The Candidate ✓ (Book Two)

Chapter Seventeen

Seven years ago

I wish I could fucking move without help. The burn on my waist that had to be grafted makes it nearly impossible- and me deciding to walk anyways less than a day after that surgery and when I left the hospital definitely made it worse. Oops.

  I groan as I sit up, and Kyle's eyes immediately open. For less than two seconds he's stuck in that half awake- half asleep state - until his brain registers the sound that just came out of my mouth. He pushes himself up and places an arm just above my waist- the other on my shoulders, carefully helping me up. Because I'm stubborn- he knows better than to try and talk me out of anything by now.

  I lean against the headboard. He leans on his side, tentatively watching me. "I can't do fucking anything."

  "You need to let yourself recover first." He replies. "You're the First Lady I mean- take advantage of it."

  I refuse to continue to let somebody feed me when the burns on the palms of my hands have healed the quickest. I look out the glass doors leading out to our  bedroom balcony. As one of the new security precautions- the doors have been made one way- so we can see out but anybody standing directly on the other side can't see in. It's unnaturally nice today. I'd like to go outside- even if it's just on the balcony. I swing my feet over the side of our bed and cringe.

  "Lauren-" Kyle starts.

  "Oh I'm fine." I roll my eyes. "Don't you have a day job to get to?"

  "I'm not leaving-"

  "Kyle. I'll be fine- now shoo. Go be the president." He gives up trying to argue me down and settles for helping me out to the balcony. The pain on the bottoms of my feet isn't too bad today- so I walk, him right beside me in case one of my side-scars decide to act up again. When I'm finally sitting down, he looks like he feels guilty for leaving. "Christ- wether you like it or not you still have to be the president. Shoo."

  He told me last week there was a possible national security threat from Australia, but that he couldn't go into any more detail. I just hope it's been fixed by now, whatever it was. There are national security threats every single day- even in the peacefulness of today's society, so I wasn't surprised.

  He reluctantly complies. "I love you." He goes to plant a kiss on my forehead- carefully avoiding the burns, when I pull his face down. He lets me. It's another ten seconds before I pull away for air, breathless. When he finally leaves- I'm alone on the balcony other than secret service.

  Flash backs start to play in my mind. James being the reason I'm not dead right now-  agent Hess assassinating the Princess of England, the Princess herself being one of the major brains behind the planning. There are some things we'll never know now because she's dead- but we're hoping the knowledge of inner workings that died with her isn't so broad we'll be missing something.

  If Agent Hess hadn't did what she did- two of our ground teams, James, most of our firsthand witnesses, and myself- would be dead. James was never going to actually blow the headquarters up, but if he moved his finger- which would have happened if the Princess shot him, it would've happened anyways. She deserves so much more public recognition than she's gotten, but for her own safety and that of her very small family- that can never happen.

  Ground teams- the training they get at least- are like the military on steroids and crack at the same time. She knew what she was signing up for- and that it was very possible she'd be saving hundreds of lives at one point of another with no recognition. Kyle's talked about  getting her the presidential medal of freedom anonymously- so has congress.