Page 28 of Accepted Precedent (Love & Politics #3)

Evelyn

A t Mickey’s insistence, I pack a bag with a first-aid kit, high-protein snacks, sunscreen, hand sanitizer, and two water bottles with squirt tops. He also places a location tracking tag in the bag and attaches another to the inside of my waistband.

“Isn’t this overkill?” I huff, tying my hair up into a bun before slipping on a baseball cap.

“No, it’s not enough. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

“Don’t be so dramatic! This isn’t my first rodeo; I’ve been to protests since I was a child. Hell, I even organized a few.”

He places his hand on my belly and growls, “A protest is no place for a child.”

“Easy there, tiger. No kids to worry about today. I’m on birth control now, remember? You can paint the walls of my pussy with your cum over and over, and I still wouldn’t get knocked up.”

A rare grin splits his face. “A man can dream, can’t he?”

“Come on.” I roll my eyes. “We need to get going.”

“Not so fast, angel. The organization we’re counter-protesting today is secretly funded by a PAC that supported Andrew’s opponent last election. They aren’t just cunts with signs outside of a woman’s clinic.”

“So?”

“What if you’re detained—or worse? I need to make sure you’re hydrated and have had a proper breakfast. Did you drink enough water, or do I need to spit it in your mouth?”

I let out a full laugh. “Mickey! I’m fine. I promise. But in case something does happen…” I remove my ring and place it in his palm. “Keep this safe.”

“I will. But I’ll put it right back on your finger where it belongs the minute we’re home.”

“So bossy,” I tease. He possessively pulls me to him, and I brace myself with my palms on his chest. I enjoy it a bit too much when he’s growly like this; I’ve never felt safer or more wanted than when I’m in his arms. “Are you ready to go?”

He flips his hat backward and leans in to kiss me. Unlike earlier, it’s sweet and gentle, almost like… Andy.

“Andrew! Fuck!” I pull back. “I forgot to text him when I got here last night.”

Nipping at my earlobe, he purrs, “We were a little busy. Message him on the way and let him know about the protests.” He peppers soft, teasing kisses on my neck, and I melt into him. “Do you already share your location with him?”

Heat pooling in my belly, my pulse kicks into overdrive. “Uh huh,” I whimper.

“Good girl. Send it to your sister too. The more people who know, the better.” Mickey releases me, and it’s infuriating how he can make me so damn needy with just his mouth.

He adjusts his hat and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mick this relaxed.

Between the dark denim, gray hoodie, and ballcap, he’s almost unrecognizable.

I must be admiring him too long when he frowns. “What?”

“Nothing. You look good.”

He glances down at his outfit. “Don’t get used to it.”

Mickey bought me a shirt that says: What I do with my pussy is none of your business. Not the most professional shirt in the world, but no one will know it’s us if we keep a low profile. Also, I fucking love it. “Do you have a custom shirt too, or are you going to be an emo escort today?”

He unzips his hoodie, and I stifle a laugh at his: Her body, her choice. Get your politics out of my girlfriend’s cunt.

“Mick! Maybe we shouldn’t wear these.”

“Why not?” He shrugs, zipping his hoodie back up. “It’ll be fun when I’m arrested whilst protecting my woman. Will make for a hell of a mug shot if it comes to it.”

I know the answer, but can’t help asking, “Your woman? The girlfriend in question is me?”

“Aye, but not for long if I have any say in it,” he mutters, then corrects, “You know you’re more than that, Evie.

You always have been. This is important to you, so it’s important to me.

Finn is working on gathering intel on the PAC supporting the protest. By the end of the day, their funding won't exist.”

“Then why are we joining the counter-protest if you can wave your magic wand and make the assholes disappear?”

Mickey cups my neck, resting his thumb on my cheek. “Because this isn’t my fight, love. It’s yours, and every woman’s out there whose voice should be heard. They need to know they’re outnumbered. Are you ready to show these cunts who’s louder?”

“Yes.” I straighten my shoulders and tilt my chin, trying to match his confidence.

“I forgot our face coverings upstairs. Can you grab them from our room?”

I don’t correct him saying it’s our room and scurry upstairs for the bandanas and surgical masks.

The box of masks is on the dresser, but the bandanas are missing.

I pull open the top drawer, shifting the socks and boxer briefs around, but still not what I’m looking for.

The second and third drawer hold only shirts and pants.

I crouch to the fourth but still can’t find the bandanas. I almost close it, but pause.

Persuasion .

I lift it out, my breath catching as I find my handwriting from my wedding night on the title page.

Enjoy.

I’d always hoped Mick would find it, but he never mentioned it.

I thumb through my old personal copy, and the worn pages have hundreds of notes.

Some are short comments or underlined dialogue.

Others are several sentences with his thoughts.

My stomach drops deeper at every note I read—he felt the same yearning Captain Wentworth did being away from Anne.

Mickey is anything but stealthy—I attribute it to his sheer size most of the time—and the bedroom door opening wider gives him away. “Any luck?”

“You still have it,” I breathe, fighting back tears as I glance over at him. This beautiful man is taking care of our country, but no one is taking care of him.

“I do.” He leans against the doorframe, folding his arms over his barrel chest.

“You read it.”

“I had to,” he admits softly, and a tear escapes my right eye. “My heart broke that day and I figured that note in the front was for me.”

“It was, but… you annotated it.”

“Aye, I did.” Mickey pushes off and stalks toward me as he explains, “It was the only hope I had for years that you’d be mine one day.” More tears fall and he drops down beside me. Brushing my wet cheek, he whispers, “I’m yours, angel. I always have been.”

I wrap my arms around his neck, sobs rattling my chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were never supposed to find it with my notes in the margins.”

“All the years we wasted…”

“It was never a waste. We all sacrificed, but I told you I’d bring you back into the light when I could.

It’s time. You’re the anchor, remember? I can’t change the world without you.

” He takes the book from me and opens the drawer, placing it inside and retrieving two green bandanas.

“Are you ready to step into your greatness, love?”

Greatness? What the hell is he talking about? I’m just a retired lobbyist who plays house with my best friend, but I don’t dare contradict him; once Mickey’s mind is set, there’s no changing it. He’ll probably force me to speak words of affirmation to myself in the mirror if I try.

We make our way back downstairs and leave his house.

On the drive, I send Andrew and Kristin my location and let them know we’ll be participating in the counter-protest. Neither reply to me, but I’m not concerned—Mickey will keep me safe.

Just in case, I send my location to Ileah as well.

With Jaclyn on her honeymoon, I don’t bother filling her in.

I’m still trying to wrap my mind around what happened yesterday.

Why would Alex step in for his brother? They are on opposite sides of the aisle and at each other’s throats most of the time. What does he have to gain?

I’m pulled from my thoughts as we arrive.

The street is blocked off, and Mickey’s driver does a lap, dropping us a few blocks away.

The sedan behind us has his security detail—which is completely unnecessary—and they get out first. His driver tells us he’ll be close by if we need to leave, then Mickey takes my hand and leads me over to the crowd.

There’s a swarm of police presence keeping the peace between two groups yelling and chanting.

His security is hot on our heels, but dressed down in jeans and hoodies.

I’m tempted to ask if they’re wearing similar shirts to Mickey and me, but I’d be disappointed if they’re only wearing plain tees.

I’m just glad they’ll blend into the crowd.

The last thing Mickey and I need is to draw any attention to ourselves.

This is unlike any other protest I’ve been to.

On one side, there are men protesting with signs insisting women shouldn’t have a right to choose.

There are only maybe five or six women in the crowd of nearly three hundred flooding the street.

On the other side of the police, there’s a group double the size carrying signs supporting bodily autonomy.

I recognize a few women with bullhorns as the organizers for pro-choice non-profits in the area.

We keep our distance, not wanting to be recognized, though I highly doubt anyone would think it’s me with my bandana on.

Also, Mick has never worn jeans once in the years I’ve known him—no one would guess it’s him.

We blend into the crowd, and Mickey lifts his sign higher that reads: Healthcare is a right , joining in with the call and response.

“What do we want?”

“Choice!”

“When do we want it?”

“Always!”

It’s loud and powerful, and I’m so grateful Mick suggested we participate today.

He doesn’t let go of my hand, squeezing tighter any time someone gets within a few feet of me, even with none of them being a threat.

For the first time since I married Andrew, I’m doing more with my life than hosting dinner fundraisers or baking.

The realization is both depressing and exhilarating.

My phone in my back pocket vibrates, and Mickey finally releases my hand so I can retrieve it. There are a few missed texts from Kristin and Andrew. They are about to attend their meeting but promise they’ll check in with me and Mickey once they’re done.

There’s screaming, and I swear I hear someone yell, “Gun!” I quickly pocket my phone. We’re far enough from the front lines that I can’t see what’s happening on the other side. Mickey pulls me to him and shouts, “We need to get out of here!”

“Why? What’s happening?”

“The arseholes are targeting the organizers.”

Gunshots echo off the buildings, and in an instant I’m surrounded by Mickey’s security team. They usher us away before I have a chance to react. Once we’re away from the majority of the crowd, I ask again, “What’s happening?”

“The protesters on the other side began shooting at the police and at the organizers,” one of them replies. With his face covering, I can’t tell if it’s Paul or Shawn. “We need to get you and Mr. Gallagher to a safe location.”

I try to pull away, but they block me. “No, we need to help!”

“Not a chance, angel,” Mick growls.

“Fine, if you won’t let me go, send in people to protect them.”

“Already did. I have a team in the area who were on stand-by in case things got out of hand.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, but someone could’ve been seriously injured.

We weren’t even here for twenty minutes before it escalated.

Mick was right—the men on the other side aren’t just cunts with signs.

I’m used to extremist religious groups protesting women’s healthcare, but this is something else entirely.

His detail ushers us back a few blocks, and we meet up with Mickey’s driver. I slide into the back seat, and once Mick is beside me, he pulls down his bandana and does the same to me. He takes my face in his hands and crashes his lips into mine in a desperate kiss.

“Mick, slow down! It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he growls, finally pulling back. “If anything happened to you…”

“We’re safe.”

Mickey removes his hat and rakes a hand through his hair. “I was reckless. I never should’ve suggested this.”

“Are you kidding me? Yes, it was dangerous, but this is the first time in years I’ve felt like… myself.”

“What if you were shot, Evie?” he snaps. “A bulletproof vest doesn’t protect you from a bullet to the forehead.”

“You can’t keep me locked in an ivory tower.”

“I know,” Mick sighs, gripping my chin with his thumb and forefinger. He brings my lips to his, and thankfully it’s no longer his anguished kisses.

His phone buzzes, but he doesn’t check it. My own phone vibrates a minute later, and I groan, “It’s probably Andrew.”

“Probably.” Still, he doesn’t stop kissing me.

“We should check.”

He reluctantly breaks our kiss, and we check our phones.

Finn Gallagher

Please tell my arsehole brother to call me.

I turn my phone to show Mickey. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s never okay, love.”