“Honesty, communication, and an open mind. Don’t cheat on me. If you ever want to be poly, then talk about it with me first.” He looks confused. “Question, pet?”
“What’s that mean?”
Bless his heart.
“It means seeing other people. Dating others. Right now, I don’t want either of us to see other people until we figure out exactly what it is we have between us. No dating, no sex with anyone else.”
More relief in his expression. “Yes, Sir. I think it’s safe to say I won’t be dating anyone else.”
He says that now but, with his cherry popped, he might find more bravery than he imagines. “You cheat on me, we’re done. There’s no excuse for that when we’re adults who can talk. Justtalkto me. Okay? I’ll do the same for you. Questions?”
“Later. Not right now, Sir.”
Dammit, that sounds so natural rolling off his tongue. I hand him the washcloth and soap. “Then why don’t you take care of me? That way, we can have some more fun.”
Chapter Eight
Now
Once I’m home, I ask the cab driver to wait for me and hand him a twenty in addition to the fare I’ve already paid. It takes me longer to climb the stairs up and down than it does to actually pack. I’ve done this so many times over the years, I can throw together a week’s worth of clothes and needed items in under five minutes.
Like I do this morning.
I pause though, before I zip my toiletries bag. After a moment’s consideration, I finally reach into the nightstand and grab condoms and lube and tuck them into the bag.
Don’t know if either of us will be in the mood to need them while we’re gone but I might as well prepare, just in case.
Pausing by the photo of me and Jordan hanging on my bedroom wall, I stare at it.
That night, I thought anything was possible. Thateverythingwas possible. I thought my dreams would eventually come true.
I thought there’d be a happily ever after for allthreeof us. Or, at the very least, for me and Jordan, if Elliot decided he couldn’t deal with reality.
Fuckwas I wrong.
I kiss my finger and touch it to the glass, over Jordan’s face. “I miss you so damn much, boy,” I whisper.
Elliot needs you.
My sweet boy. I didn’t deserve him. Not really. He had so much love within him. He deserved to have someone devoted only to him, whose soul isn’t trapped in a perpetual tug-of-war with someone else. He didn’t deserve to spend the past six-plus years stuck with me.
I can’t stand here all day because I have my marching orders and a waiting cab.
The cabbie is still there when I make it downstairs. He’s scrolling through something on his phone.
I climb into the backseat with my bags and pull the door shut, and away we go again. I’m feeling my age, feeling my old injuries, feeling…old.
Elliot’s only four years younger than me but in some ways it’s like he’s ancient. I’ve never had to kill in the course of my duties, thank god. Never lost anyone I was responsible for protecting, either in the Secret Service or after it, working for a private company. My men who died in the plane crash…
I will always feel survivor’s guilt over their loss, especially Brad. Except I know I had nocontrolover the circumstances of their deaths. I didn’t cause them.
Not directly.
The psychologist wages regular battles with my psyche on that front and usually comes up winning.
Mostly.
Elliot’s not only killed people but men in his charge died, and he feels his failure to react soon enough caused their deaths.
