While it’s not a secret that Jordan and I are roommates, we don’t make a “thing” about it at work. Most people think we’re nothing more than good friends with each other and Elliot. Especially people who don’t realize I have a one-bedroom apartment.
That’s less aggravation for all three of us.
Jordan is officially permanent staff in the East Wing. He’s a deputy assistant to the First Spouse’s chief of staff.
Yeah, that’s a mouthful. But Jordan’s well liked and a hard worker. He’s even acted as Chris’ body man for a few events.
Our flight out is uneventful and it’s a relief to be away from the DC fishbowl. I rent us a car and we take the slower but more scenic drive down the coast so Jordan can see the Pacific.
I love watching him as he stares out the car window. He’s so excited to be traveling with me as boyfriends, and not as a work trip. This past year we’ve spent together has been nothing short of amazing. In what little spare time we have, Jordan loves to sketch, sometimes while we’re chilling out on the sofa and watching TV. He takes pictures of DC landmarks with his phone and then draws them.
It breaks my heart I never got to meet Mimi. She obviously loved him very much, and he thrived once he moved in with her full-time.
Part of me wants to look up Jordan’s parents one day and pay them a visit so I can deck his father.
But…that would be baaaad.
I’d be willing to bet his parents would turn it into a political thing, too, instead of a just being total assholes thing.
I digress.
My boy is happy and, for this sweet pocket of time, I’m going to pretend that everything is perfect with the rest of the world. That nothing’s amiss.
I’m going to hold his hand without reservation and drape my arm around his shoulders. I’m going to kiss him in public and make moony eyes at him.
All while I’m doing my damnedest not to wish he was Elliot.
Because that’s not fair to either of them. Especially when I love Jordan.
If the rest of my life is going to be spent loving Elliot in secret, or from afar, then so be it. Jordan deserves to have me fully present this weekend. That’s why I decided to spirit him out of DC for a few days—to have a little bit of normalcy.
I want to walk on the beach with him.
I want to lie in bed with him and softly talk about future dreams.
I want to spend time with him without worrying who’s watching us, or what Elliot might hear or see.
I want…
Everything.
Because I love him.
“Do you think they’ll like me?” Not the first time he’s asked that.
I reach across the seat and take his hand. “They’re going to love you, baby.”
He speaks his next comment so softly I almost miss it. “I wish Elliot did.”
This is the first time he’s voiced the thought. “That Elliot is as open as he is around you says how much he likes you.”
“He tolerates me.” Jordan turns in his seat. “He doesn’t like me.”
“He isn’t allowed to lie to me. He does like you.” Although, truthfully, I hoped we’d be farther along in this process by now. I’d thought for sure we would. Jordan is now considered a White House insider and not only excels in his job, he’s been talking to Kev and picking things up in the world of politics. He voraciously devours memoirs and biographies of previous White House and government officials, informs himself about current events. He wants to be more than a designer, and I love that thirst, that hunger in his soul.
Mostly because, in some ways, he reminds me a lot of me when I first joined the Secret Service.
We check into our hotel before going to my parents’ house because it’s only five minutes away. I decided I wanted to be in a hotel. It’s a little pricey, but it’s on the water, and we have a fantastic view. It also affords us a level of anonymity we can’t assume in DC.
Jordan stands at the sliding doors leading to our balcony and stares at the Pacific. “Wow.”
“You saw the ocean in Florida, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. The Gulf, and the Atlantic. It just looks…different. It’s beautiful.”
We’ve spent the last year in perpetual motion, it feels like. He’s traveled a few times, including once to California, but he doesn’t get to see anything except the inside of a plane, the inside of motorcade vehicles, and the inside of event venues. No time for sightseeing at all.
I wrap my arms around him and try not to let my mind drift to fantasies of living out here, Jordan finding plentiful and lucrative work as a designer while I go to work for any number of multi-national companies who need a translator on their team. Or even for a security firm. Of my family welcoming him and helping me heal his soul.
Of a cross-country moving adventure.
Then I blink and I’m here, Jordan holding my hands and leaning against me.
Elliot.
I love Elliot, and I promised I’d never walk away from him.
Leaving DC isn’t going to happen for me. Not as long as Elliot is there.
I kiss the side of his neck. “Time to go.”
He shivers a little in my arms and doesn’t release my hands. “What if they hate me?”
I turn him to face me. “They won’t hate you, baby. And their opinion isn’t relevant.”
“Isn’t that why you got us a room? Because you’re afraid they’ll hate me?”
I smile. “I got us a room so they’re not listening to me fuck your brains out all night, baby.”
“Oh.” He giggles. “Sorry, Sir.”
He’s adorable. Did I mention that?
Adorable guys are apparently my weakness.
When we pull into my parents’ driveway, they immediately emerge from the house and walk down to greet us.
Poor Jordan looks absolutely terrified. Yeah, telling his parents they suck, in person, is still hovering near the top of my list of things I wish I could do.
“Mom, Dad, I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Jordan Walsh. Jor, this is Alan and Meredith Cruz.”
Mom swoops in for an immediate hug, which I hoped she would. “Jordan! It’s so good to finally meet you!”
Dad does the whole handshake bro-hug thing. “Nice to meet you, son.”
“Where’s Kayley?” I ask.
“She’ll be here in a little while,” Mom says. “Traffic. She said to start without her.”
“Ah.”
“Come on inside, boys,” Mom says.
When we hit the front foyer, Jordan stops in his tracks, nose in the air. The house smells fabulous. Mom’s an amazing cook and I have to fight to keep the smile off my face.
Jordan turns to me, eyes wide. “No!”
I can’t hold it back and I start laughing. “Yeah.”
“Mimi’s picadillo recipe!”
I pull him in for a kiss. “Yes. I took a picture of it and a few others and e-mailed them to Mom.”
She laughs. “I was hoping we’d make it at least to the table before the surprise got blown.”
Jordan hugs Mom again and I don’t miss that he’s blinking back tears when he steps away from her.
“Thanks, Mom,” I mouth to her when Jordan starts to follow Dad into the living room.
She winks and heads inside.
Seems like maybe the age difference won’t be a problem for them after all.
I wanted Jordan to feel welcomed this weekend. I didn’t give away all our secrets, obviously, but I told Mom a little about Jordan’s history. Namely, that he’s got shit-bag parents, and that his grandmother was his hero. I also begged her to stick to the recipes exactly, not to improvise this time, and why.
She apparently got the message loud and clear.
I hoped walking into a welcoming home with familiar aromas and a little love might be good for my boy’s soul. From the way Jordan spends the evening smiling and chatting with my family, looks like I guessed right.
When we return to our hotel that evening, h
e tackles me onto our bed and we make love until we’re exhausted.
No spankings, no bondage, just the two of us.
Later, I lie there with him draped over me and sweetly sleeping as I think about Elliot.
Missing him.
Hating that he’s alone in his bed and stressed because of his family. I texted him earlier, before we left my parents’ house, but he hasn’t replied yet.
What am I doing?
The psychologist says it’s admirable for me to want to keep a promise to a man whose terror and self-made restraints will forever keep him closeted, but that Elliot’s also a big boy and can take care of himself.
Except…he can’t.
Not really.
Worse, even Jordan sees it. He sees how stressed Elliot gets, can pick out the hidden terrors that fill Elliot’s soul, and just about predict what Elliot will do now. What he’ll need, and when.
In other words, Jordan’s exactly perfect to be what I want him to be for Elliot—another set of eyes who will proactively care for him.
If only Elliot would let him in. I can’t force him.
I mean, yeah, sure, I could, but that’s not a recipe for success. Just like I can’t force Elliot to come out, either.
Everything aches in my soul when I contrast my dynamic with Elliot against how Jordan seems to think I’m the perfect man for him.
How easily everything flows between us.
I love Elliot. I can’t let him go.
With Jordan in my life, I no longer feel the burning resentment I used to. Now it’s a quiet sadness I do my best to hide from Elliot.
Because we could be so happy together, the three of us. Jordan could bring that light into his life, too. I see it in Elliot when he seems to forget the world and lets himself just be in the moment. I see how he enjoys Jordan’s company, how he laughs at my boy’s humor, how they even share a lot of the same interests.
I hate that Elliot’s alone right now, and he doesn’t have to be.
I hate that when all is said and done, I feel helpless to heal my sweet pet’s lonely, scarred soul.
It takes me back to a Montana mountainside, and the sound of Brad’s dying pleas to his wife and kids to live on and be happy, while I was helpless to help him.
It makes me wonder if I’ll ever be able to help Elliot find that kind of resolute will to live past his fear and find true freedom for himself.
Or if I even should.
Chapter Forty-Three
Then — Second Term, Year 1
May
We settle into a comfortable status quo, the three of us. During campaign season I don’t get to spend nearly as much time with Elliot as I want but at least I’m used to that. He occasionally asks me to have Jordan accompany him on day trips.
He always asks me first, never Jordan.
Which…I’ve tried to nudge Elliot to take the initiative, but it’s not happening.
And, still, nothing happens between them beyond Jordan riding Elliot’s ass to eat and to stay hydrated.
I’m not sure who is more disappointed by that—Jordan, or me.
Not long before the election, we suffer a massive blow when Lauren Baltazar—Shae’s press secretary, Kev’s ex-wife, and a good friend to all of us—is murdered. Even worse?
Elliot asked Lauren to be his press secretary, and was one of the last people to speak to her before her death.
This comes on the heels of the still-unsolved murder of Chris’ younger brother and sister-in-law over a year ago. Now, their three young children live in the White House. Elliot and I are seen as adopted uncles by the kids, and Jordan is a friend to them as well, spending time with them nearly every day.
One sweet minor victory is that Shae and Chris insist I walk with them, Kev, and Elliot in the inaugural parade.
I ask that Jordan be allowed to walk with me, and he and I both follow Elliot.
Yes, Stella was pissed off she didn’t get to walk.
Fuck her. I’m not happy with her or her new best bud, Congresswoman Grace Martin, who now holds Elliot’s old Congressional seat. Every time Elliot turns around, he’s having to call the White House Counsel’s office to intercede to get Stella to back off some harebrained scheme the two of them have cooked up. Stella pesters Elliot and his staff until WHC calls her to shut her down.
Jordan and I are both busy with work. To say Jordan has flourished in his new career is a massive understatement without adequate comparison. He’s helped roll out PR campaigns for various initiatives, in addition to his other duties. He’s also mastering skills like learning how to read and interpret polls, and has amassed an encyclopedia’s worth of institutional knowledge and political campaign acumen.
He’s amazing and blows me away.
And he’s all mine, my sweet boy.
Meanwhile, we’re five months into the first year of Shae’s second term, and I don’t want to think about the shelf-life of my current career. If Elliot’s not going to de-ass his head after he’s elected POTUS, I can’t be his body man. Because if I am, once Elliot leaves office, if we’re publicly together, that raises all sorts of ethics questions unless we wait another couple of years. The last thing we need is to saddle the administration after Elliot’s, provided they’re Democrats, with a ready-made scandal.
If Elliot runs. He still hasn’t definitively claimed his heir-apparent status. Not publicly. The closest he’s come to doing that was talking to Lauren about it. Unfortunately, since her death, he hasn’t said much about it. There’s still time, though.
Lauren didn’t know about Shae and Kev being involved with each other, but she helped cover what she thought was Chris and Kev’s secret relationship. She also knew about me and Elliot—and Jordan—and was prepared to help us keep our secret, too.
Without her…who knows if Elliot will want to try to run? In addition to a press secretary, Elliot will need a chief of staff. The one he has doesn’t want to step up to a presidential level, either. I know Kev won’t want to sign on as chief of staff once Shae leaves office, and Elliot’s terrified to bring anyone new into the loop about our secret.
Is it horrible that I’m starting to think of ways to talk Elliot out of running?
It’d be different if he wholeheartedly embraced Jordan, but it’s starting to look like he won’t. Elliot running for POTUS will be one more obstacle, one more excuse. After spending these years with Jordan, and not making any progress with Elliot, I’m ready to try something different to convince Elliot to change his mind.
That leaves me running out of options.
As winter fades and we plow our way through the first hundred days of Shae’s second term, everyone digs in, knowing we need to start working on accomplishing our remaining platform items that we didn’t bring home during the first term.
All while setting things up across the political chessboard, long-term, for the next general election cycle. That way, even if Elliot isn’t the candidate, we can hopefully position the Democratic candidate to win.
Meanwhile, the shadow of the unresolved murders weighs on me almost as much as I know it weighs on Chris and Kev and Shae. That twice now someone could strike so close to home terrifies me because of my experience and knowledge. I’ve instituted new rules for Jordan, ordering him to take cabs, use ride-share services, or get rides from Secret Service, especially if I’m not with him.
Damn sure no more walking any farther than necessary, especially at night.
At least I know Elliot is secure with Secret Service coverage. There are some days you do not want to have when you are working The Shift, and my former coworkers are experts at what they do. Which is why I’m so confident in their ability to protect my pet.
Even though my duties as body man to President Samuels are different than my duties from when I was protecting presidents and dignitaries, old habits die hard, especially now.
I still find my head is on a swivel when we’re in public.
I still find myself resisting the urge to get in her
way and walk ahead of her so, if needed, I can take a bullet for her.
I also find myself closely watching the body language of my former fellow agents.
During one such instance, I am with President Samuels in the Los Angeles area on a May morning. We departed DC before dawn on Air Force One because the president is slated to give a speech that afternoon. Our advance team swept and prepped a block of hotel suites at the venue, and has them ready for our arrival, which will be by motorcade because of the hotel’s proximity to the airport and there’s no helipad on the hotel roof.
Two points that make me fucking grumble but it’s not my call. I’m sure I could’ve asked Chris to kick up a storm and either demand a change in venue, or commandeer a helipad on a nearby building that would make logistics easier, but my former boss prefers to pick and choose his battles and trusts the team to keep her safe.
Ahead of her speech tonight, President Samuels will privately meet with local lawmakers, high-profile DNC, DSCC, and DCCC officials, and donors, all with the goal of laying the groundwork for Elliot’s future campaign.
We arrived from the airport a few minutes earlier, and are being escorted inside the building through a series of service corridors, when the strides of the first four agents ahead of us falter. Two of them put fingers to their ears, so I know they’re listening to something coming through their radios.
I don’t know what the hell happened but every instinct inside me starts screaming. I immediately grab Shae by the wrist and pull her tightly against my side, even as I scoop my other arm around her shoulders and pivot us midstep.
The agents behind us have frozen, whether in response to whatever info is being relayed to them in their earpieces, or because of what I am doing. I shout it half a breath before the lead agents start bellowing it.
“Abort! Return Portia to Angel. Go go go!”
I’m basically carrying Shae under my arm as I pound back down the corridors at a dead run. We’re both swallowed by a living wall of suit-clad bodies sweeping us up in a flash flood of adrenaline. I know we’re plowing through the aides and others who were following us, and I don’t even care.
My job isn’t just to be her body man. My job, as requested by her husband—my friend and former boss—is to be another set of eyes on her and to protect her with my life.
Indiscretion (Inequitable Trilogy Book 1) Page 42