“I survived a plane crash—wild rides are subjective.” I suck in a deep breath and force a smile. This is supposed to be a celebration, not my heart being publicly stomped while I watch the love of my life get swept further from my grasp by the realization of his life’s dream. “Final grind ahead,” I say.
“Yep. She’s got this.”
I fist bump with him. “Yeah, she does.” I nudge him with my elbow and force another smile, hoping he doesn’t realize how much agony I’m currently in. “You miss your old gig?”
Kev shakes his head. He’s a great guy, although I’m starting to wish he wasn’t as good as he is at his job as Shae’s campaign manager. “Nope, I get it now why this is addictive. It’s like fighting in a video game where you can’t die for real, but you get an adrenaline hit when you win. You miss your old gig?”
I snort while defaulting to a lie. “No. This is much easier, and still exciting.” I point to one Secret Service agent standing backstage with us. I worked with this guy. He’d been in PPD maybe three months when my crash happened. “They get to do the heavy lifting. Besides, we’re making history. Who wouldn’t want to be part of this?”
Besides me, I mean.
Sneaking in time with Elliot gets more difficult the closer we get to Election Day in November, to the point I barely recognize myself, at times.
I’m not sleeping, barely eating. Mostly because I can see what this is doing to Elliot, and I feel shittier when he won’t let me spend time with him and make him feel better.
Could I order him to let me spend time with him?
Yes, but again, in the long run, that’s neither healthy nor a recipe for success. It’ll only stress him out even more if he’s not in a mental place for it.
I watch Kev watching Shae give her acceptance speech. I practically know it by heart because I helped her practice. He looks damned proud of her, and rightfully so.
In some ways, we share secrets. He and Chris have loved each other for twenty years, even though they were separated for most of that time. Kev had to watch the man he loves marry a woman, and, publicly, Kev can’t claim either of them.
It’s the life they’ve chosen for themselves, and Kev loves both of them. Maybe the situation is easier for him because he rarely spends a night alone. He’s either with Shae, or with Chris, or, sometimes, both.
Plus, the three of them love each other. No one’s left out.
One of my duties is providing cover for the three of them. So far, so good. If only I could convince Elliot to release his fears.
I suppose I’d hoped that, after the election, he’d dig deep, find bravery within him, and ask me to be with him. Openly or not.
Unfortunately, the closer we get to the election, the more I realize that won’t happen. It might not ever happen.
Am I prepared to spend the rest of my life in the shadows, forced to accept nothing but emotional scraps from the guy I love?
I don’t know.
For now, my love outweighs my loneliness. Probably makes me a dumbass, too.
If anyone else told me this story, I’d be tempted to smack them upside the head and ask why they were holding out for someone who obviously wasn’t ever going to commit to them.
Except it’s Elliot, and I know my boy’s heart and soul.
Maybe I can help him overcome his fear. I’d hate myself if I walked away and he met someone else and went on to find happiness with them.
One of the things I’d wanted to avoid when I first met Elliot was drama.
Wish granted, although in an ironic “monkey’s paw” sort of way. I have the exact opposite of drama with him.
Once that’s over and the four of us, minus Kev, are alone in the sitting area of the backstage dressing room Shae and Elliot were assigned, I watch Elliot.
He won’t meet my gaze.
Kev slips inside the room and closes the door. “Our limos will be ready in a few minutes. Secret Service wants to sweep and clear the area one more time before we leave for the airport. Elliot, they want you to hold back moving you and your staffers to your limo until they’ve cleared the four of us.”
“Wait, what?” I didn’t realize I’d spoken until it came out and they all look at me. I turn to Elliot. “You’re not returning to DC with us?”
Kev looks at me, looks at Elliot, then slowly holds his hands up in front of him and backs toward Shae and Chris. “Umm…maybe you two should go discuss this in there.” He points at the doorway leading to the en suite bathroom and dressing area.
Elliot’s face turns red and his gaze drops to the floor, but he turns and heads that way without me motioning.
I follow.
Looks like I’ll spend my whole life following him.
I close the door behind us and struggle to keep my voice down. “I thought you were coming back to DC with us?”
Specifically, I thought, finally, tonight we’d have a couple of hours of alone time so I could at the very least get a fucking hug and spend time holding him. The next several weeks, we’ll have little to no opportunity to spend time alone together. Shae and Elliot will have vastly different schedules as they try to cover the country and the flyover states to gain as many votes and turn as many undecideds to vote for Shae as possible. I think there’s maybe five events where they’ll appear together.
What I’m not prepared for is Elliot’s tears. “I’m sorry, Master,” he whispers. “Stella took over and planned a big surprise party in Omaha for tomorrow afternoon. I fly out in the morning, and then to Seattle for the first round of campaign stops.”
It’s the first I’m hearing about any of this. “It’s not a surprise if she tells you about it.” I hate that bitch with a passion. Especially since she treats me like nothing more than hired help. I mean, yeah, she thinks that’s all I am, but she’s dismissive to anyone who isn’t important, in her opinion. “When did this happen?”
“About fifteen minutes before we went out on stage.”
Fuck. She had that time alone with him back here. Not like I could put my foot down about it without acting like a douche, and I’d been distracted helping Kev.
Elliot keeps his eyes squeezed tightly shut. I’m torn between anger and anguish. “She put me on the phone with Mom and Dad. They asked me to be there.” His parents didn’t make the trip to Memphis, although Stella and some of her “friends” did.
I still can’t make myself go to him and hold him, comfort him.
Who’s going to comfort me?
“Why didn’t you tell me before now?”
“I haven’t been able to. We haven’t been alone.” His breath hitches. “And I knew I’d do this.”
I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath, hold it, let it out again.
I’m about to speak when he does. “I’m sorry, Master. I wanted to spend tonight with you. I need you.”
His tearful tone shreds my anger, which had started winning the war for my mood. When I open my eyes, I find he’s tightly wrapped his arms around himself and is staring at the floor.
Fuck.
“It’s okay, pet. I understand.” I cross the room to him and hold him. His arms slip around me, desperately, the way he frequently feels when he holds me. “I’m not upset. It’s all right.”
Tonight should be nothing but a celebration, and here he acts like a guy condemned to life in prison.
In a way, I suppose that’s exactly what it is, to him.
“I’m so sorry, Master.”
“Shh, pet.” I massage his head with one hand, the way I always do. “It’s all right.” No, it’s not, but I won’t hold it against him. “Please save me some time when you can, hmm?”
“I promise.” He presses his face into the crook of my neck and I feel his breath against my flesh. “I’m really sorry.”
I deepen the pressure I’m using to massage his scalp. “It’s all right, pet. Will you please make time to video chat with me every night?”
“I promise, Master.”
“My sweet, pe
rfect boy.” I turn my face so I can kiss him. “I’m very proud of you, I love you, and I swear I’m here for you.”
All three of these statements are true.
Unfortunately, I don’t know how long I can keep holding out on the third one.
* * * *
Friday night, three days after the November general election.
My sweet pet belongs to the world now. For the next four years, at least.
I feel…resigned.
Which is horrible, right? Shouldn’t I feel proud and happy and pumped by the ensuing chaos that is now a transition team in full swing?
You’d think.
Except…no, not so much.
This evening, we’re all at the campaign headquarters, which are now the transition team’s operations center. It’s after ten p.m. when I leave Shae’s office and walk down the corridor to Elliot’s office.
Under his door there’s a spill of light, meaning he’s in there.
I hesitate outside his door and close my eyes, imagining him on his knees for me, remembering that first weekend we spent together—a thousand other memories and emotions swirling together and threatening to take me out at the feels.
I love this man.
He’s the love of my life. We have intelligent conversations that can effortlessly last for hours on a wide range of topics. We have many interests in common.
He begs for my dark, sadistic side and wants that part of me.
Needs it.
Loves me because of it, not in spite of it.
But I need more than we currently have. I don’t care about him staying in the closet. Not allowing me to spend nights with him at home when he knows damn well the guys working The Shift won’t say anything about it takes away the one tiny bit of normalcy we could possibly have. It’s not only hurting me—I know the toll it’s taking on him to keep me at arm’s length the way he is.
Almost like he’s deliberately sabotaging us. Like he wants to manufacture any possible excuse to force me to leave him without him having to ask me to go.
Could I order him to let me come over, or even just show up?
Of course I can. I have free access to him and to Shae.
But if I do that, it means he once again doesn’t have to take responsibility for his decisions.
If he wants me to be in charge, that’s great. It’s my preference.
He still has to ask me for that.
Maybe he really does want me to leave him so he can fail to take responsibility for that, too.
Despite my degree and all my training, I’m not exactly a practicing clinical psychologist. I shouldn’t need a goddamned DSM-5 to understand my fucking boyfriend.
Of all the languages I can fluently speak and understand, I still haven’t mastered the secret code that will completely unlock full and unfettered access to Elliot Gerald Woodley’s soul.
It’d be easy to give in to the urge to give up, walk away, and then Elliot can once again silently excoriate himself for yet another “failure” in his life, blame himself, and add another lock to his closet door.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly turn the knob and open the door.
He’s sitting at his desk, glasses on, and working on his computer. Immediately, his head snaps around and our eyes meet.
My heart thumps in my chest when our gazes lock.
That’s when I’m reminded exactly why I’ve held out and keep trying.
Keep hoping.
Because nothing I’ve ever felt before is matched by what I feel for this man. And, right now, he’s a breath away from becoming POTUS, should the unthinkable happen.
Or, if the odds are in his favor, he’s only eight years away from his own election to the Oval Office.
This long-term push-me-pull-you notwithstanding, Elliot needs me.
I slip inside his office, shutting and locking the door behind me.
He’s already removing his glasses as I walk to his side, his arms opening to engulf me in that desperate hug that’s become a hallmark of what fleeting private time we have together.
Everything I was going to say dries up in my throat as I wrap my arms around him and he starts crying.
“I’m sorry, Master,” he hoarsely says.
I find myself once again comforting him, whispering the old truths, the ones I’ve repeated to my sweet pet so many times that I wonder if he even believes me.
I should’ve put my foot down that weekend in the suite after Shae asked him to be VP. I should have been brutally honest with him that he wasn’t even close to being ready to handle the stress of this office yet, and demanded that, if he really wanted to go through with it, he come out and marry me so at least I could stand beside him and openly ease his soul in times like these.
But…no.
I didn’t.
This is all on me.
If I ask him to come over to my place tonight…
Well, let’s just say that’s impossible, between his security and his publicity. There are already betting pools in Las Vegas trying to pair him off with various female celebrities.
If I offer to come to him tonight, I know I’ll force him to say yes and I’ll hate myself later.
I’ll hate myself if I don’t make him say yes.
Thus I hold him until he finally composes himself and looks up at me. “I think maybe you should see other people.”
I’m a master of not reacting, thanks to my training. I default to that same training in this moment as pain and fear fill my soul.
This is not the first time we’ve spun through this dance. Not even the tenth or twentieth.
He won’t meet my gaze, though. I catch him by the chin, my fingers rasping against the shadow of stubble already dusting his jaw, and tip his head up so he has to look me in the eyes.
I force myself to say the words. “Are you breaking up with me, El?”
I wait him out.
“No, Master,” he hoarsely whispers. “But this isn’t fair to you. I mean it—I want you to date others. I don’t want you to hate me.”
Gentling my grip, I cup his face in my hands and use my thumbs to brush away his tears. I’ve never dated anyone else since we’ve been together, even through our many off-again times.
I’ve never wanted to.
Could I have gone out and found someone? Sure, absolutely, and that’s not bravado on my part. I know where to find hookups, and I know how to use a damn dating app.
It’s never appealed to me, though. I need more than a hot body—I need an intelligent mind and a warm, light, gentle soul to balance my inner darkness and cold, callous sadist.
“I could never hate you, pet. You’re my perfect boy, and I love you.”
He sniffles. “I mean it, Leo. If you meet someone, date them.” He bitterly laughs. “Obviously, I’m not going to be doing that, because I’ll be a little busy. You said when we met you could be poly under the right circumstances. I’d rather share you than lose you.” He sniffles. “Maybe you’ll still want me when she’s out of office.”
I stroke his hair. “What do you really want me to do, El?” This is as close as we come to being equals when alone. He prefers to be my pet.
I prefer him that way, too.
“I want you to stop falling on the sword for me.”
I shake my head. “I’m not walking away from you unless you tell me to.”
“It’s a chance I’m willing to take, Leo. I want you to date others. I need you, and I can’t lose you.”
Fuck.
I bite back the first, bitter response I want to throw at him, which is that if he married me, or at least went public with us, now that Shae’s won the election, I could be with him whenever he needed me without any secrecy involved.
I let the psychologist out of his box. “If I say yes to this, it doesn’t give you permission to just say fuck it and break up with me. If you’re looking for that kind of excuse, I’d rather we talk this out. You and I both know damn well I can order you to do anything, and you’ll
do it. Don’t manipulate me because of your fears that I’ll walk away, or any misplaced feelings that you deserve for me to do just that.”
“I’m not.” He takes a deep breath. “Eight to sixteen years is a long time to expect anyone to sleep alone nearly every night.”
“Then fucking ask me to sleep with you every night, Elliot! That’s all you have to do, and you damn well know it!”
“What if they won’t elect me because I’m gay? What if they say the only reason I am where I am is that I hung off Shae’s coattails?”
Technically, that’s the truth. Shae is a politician with far more years in DC than him, far more legit gravitas and experience and qualifications. She’s an attorney who knows constitutional law like the back of her hand.
But this is the first time in a long damn time Elliot’s been able to dredge that kind of cogent, self-aware statement out of the swamp that is his soul and lay it out on the table to look at.
“What about you sleeping alone?” I ask.
“I deserve it. It’s part of the price I have to pay. You don’t deserve to be alone.” He lays a hand over mine, the one still cupping his cheek. “I love you and I can share you. Shae, Chris, and Kev are doing it.”
That’s a slightly different situation than ours, though.
Right now, the air feels so heavy I can barely breathe, so I opt for humor. “No chance of you de-assing your head any sooner than that, pet?”
Finally, the corner of his mouth quirks a little. “I’ll try, Master.”
“You don’t have to run with her in four years. Use your health as an excuse, if you want to. People will understand. Say you need to focus on spending time with your elderly parents. Say you want to return to Nebraska to focus on helping your constituents there. Run for the Senate.”
Except I know he won’t give up like that.
He can’t.
He’s not wired that way.
“I just want to focus on the next four years.” He squeezes my hand again. “I can’t promise you I’ll de-ass my head any sooner than the maximum.”
I know what he means.
Sixteen years.
I could be looking at sixteen years of shadows.
Indiscretion (Inequitable Trilogy Book 1) Page 22