If he runs.
I know it’s delusional to hope he won’t run, and it’d be borderline criminal on my part to manipulate him into not running when it’s been his goal for so long.
Won’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind, especially now.
I can’t help it. I’m not perfect, and I’ve never claimed to be. I’m a very bad man. It’s only sheer luck I’ve been blessed enough to have two magnificent men who’ve loved me as deeply as Elliot and Jordan love me.
Although I really don’t know how Jordan feels about me now. Maybe it’s better I don’t know.
Then I can deceive myself that perhaps there’s still hope for him to return to me, one day.
* * * *
After Elliot finishes his shower, I help him don Duck, and help him get dressed. Then I leave him sitting on his bed while I take one last tour of his bedroom, closet, and bathroom, and move everything downstairs into the entry in preparation to leave.
Including his wheelchair, a folding shower chair, his walker, and crutches.
Secret Service is always very careful and discreet about moving those last items for Elliot. The walker and shower chair get folded and stashed in large, zippered canvas bags. The crutches are broken down and stuck in a large duffel bag. We could break down his wheelchair if we have to—the wheels have push-button quick releases—but that’s not necessary. It’s not one of those generic folding hospital chairs. It’s a wheelchair that was custom made to fit him after he was discharged from physical therapy. He spent several months using it while his stump healed, before he could be fitted for Duck.
Once I know we’re ready to go, I head back upstairs and stand in front of him, hugging him. He’s wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt and there won’t be any press covering his departure. A small press pool will travel onAir Force Twowith us, but they’ve also been trained not to disturb him. He’ll probably walk aft close to arrival for a quick word with them, which will keep them happy.
I massage his scalp. “How’s my pet?”
“Tired, Master.”
He really is a wreck. Usually, he calls me Sir, and reserves calling me Master for when we’re in bed together.
At least during this trip I can share a room with him. He’ll be in a suite with two bedrooms, and I’m automatically assigned the second one.
It’ll be the first time we’ve spent multiple nights together in close to a year.
The probability of me getting to spend much time with my family is looking increasingly slim. I might ask them to come to the hotel to have dinner in private with me and Elliot in our suite. Wouldn’t be the first time, although Jordan was with us the last time we did that.
“You’re going to listen to me this trip, pet. No arguing with me about eating, or naps, or any of that. Right?”
“No arguments, Master. I’m sorry.”
More guilt for me.
I rake my fingers through his damp hair. “Stop apologizing, pet. You haven’t done a damn thing wrong. You’re absolutely my very good boy.”
After another minute of that, I pat him on the back and he sighs and sits up, staring up at me.
I lean in and kiss him. “Love you, pet.”
“I love you, too, Master.”
I hold out my hands to help him up. He doesn’t need my help but it’s one of our things that we do since there is so little wecando with him always in the public eye. Within ten minutes, with the help of Secret Service, we’re loaded and on our way to grab a chopper to Andrews.
Elliot hates flying in choppers even more than he hates flying in airplanes, and I don’t blame him. Today, however, everything goes smoothly, and we’re climbing aboardAir Force Twofifteen minutes ahead of schedule. I have a quick word with Elliot’s chief of staff, as well as the head of his security detail, who is a guy I worked with years ago, to update them about Elliot and use the excuse that he’s working on a migraine.
We use that excuse a lot. He gets them, on occasion, but not nearly as frequently as everyone around him thinks he does.
After we’re in the air and at cruising altitude, we unfasten our seatbelts. I make sure the door to the suite is locked and move to the sofa. Elliot follows. Moments later, I have him completely stripped, Duck removed, and he’s curled up on his side, wedged between me and the back of the sofa. We could make the other one into a bed but if you open the suite’s door, it’s possible to see him lying there. I’d rather use this one.
Plus, it’s an excuse to cuddle with him.
I keep a sheet draped over us, in case something happens and I have to answer the door. I always stay dressed, because it wouldn’t be easy to explain both of us being naked. Elliot lies with his head tucked under my chin and my arms around him. He’s only an inch shorter than me, which usually feels negligible. Combined with me being so used to Jordan’s much smaller, slimmer frame, normally I notice the difference between them immediately.
