shoulders moving her back. “Not interested.”

Her bright red lips turn down to pout and she crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her boobs up to her chin. “I don’t take no for an answer.” Then she does something that five years ago would have had me in a bathroom stall with her braced against the door. She pulls her breast out of the top her shirt and runs her long pink tongue around her light tan nipple.

I’m blaming it on the Fireball Whiskey, but I laugh. Not a chuckle or a smirk—I laugh out loud at how ridiculous this is. She stops paying attention to her tit and hauls back, slapping me across the face.

It’s so sudden that it takes a moment for the sting from the slap to replace the shock of her actions. Reaching up, I feel my inflamed cheek. “What the fuck?” I yell.

She turns and stomps off, disappearing in the crowd.

The guys are looking at me like “Oh shit! What’s he going to do next?” Instead of letting her ruin our otherwise fun night, I ignore the situation. “So what do you think about our thief?”

Apparently, I stepped from one bad situation to another. Max and Jake cut their eyes toward each other and then look at me. “Our problem is not the thief,” Jake says. “I mean, it is the thief. Absolutely, it is, but our bigger problem is you.”

I look around to make sure that I heard him right. Max is the confrontational one. Jake is, well, Jake. He’s laidback. He doesn’t talk a lot. He is our peace maker.

“My absence is more damning to this tour than a thief who is robbing us blind?” I said that I would be back on the tour full time. Why are we still discussing the past? I reassured them that I was going to fix everything. I thought the conversation that we had over breakfast was quite productive. Jake did seem a bit bothered, but hell, so am I. Our tour manager is stealing from us. I don’t think we can be back in a good place until the bastard is out of our lives. But, I thought the three of us were united again. Apparently the air has not been completely cleared.

“Yeah. Yeah it is,” he says, running his hand through his floppy, wavy hair. “Look, I don’t want to ruin our evening or anything, but you’re the leader. The CEO of Sons of Liberty. Sure, Max has the loudest mouth, but you’re the one who was supposed to sail this ship. I get why you’ve taken a leave of absence. I’m so sorry that you guys lost the baby, but in a selfish way I’m glad that you can once again focus on us.”