Yeah. This is what he gets.
He rolls over and groans while I rummage through his closet and put together a suitable outfit for him to wear. He’s already sitting on the edge of the bed by the time I emerge with his clothes—suit, boxers, undershirt, socks, shoes, tie, and belt.
I drop everything but the socks and shoes on the same side of the bed where he’s now sitting, the one closest to the bathroom, and I put the socks and shoes on the floor at the end of the bed, next to the bench where he’ll sit to don them. I find his flag pin on the jacket he wore yesterday and transfer it to the lapel of the one he’ll wear today.
Then I throw him a bone. “Do you need my help with Duck?” I don’t bother looking to see where he left his walker. He’s a big boy. If he falls and busts his ass, it’s his fault.
He shakes his head, not looking at me as he runs a hand through his disheveled light brown hair. There are a few touches of silver starting to lighten his temples. He’s even more handsome for it now than when I first met him a dozen years ago. I want to run my hands through his hair and massage his scalp, watch his eyes drop closed the way they always do…
And Jordan’s face comes to mind.
Guilt rolls through me and I stomp it into oblivion. I can’t afford for emotions to distract me right now.
“I’ll get your coffee ready. You have ten minutes. Yell if you need my help getting down the stairs.” I turn and leave the bedroom door standing open behind me.
I could’ve been here with him this morning, taking the phone call that otherwise would have roused him and doing all of this a lot more gently than I just did, except that’s not the way the world works.
Not anymore.
One of my greatest hopes used to be that Elliot would ditch his fear and choose me over a hopeless quest to earn his old man’s respect.
Now?
My greatest hope is that I can somehow wrangle into submission the flaming garbage pile where my love and kindness used to reside before I end up destroying what little good remains in my life and shredding Elliot’s soul—or future presidency—in the process.
* * * *
I’m standing by the front door with Elliot’s full travel mug in my hand when he slowly limps downstairs nine and a half minutes later. His hair’s damp, and it looks like he shaved. He hasn’t tied his tie yet, though. It’s draped around his neck, his collar button still unfastened. He’s wearing his glasses. That he didn’t bother putting in his contacts tells me he’s not at his best right now.
I didn’t exactly help him in that department, either.
From the way he’s holding the bannister as he gingerly makes his way down the stairs I know he’s in pain, but I can’t let that slow us down. I hand him his travel mug, button his collar, and quickly knot his tie for him without a word. Then I turn for the front door, knowing he’ll fall in behind me.
The car and Secret Service detail are waiting. Opening the front door for him, I step aside and let him go first before I set the alarm and lock the door behind him. Then I follow him. Once in the car, I proceed to scan my morning e-mail on my work phone as we get underway. We’re halfway to Dupont Circle before he speaks.
“What happened?”
I choose to assume he means why I’ve just rolled him out of bed this way. “The little fucker.”
With my peripheral vision, I watch as he nods and then turns his head to stare out the window.
We can’t keep doing this.
Ican’t keep doing this.
Unfortunately, I love the dumbass and I know he loves me.
I take a deep breath, hold it, and slowly blow it out again.
I don’t look at him, choosing to watch him out of the corner of my eye. “Pet,” I breathe, barely a whisper despite being alone back here with him.
From the way his shoulders tighten I know he heard me.
He nods slightly, slowly, deliberately.
With my focus on my phone in my right hand, I shift position, allowing me to plant my left hand between us on the seat, next to his. My pinky finger reaches out and hooks his, stroking his once before I draw away.
He takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it out, and looks forward for a moment before slowly nodding again.
