by Vivian Wood
Ellie laughed. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d miss the city too much.”
“Your call,” he said. “But you have the keys now. It’s available for you any time. I don’t think I’ll be able to take a vacation anytime soon. At least for the next four to eight years.”
“Yeah, yeah. Way to rub it in.”
“Go get your drink on, baby sis.”
“Thanks, Mr. President.”
When Ellie turned the corner, the line to get in had spread down the block. She glanced behind her and smiled at the dutiful bodyguards right on her heels. “Cold, miss?” one of them asked. She shook her head.
As she held up her wrist to show her entry stamp, the bouncer scanned her body. “Damn, girl, you don’t need no stamp.” He unhooked the red velvet rope from its brass holster with a sharp click. “Them boys with you, too?” This wasn’t the same bouncer as when she'd arrived. He didn’t know who she was—or, more correctly, who her brother was. One of the bodyguards flashed his badge. “My bad,” the bouncer said, “Y’all have a good time.”
She rarely went out, especially dressed like this. But she loved the VIP access.
Scanning the pulsing crowd, she picked out her best friend at the bar. Samantha had a way of commanding attention even when some of the most beautiful girls imaginable were flanked around her. She'd worked her way through college modeling, all while maintaining a 4.0 GPA. Sam wasn’t the only model at Georgetown, especially if you counted all the Instagram models, but she was the only one who actually made a living at it.
As Ellie wove her way through the crowd, bodyguards in tow, she couldn’t help but drink in the utter grace of Sam’s body. It was so unlike her own. Wish as she might, Ellie never did grow taller than a hair shy of five foot seven, whereas Sam was close to six feet tall. Ellie kept her hair long all these years, while Sam’s wild and coarse blonde mane grew so fast she could buzz it and have a bouncy bob just a few months later. Ellie’s slim waist complemented her wide hips and generous breasts, while Sam was all lank and lithe and slight swells of muscle. They couldn’t have been more different, and that’s what first drew them together.
“Hey!” Ellie sidled up next to Sam. “What’s up?”
“Not much,” Sam shouted over the music. “I’m debating who’s going to be the lucky guy tonight,” she said with a smirk. Sam laughed that throaty music that contrasted with her otherwise willowy appearance. “So—tonight’s the night, huh? I can’t believe you’ve waited this long to punch your v-card! I did it at fourteen.”
“Oh, I know!” Ellie said. “Everyone knows,” she teased, elbowing Sam’s ribs.
“Ow! Don’t bruise my boobs. Those are my moneymakers,” Sam said.
“Oh, please. You’re not a stripper,” Ellie said, taking a sip of Sam’s go-to drink, gin and tonic, extra lime. “And anyway, I had protective older brothers. If Eli’s not scary enough with the whole POTUS thing, there’s always Ryan! I didn’t have the chance in high school. And some of us were actually studying in college, Miss Jet-Setter!”
“Uh-huh,” Sam said, sliding her drink back. “So, where is Sean, anyway?”
“I don’t know. He was here earlier… I’m going to look for him.”
“A lot of work for one guy!” Sam called after her. “Look around, it’s like fish in a barrel here.”
Ellie started her slow round of the room, searching for Sean and his signature black, thick hair. He was usually one of the tallest people in the room, but tonight with all the women teetering on platforms it was impossible to see beyond the few clutches of groups and couples around her.
She’d been with Sean for two years, and she had to appreciate his patience. He’d never pressured her to have sex, letting her take her own time. She was twenty-two now, which was plenty old enough, right? Besides, they were moving in together next month! At this point, marriage was certainly right around the corner. He was a great guy, a sweet guy. Smart, attentive, and he even put up with all of Sam’s antics. And he was attractive, she knew. Plenty of people told her, and if she were designing the perfect man, he’d certainly be an inspiration. Still, there was something missing. She hated the word “spark,” but the more she thought about it, the more the word fit.
Sean just didn’t light her up like when she was younger. Not like Henry did. Maybe that was okay though? Ellie shook her head. Stop it. There’s no need to think about marriage right now. Of course it sounds scary, even terrifying. I’m too young!
But sex? That she could give Sean. The least she could do was end his suffering. That’s it, as soon as I find him we’re going back to his place and doing it. Just get it over with. She’d even used some early graduation gift cards from her sorority sisters for some sexy lingerie from Frederick’s of Hollywood. It was cheaper and, in her opinion, a hell of a lot sexier than Victoria’s Secret.
Where the hell was he? She’d done a full circuit and couldn’t find him anywhere. She could sense the bodyguards behind her. Even though she really doubted they cared about any of this, she couldn’t help but be embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she yelled back at one of them.
“Perhaps try the back room, miss?”
“Back room?”
“The billiards room. Over there.”
She hadn’t even seen it. The small room was covered in dark wood and even darker lighting. Sean’s friends were stuffed inside, choking down cigars. “Is Sean in here?” she yelled to anyone who would listen. They ignored her, and she started to push past.
En masse, they blocked her. Sean’s roommate put a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think you should—” he began, but her bodyguards were already on him, pushing him away. Some of the drunker guys started arguing with the agents, blissfully unaware of their position. She noticed another door in the back and felt an instant sinking feeling. Just get to the door. Get to the door before the agents are freed up.
She was able to slip past the arguing group to swing open the door just as the shouts from the group reached a crescendo. Sean didn’t even look up, but the wild eyes of the girl he was riding doggy style hit her hard in the gut. Ellie tried to speak, to say his name, to say anything, but nothing came out.
“Oh my God,” blurted out a deep voice beside her. She recognized the reporter immediately. He was the same one that had been following her around ever since Eli became the party’s candidate. “This is great, this is great,” the reporter said, whipping out his phone. Even amidst the near-brawls with the bodyguards and Sean’s friends, the reporter made sure to video Ellie’s expression first before panning over to Sean fucking the girl on all fours. The girl finally noticed them. “What the fuck? Get out!” she screamed, rushing to cover her breasts with one hand which brought both her and Sean crashing down.
“Hey, what?” Sean asked. Ellie could hear the alcohol in his voice, but he only sounded tipsy, not drunk. “Ellie? Ellie, what are you doing here?”
Her words still failed her, even as she pushed past the reporter. “Ellie, wait!” Sean called, but she was already gone.
“Miss, this way.” She let the agent lead her out the kitchen exit to the Secret Service SUV parked outside. Sean? Really? She couldn't believe it. And the reporter. Jesus Christ, this is going to be all over the news. It’ll go viral. Eli is going to be pissed. “Are you okay, miss?” asked a bodyguard, but all she could do was nod numbly.
When they dropped her off at home, she was reminded how ridiculous it was that she still told these agents goodbye every time. After all, they were just going to park across the street and watch her windows. All she wanted was her bed, and the comfort that a cocktail-induced sleep could bring.
Her mom was gone, busier than ever in so-called retirement with nonstop yoga retreats in paradise. Ellie's bedroom was stacked with boxes. Only a handful of items were left out. She’d forgotten about all of this. The packing party with her mom, the shopping trips with Sean to pick out furniture and art to decorate his home—soon to be their home. She didn’t even have a pr
oper bed to sit on. She’d sold it along with her other meager furniture in preparation for starting fresh with new couple furniture.
The tears came slowly at first, and then in a thunderous assault. How could Sean do this? Ruin her entire life? And by tomorrow it would be all over the news!
Eli. That was right. She sniffled the last of her dried-up tears away and grabbed her phone. Clearing the notifications from Sam’s texts that began with Where are you? and Did you find him? to WTF is going on???? she plugged in the secret White House private number.
“Hello? Ellie?” Eli’s voice was syrupy with sleep. “Is everything okay?”
“Did you really mean it? About the mountain cabin?” she asked.
Eli laughed, and in that moment he was only her big brother again, nothing else. He wasn’t the president or some political celebrity everybody was fawning over. “Of course.”
3
You need to get hold of yourself, Henry told himself as he plowed his SUV through the Carolina snow-covered mountain. This isn’t you. It isn’t. It’s the damn PTSD. Shit. You have to get control.
He’d been driving already for nearly four hours. It wasn’t his first impulsive move. Ever since finishing his last tour with the Navy, he felt like he’d been floating. A part of him felt like he’d lucked out with a military contracting position. It paid the bills and then some, all while still leaving enough time to buckle down with what might be the first right career fit of his life.
Henry loved what he did at the veteran rehabilitation clinic. It helped him stay connected to fellow vets, and being on the ground floor helping them find jobs provided instant gratification. He could really see how his efforts were paying off in a way his military career had never allowed for. Plus, it was the first time he’d met veterans like him. They knew what it was like to carry the worst of scars deep inside, cradling them like children.
For a long time, he thought he could handle it. Hell, he thought he had handled it. The VA officer had cleared him to work with veterans, what more of a go-ahead could a person get?
And he had to hand it to Bill. His boss could have easily fired his ass the moment Henry had him pinned against the wall.
He still couldn’t believe he'd done that. Henry couldn’t even remember what kind of PTSD waking nightmare he’d been caught up in the day of the freak-out—but he could remember the aftermath with embarrassing accuracy.
Watching the security footage really tied it all together. It was hard to see any subtle expressions he might have exhibited going into the “trance,” as he liked to call it. The video was grainy and the camera, like all of them in the rehab clinic, provided just one angle. But one angle was enough.
It looked like he was just tucked into his work, bowed over some papers at his desk. Thank God there weren’t any clients scheduled with him that afternoon. As he’d watched the footage, Bill at his side, he'd noticed tiny shifts in his demeanor. Then the pen had dropped out of his hands, and he placed both palms flat on the table. He watched his own head lift, and a dead, stiff gaze locked on the bulletproof glass that made up his office window. There was a lot of bulletproof glass in veteran services operations.
He sat like that for eleven minutes before Bill walked in. According to Bill, Henry had been sweating and shaking, but that wasn’t evident on the video. Instead, Henry looked calm and cool on the screen but moved in swift and jerky motions. As Bill walked in, he was already talking to Henry and poring over some documents—he didn’t immediately notice the strange atmosphere in the room.
In less than two seconds, Henry was out of his chair and slammed Bill into the glass. Henry could see staff members running into his office, their terrified faces filling the screen. It took three men Henry’s size to peel him away from Bill.
“I think you thought I was an enemy combatant or something,” Bill had told him as he turned off the footage. Henry couldn't recall exactly, but it certainly seemed like it. The first thing he could remember after the incident was sitting in the exam room on another floor, wondering why his fist was bruised and paining him. “You certainly retained your strength from your combat days,” the nurse told him, cocking her head.
“Listen Henry,” Bill had said after showing him the footage, “I like you, and you’re a great worker. But you need to get some help. I’m fine, really, but what if it was someone else you attacked? What if there hadn’t been a whole team of people to calm you down? I can’t have you being here with those kind of PTSD side effects, especially when you’re working with veterans.”
“I get it,” Henry told him. “I understand.”
“I’m sorry,” Bill said. “Maybe… tell me what you think about this. How about you take some paid time off. Call it mental health leave. I promise your job will be here when you get back.”
“I don’t know.” Henry had balked at the offer. How ungrateful are you? he thought to himself now.
“Look. Henry,” Bill had said, standing up and placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not a negotiation. You’re gonna have to take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it,” Henry told him.
Bill had moved fast. By the end of the week, a nice, vague email had been sent out to the entire team with a brief overview of Henry’s upcoming absence. If the recipients hadn’t seen or heard about the attack themselves, which everyone had, they may have really believed Henry was just due for a nice little sabbatical.
One week after the attack, Henry had packed up his rig and was headed toward Eli’s cabin.
It had been years since he’d partied it up with Eli at the little cabin in the woods. The last time, Eli was just talking about running for Senate and Henry was still active duty. Back then, they’d made good on their promise to spend at least one weekend per year at the cabin with their friends. It was the ultimate boys’ outing, but Henry had been the only one Eli trusted with a spare key. “These other jokers,” Eli had laughed as he finished another beer, “you can’t trust ’em if they passed a polygraph test. No way I’m giving them a key!”
Luckily, that key had been one of the few remnants from Henry’s previous life he’d managed to hold on to. He’d kept it in a safety deposit box along with his civilian passport, a handful of family photos, and a sprinkling of keepsakes he just couldn’t let go of. When Bill helped him pack up his office and he found the key in the box, it was like finding salvation. It was a sign.
He’d debated telling Eli about staying at the cabin, but ultimately passed. He wasn’t even sure he could get hold of him now, and he wasn’t going to call the public White House number and sound like a jackass. Eli would never find out—and even if he did, he wouldn’t mind.
Already he could tell the drive to the cabin was soothing him. Ever since his last tour, the PTSD had caused regular stress tremors. People had told him they didn’t even notice, but he always did. He lifted his hands off the heated steering wheel, and the tremor quieted for the moment. Fresh air. That’s all I need. Well, and to not act like a total zombie maniac attacking my boss would be awesome, too.
It was nearly dark when he finally pulled up to the cabin, and it was bigger than he remembered. Grander. Fully lit with wrought iron lantern lights and a matching wraparound porch railing, the soaring two-story cabin was more like a lumber mansion nestled into the forest. Like something out of a kid’s fairy tale, he thought. Eli had sure done a good job of keeping it up. But that must be easy with cleaning crews and the whole shebang a president could afford.
Nosing the SUV into the driveway, he could see fresh tire marks in the snow. Had the cleaners been there that afternoon? How often did they come? Shit, they might even be government employees now and would report right back to Eli. That’s just what he needed, getting arrested for taking advantage of his friend’s vacant cabin. However, he’d driven all day to get here, and he was exhausted. At the very least, he could risk it for a night.
“Jesus, it’s cold,” he said aloud, stepping into the snow with a crunch. With his arms full
of groceries, he left the bags on the porch until he could make sure the fridge was cleaned out and working. The caretakers had left the lights on and as expected, the cabin was spotless. Sky-high cathedral ceilings with impressive beams hoisted up the focal point of the great room. Even from the entryway, he caught a glimpse of the almost purely glass posterior wall that framed an otherworldly snow-covered winter scene.
The cabin was unnaturally cozy and warmer than it should have been for a deserted retreat. Glancing at the thermostat, he saw it was turned up to seventy, and the gas fireplace was off but still emitting heat. Someone had been here very recently. Must have just missed them.
Upstairs, Henry claimed the first bedroom on the left—the same room he'd used the last time he stayed with Eli. It was the second master, and wholly masculine. A prized buck head was mounted over the minibar, and the custom king-size bedframe showcased living edge wood rendered by a local carpenter who either used local resources or imported from abroad. Nothing in between.
Tossing his bag on the bed, he started to unpack. It had always been a habit of his, even well before his Navy days. No matter how tired he was or how far he’d traveled, Henry always had to make the place he was staying for the night feel like home. Tucked beneath his worn flannels and extra thick boot socks were two of his latest recommended books for PTSD. Embarrassment washed over him as he took them in, the only hint of vulnerability in the otherwise hypermasculine room.
Digging into the side pockets, he pulled out his .45, phone, and charger. No service, as always. Still, he had to check. You’d think the President of the United States could manage cell service in his own cabin.
“What the hell was that?” Outside, there was a rumbling. Wasn’t there? Or was it the PTSD? No, there was something there. He was sure of it.
Drawing the gun, he walked downstairs stealthily. A bear? Shit, the groceries on the porch. Halfway down the stairs, he heard the door creak open and snap shut.