Desire (Determination Trilogy 3)

by Lesli Richardson

  Kevin’s closet.

  A closet he’s hiding inside of because directly outside stands his father.

  Deep in my heart, I think I knew Kevin wouldn’t call me after we said goodbye that week. I could feel his fear of his father washing off him in waves.

  When I called him my good boy, it felt like he melted into a needy puddle.

  As if he’d never heard a word of praise from his father, or anyone.

  I wanted to convince him that if he’d only trust me, trust in me, I could show him what love really means and protect him from that pain.

  That I would unconditionally love him, take care of him.

  I make a deal with him—that he doesn’t even have to contact me immediately, that he can take a week or two if he needs it. But I give him all my contact info, and I have his, too. I tell Kev if he wants a relationship with me—a future with me—all he has to do is reach out to me.

  That’s it.

  A call, a text, an e-mail.

  Anything.

  He’s supposed to start an unpaid six-month internship at a DC conservative cable news network. His father is paying his room and board, and he’s already found roommates.

  I tell Kev he can live with me. That I will take care of him. That if it ends up not working out with me, we’ll still be roommates.

  All he has to do is take the next step, because in my heart I know if I chase him then he’s still living in terror of his father.

  He has to want to be with me more than he wants to live in fear.

  And that’s not something I can force him to do—only he has that power.

  Our last night together, we spend it making love, me memorizing every line in his face as he rides me, every fleck in his gorgeous blue eyes. I make a silent promise to myself to let him go and not chase him.

  That adage about letting things go and if they come back, they’re meant to be yours?

  It’s bullshit.

  I want to cry as I hold him in my arms and kiss every inch of his flesh. Something inside me tells me this is the last time I’ll ever see him. That he won’t be able to overcome his fear. That I’ll be heading off to continue my career in the Secret Service, and Kevin will chase his dream to become an on-air news journalist.

  All while futilely chasing his father’s approval.

  Chapter Seven

  Now

  It’s three a.m when I return to the White House and head inside. Upstairs, I peek in on the kids and find them all safe and asleep.

  While not having complete privacy chafes me sometimes, the retired Secret Service agent knows that, while in the White House itself, I can actually relax and sleep with the thought that Portia, Petal, Pixie, and Pyro are being looked after by skilled, trusted agents, many of them agents I trained.

  It means I know I can silently make my way to our bedroom and ease myself into bed with my wife and close my eyes. She snuggles up next to me, sniffing me, kissing me. The past couple of nights when I returned from Kevin’s the sadist made a return to try to back her the fuck down.

  Tonight? I’m too exhausted, mentally and physically.

  Fortunately, it seems her earlier interlude with Prophet has also quieted something within her.

  “Is he okay?” she asks in the darkness.

  That’s such a loaded question. He’s definitely not okay. But I’ve been able to rein in a little of my own rage at her inability to fucking deal without Prophet’s guiding hand on her shoulder, temper my response.

  “He needs time.” I kiss her forehead. “You need to keep eating.” I know he got her to eat at least a little. Usually when she has one of these spells, if we can just get her to eat something of substance and keep it down long enough to digest it, it’ll kick-start her body into demanding food again. I know she doesn’t do it on purpose. She’s not anorexic, it’s not a deliberate cry for attention. This predates Prophet’s entry to her life, and it’s nothing more than her body’s stress mechanism.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Oh…wow. Yeah, I can hear it in her voice. She’s not doing well, either.

  Unfortunately, she’s the leader of the free world, and I can’t coddle her in some ways.

  I lie. “He wants you to resume full duties, game face on. I know you were going to send Elliot to that thing tomorrow night alone, but you need to go. You were originally scheduled to go, anyway.”

  “What about Secret Service?”

  Dammit. She has been paying attention. “They probably didn’t decrease the detail when you made the switch. Talk to PPD first thing and ask. If you’re good to go, you go. The election’s coming up, and you know Lauren would want you to get back out there.”

  It’s a turn and burn, a fly-in to Chicago with an appearance on the tarmac there, a dinner in town that they’re using a chopper to transport her to, and then back to the airport and in the air to land at Andrews by eleven Eastern. She’ll be back here by midnight.

  I hear her sigh. “Okay.”

  Relief hits me. She’ll be busy, Leo will be with her, and it’ll give Kev a chance to unwind and process.

  Although Leo and Elliot might be a little miffed at the schedule change. Leo was going to travel with Elliot instead of his usual body man.

  Then again, I strongly suspect Leo and Elliot make a literal definition of “body man” when they’re together.

  I personally tapped Leo to be Shae’s body man. I worked with him in the Secret Service, and he’s damned good. He nearly died in a small-plane crash while on duty, but he’s made a full recovery. Unfortunately, the limp he still has forced him into an early medical retirement. He’s multi-lingual, a literal weapon with his body, and gay.

  Elliot is in the closet for his own reasons, most of them political. Once he makes his run for the White House, he’s probably going to come out, but he doesn’t want to before then and I respect his reasons.

  I haven’t told Shae or Kev that I’m pretty sure Leo and Elliot are a down-low item of their own. No proof, not that the Secret Service agents would talk, but it’s a feeling. The way the two of them look at each other, the heated gazes I’ve seen them exchange, especially when they don’t think anyone’s paying attention.

  I’m paying attention. Because I know what it’s like to have a powerful man own your heart and not be able to scream it to the world.

  Been there, done that, got the heartache for it.

  Meanwhile, I know Leo will keep Elliot’s secrets every bit as well as he does ours, which is another reason I hired him for Shae. I trust him to keep her safe in all situations, and to watch over Kev.

  It’d be nice if we lived in a world where these kinds of things didn’t matter when it comes to the kind of job a politician can do, but we don’t, so there you have it.

  * * * *

  The next evening, I’m sitting in the living room and watching TV with the kids before it’s time to send them to bed when I receive a text via Signal on my personal cell.

  Kev.

  INS

  b.

  That translates into I need Sir—boy.

  Goddammit.

  We haven’t texted or talked today. I know he had some errands to run regarding Lauren’s estate. I’d really hoped he’d be okay tonight, and Shae won’t be back until close to one a.m. because of some weather between here and Chicago.

  Leo could be here in fifteen minutes, but he’s with Shae. I don’t want to leave the kids alone.

  Alone, relatively speaking, because I’ll have an agent up here with them. But if they should wake up and need us, I don’t like the idea of one of us not being here for them. I did it the other night, but Shae was in her study, on-site.

  Kev never reaches out, however. He’ll suffer in silence to his own detriment.

  That he’s reaching out means it’s bad, and he’s hurting in ways he’s not capable of dealing with.

  Maybe if his father hadn’t been a narcissistic douchetard, my poor boy would have learned healthy coping skills. Shae was doing fine up u
ntil I introduced Prophet to the equation, and she’d probably still be doing okay if it wasn’t for that. They both developed different coping skills after that, modifying their personalities to easily adapt to the new situation. I know it’s helped both of them in many ways, but it’s inadvertently created a massive fucking pain in my ass that I never foresaw.

  And right now, Kev needs me, and Shae needs Kev.

  Kev had planned on coming in to work tomorrow. Shae’s counting on that. If he doesn’t, I’ll have not just one, but two trainwrecks to deal with, and we have a general election coming up. Fortunately our campaign staff is amazing, but we have a country to run.

  Fuck.

  I carefully spin through my replies in my head, the mental code ring for the three of us. I doubt he’s been watching Shae’s schedule today. Last he heard, she wasn’t going anywhere today, and I left word with Leo this morning to tell staff not to disturb him unless someone launches a literal nuke somewhere in the world. So Kev likely doesn’t even realize she’s not here, or he wouldn’t have reached out at all.

  Which worries me.

  Shae asked me the other night if I thought he’d hurt himself, and I lied and said no, I didn’t.

  The truth is, I don’t know.

  I hope he won’t.

  I think if I’m able to help him through this, he won’t.

  I can’t guarantee it, however.

  The good thing is he has no access to firearms. He’s never fired one, never had a reason to—he’s always had me, and then he’s usually with me or Shae, and we have protection by default. He doesn’t have the combo for the gun safe at the townhome, where I keep my guns. Due to being First Spouse I’m not allowed to carry, since I’m no longer active duty and I’m a protectee, although I do have a special firearms license as a retired federal law enforcement officer. Once Shae’s out of office I’ll start carrying again.

  I have an idea and I excuse myself to the bathroom so the kids won’t follow me. I lock myself in and call Yasmine, the kids’ nanny.

  She answers on the first ring. “Good evening, Mr. Bruunt.”

  “Hey, Yaz. I’m really sorry, but would it be possible for you to come stay with the kids tonight? I’ll pay you overtime for the week, obviously. Shae’s not back yet, and I’d rather not leave them with the agents for too long. They’re going to bed in less than thirty minutes, but I probably won’t be here when you get here, if you can do it.”

  “Sure. I can be there in thirty.”

  “Thanks. Just take the bedroom you usually use. I won’t be back before dawn, but hopefully before they leave for school. Kev’s supposed to come back to work tomorrow, but he’s having a rough night and needs an ear.”

  Yaz has signed an NDA, but we still try to be a little discreet around her. She also knows Kev’s basically part of our family and understands how rough losing Lauren’s been on him and the rest of us.

  “Of course, sir. Not a problem. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Thanks. I’ll tell the kids you’re coming in case they wake up.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Do you want me to send a car?” I think about Lauren, how maybe if she’d had a car, she’d be alive.

  “No, sir. I’ll call an Uber, but thank you.”

  “See you soon.”

  I hang up and text Kev.

  ETA60. HIT. LU - S.

  Hang in there. Love you.

  It’ll take me that long to arrange a detail, have them assemble, get the kids to bed, change clothes, and pack what I’ll need. I’ll stay over and come in with Kev in the morning.

  Fuck Prophet’s optics. My boy needs me.

  I return to the living room after notifying the detail I’ll be going over to the townhouse so they can prepare and be waiting, and to let them know Yaz is inbound, plus to have one of the female agents ready to come up when I’m ready to leave in case Yaz isn’t here by then.

  I snuggle the kids to me. “Hey, guys? Yaz is on her way. After I say goodnight to you, I need to go to the house to talk to Uncle Kev. Okay? So if you wake up in the night and I’m not here, she’ll be here in her bedroom. Aunt Shae won’t be back until really late.” I’m leaving out the part where I’ll be gone all night, because they don’t need to know that.

  Ivy looks a little pouty. “I want to see Uncle Kev.”

  “Me, too,” echoes Myla and Hudson.

  I didn’t tell them Kev was on-site for a little while last night. They would have been hurt knowing he didn’t come up and see them, even if I had lied and said it was after their bedtime.

  They’re indirect victims in this, too. They loved Lauren, they love Kev, and they’re just kids. They don’t understand all of this and shouldn’t have to. It was hard enough on them losing Charlie and Tory.

  “Uncle Kev is going to try to come to work tomorrow, but no promises. If he does, if he can get here before you leave for school, I’ll have him stop in and say hi, okay?”

  They all finally give me nods. I send them off to brush their teeth and get ready for bed.

  I’ve tucked them all in and kissed them good night when Yaz arrives. She says goodnight to all of them, too, and then I’m heading downstairs to my awaiting car, a garment bag in hand and my duffel bag with things I’ll need.

  It’s fifty-five minutes after Kev’s text when I unlock the townhouse door and walk inside. Kev’s not downstairs, and I don’t bother calling out to him.

  I hurry upstairs and find him huddled in a ball in the middle of our bed, sobbing uncontrollably. There’s a manila envelope next to him, some scattered papers, but in his hand are several pieces of lined yellow paper, stapled at the upper left corner and covered with handwriting.

  I drop everything and kick off my shoes so I can climb into bed with him. There, I gently pry the paper from his hand, turn him to face me, and hold him until he literally cries himself to sleep in my arms.

  Only then do I pick up the letter and read it, first skipping to the end to see who it’s from, although I can guess.

  Lauren.

  I realize they’re actually several letters stapled together, from different times, the oldest one on top.

  As I read them, I can’t help but cry, too.

  For him, and for her.

  Chapter Eight

  Dear Kev,

  As I write this, it’s a week after the election, you’re now chief of staff for President-elect Samuels, I’m now press secretary, and I realize that there are dreams I might never make come true no matter how much I wish I could. I should be thankful, grateful for what I have achieved, and yet I can’t let go.

  You, my sweet man, are a beautiful soul, and I absolutely meant it when I said if they hurt you, I will make them pay, however I have to. Then again, if you’re reading this, I’m not here anymore to make good on that threat. Ha!

  Sorry.

  But I can see it in your eyes. When I watch you watch him, there’s a love, a heat there that even in our best days you never held for me.

  That’s not an accusation, sweetie—that’s realization.

  In my heart, I suppose that I always hoped you’d come back to me one day. Even after the divorce, even after that awful day when I held you while you cried and you finally confessed about him.

  I just didn’t know who the him was, at that time.

  I spent most of the two years between that awful day and this night hating the man, because I thought he stole you from me before you were ever even mine.

  Tonight, as I flipped through pictures online of the past two years, I realized I’ve been looking at this all wrong.

  I stole you from him.

  I know I didn’t know it, at the time. But I stumbled across one picture where after you all got the news about winning Iowa, she’s hugging him, you’re standing behind her, and the two of you are looking at each other with a mix of love and satisfaction that I’ve never seen two humans wear before.

  Maybe no one else realizes it because they don’t understand. Anyone else,
they probably see two smug bros enjoying a victory.

  I see in your face the fact that you are a man who knows he’s going to get fucked shortly by another very happy man.

  I didn’t marry you because it was convenient, or because I thought it was a business decision for my career, or because of the optics. I married you because I love you, Kev.

  Because I’m in love with you.

  You are, and always have been, the love of my life.

  I see such a beautiful, brilliant soul inside you, encased in pain. Before I knew about him, I thought the pain was due to your asshole father. I thought you were trying to prove something to him, and maybe you were.

  But now, when I see you through opened eyes, I realize you’re not trying to prove things to your father so much as you’re trying to make him proud.

  No, I don’t mean your father.

  Correct me if I’m wrong (and, haha, you can’t, so there, phhhtp!) but I think you might have never contacted him because of your father and your fear of your father, but I think the rest had nothing to do with him.

  I honestly think, at least subconsciously, you were always trying to reach him. You were hoping he would see you, contact you. You felt you deserved to be alone and lonely because you never contacted him after that week together, but you never stopped loving him, never stopped needing him.

  I know now that work was a self-medication for you, a way to escape me and what you weren’t able to sustain with me. I know you loved me, and still do, but I also know it wasn’t the way I love you. It was a relief when I suggested filing for divorce, wasn’t it?

  You know what’s stupid? I was sort of hoping that day I came home early that I was going to find you were having an affair. Then I could hate you, evict you from my heart, move on, and let go.

  But I couldn’t.

  Because that sweet, kind man did and does love me.

  You’ve just never been in love with me, am I right?

  That’s always been reserved for him, that lucky fucking bastard.