Prophet is that assistance.When the world sucks the life from her, Prophet breathes it back into her.
Unfortunately, you can’t drink from an empty well.
Tonight, that’s where I come in.
* * * *
We ride through DC’s darkened streets toward the townhome. There was a bit of a PR dance we did in the early days. After Kev melted down and lost his job, he sold his DC townhome and moved in with me, and old friend, to savemoney. Because he went to work for Shae, the public story goes, that’s how I spent time with her and eventually fell in love with and married her.
Once we married, we didn’t need my condo, so I sold it, and Kevin moved in with us. He was working for her, anyway, because we were in the midst of a presidential campaign at that point.
No one’s questioned us.
Because he’s chief of staff, he hasaccess to POTUS 24/7. No one thinks anything of it if he’s staying at the residence.
As Prophet, however, he is always acutely aware of the optics. So he goes home a few days a week.
Until this happened.
Thank god he was spending the night at the White House the night Lauren was murdered. Logs, agent statements, and video prove he was here. That’s in addition to me and Shae alibiing him.
There is nothing more horrible than standing at a funeral you know is being broadcast to the world and watching the man you love sobbing, and you are helpless to console him because he told you not to.
Not with witnesses around.
I mean, I can hug him, sure, but just like he couldn’t really comfort me at Charlie and Tory’s funeral, Igetit.
Optics.
Prophet sees this shit, because it’s kindof hisjobto see it. He’s amazing at it and he keeps us on a steady course.
When we’re close to the townhouse, I tap him on the head so he can return to the seat and be ready to get out when we arrive. Secret Service moved the public cordon back to keep onlookers away in the wake of the pictures and video of Kev’s tearful goodbye to Lauren.
Now he’s being fucking swooned over women—and men—whofeel sorry for the heartbroken ex-husband who was still Lauren’s best friend.
Hands off, bitches. He’s spoken for.
Times two.
Can Isaythat, though?
No, of course not.
Hence one of the reasons I’m so goddamned bitchynow. As chief of staff, Kev normally fades to the background, the power behind the throne. To have him so visibly in the spotlight in this job is uncomfortable for him, andfor me. I don’t like my boy being that exposed to the world. This is different than when he was on TV. Now he’s a focus, a target.
I’m no longer allowed to carry a gun, and that leaves me feeling naked and unable to protect him.
Once we’re safely locked inside the townhouse, I drop the duffel bag I brought with me and open my arms to him. He practically falls into my embrace and starts sobbing,Prophet is gone now, leaving my boy in residence.
It breaks my heart, and that’s tough to do because I’m a pretty stony bastard.
“Shh, boy. It’s okay. I’m here.” I take off his glasses and the White House ID name badge and set them on the end table by the couch. Then I help him slide off his denim jacket, and peel his Tampa Bay Lightning T-shirt off him.
Honestly? I don’t think I’ve ever seenhim downstairs at the White House and him not be dressed in business casual, at the very least. When he’s up in the residence, sure, that’s different.
I pull him into my arms again and hold him, my hands against his warm flesh.
It kills me I can’t snap my fingers andfixthis for him.
