I cannot talk about Jordan this morning.
I cannot cry in front of him right now.
I cannotlet him see my weakness in this, because he’ll take that to heart and think that he’s bad, when there’s nothing farther from the truth.
In some ways, Elliot is a pure soul. Wounded, yes, but still pure. There isn’t a malicious bone in his body. I wouldn’t be with him if there were.
He’s not like me.
Elliot makes me want to be a better man in many ways.
In this way, however, I can’t be weak in front of him. Later, when I go home and can lock my apartment door behind me, yes. Then I can break down and purge as best I can before the next round of holding it together for my pet.
This burden is mine, not Elliot’s, and I won’t allow him to share it when his own is weighty enough.
He nuzzles his nose against mine. “Can you spend tomorrow night and all day Sunday here with me?”
My breath catches and I think about the ticket confirmation e-mail. That trip is in four weeks.
I can always cancel it closer to the travel date.
Then my mind mentally skims through Shae’s schedule. She has an event tomorrow night, but both Kev and Chris are going with her, and my presence wasn’t required.
Kissing him calms and centers me. “I’ll cook us dinner,” I tell him. “And breakfast.”
That wins me a smile. “I miss your cooking so much, Master. You always take such good care of me.”
“That’s because you’re my very good pet, and I love you.”
And I could take even better care of you if you’d just break down that damn closet door and ask me to be yours forever.
It’d also go a long way to helping heal my broken heart.
Of course I don’t say it.
I clamp down on that like I do everything else.
Because I love him, and I don’t want to hurt him.
* * * *
This morning, I’m pretty good at pretending to be a functional adult, if I do say so myself. I shower with Elliot and he seems more relaxed today than he was on the trip. That’s a good thing, obviously. On the rare mornings like this, I completely take over for him. I bathe him, shave him. Once I’ve let him dress me, then I dress him, including helping him with Duck and tying his tie. I make him a cup of coffee and then, with a final kiss, I send him out the door and on his way with his detail.
In my mind I’m pretending I’m Mr. Cruz-Woodley, and it’s just another Friday in our household. That he’ll be coming home to me tonight.
I sort his laundry and get everything put away where it belongs, so he won’t have to do any unpacking later. Then, I go through his fridge and toss what’s expired, make a shopping list on my phone for what I’ll need for us for this weekend, and send that to the head of his detail. They take care of that for him, and for Shae and Chris. It’s a security thing.
I muss the guest room bed, so the housekeeping staff assumes I slept in there, and I leave a used towel hanging over the edge of the tub, which I splash water in. That, and the sink.
It’s always the little things that need to be remembered so Elliot doesn’t freak out later. That way, if he asks me, I can honestly say I remembered to do them.
I’ve delayed all I can now. I collect my things and I decide to ask Secret Service to drive me home.
When I’m unlocking the lobby door, that’s when the exhaustion attacks, like a freaking rogue wave. It slams into me and the prickle of tears catches me off-guard.
I need to get myself pulled together, somehow. Except I look up the stairs I still have to climb—to the third floor—and it’s all I can do not to sit down right there and start bawling.
After a few deep breaths, I opt to focus on one step at a time and trudge up them.
