Like this, however, he feels small and frail. Fragile. Vulnerable.
Within a minute or two, he’s sound asleep in my arms, leaving me wide awake and hating myself.
He’s really suffering.
I need to get my shit together.
Elliot needs me—I’m the only one who can do this for him. The only one he can trust as deeply as he trusts me. There have been a few occasions over the years where Kev’s stepped in for me in certain ways, if I was traveling with Shae and Elliot needed a pep talk. Those times, Kev locked himself in Elliot’s office with him for a few minutes to give him a hug and relay my instructions to Elliot in person.
But it wasn’t the same for Elliot, and all three of us knew that. Kev only did it because he’s our friend and completely understood how desperately close to a frayed edge Elliot was right then.
Maybe my greater plan was doomed from the start. Jordan isn’t a Top. While he could be very Alpha at work, and was definitely a go-getter, there are plenty of things he probably wouldn’t have been able to effectively do for Elliot to help him through the worst of times as POTUS.
Not the way I can help Elliot.
It was selfish on my part to ask it of either of them. I thought Jordan was the perfect unicorn for us.
Please let my boy be okay and let him heal.
I’m not much into praying, because you sort of need to believe in a god to pray to, but that’s the closest I come to it. If there is a higher power, some supreme being, I hope it takes care of Jordan. He’s sweet and loving and deserves to have all the good things in his life.
He’s damn sure too good for someone like me.
I wish I’d come to that realization before I took his virginity and broke his heart.
* * * *
Fortunately, the flight to California is uneventful. It’s no surprise to me that Elliot sleeps through most of it. Not just a nap where he dozes fitfully but a deep sleep that speaks to his utter exhaustion. He rarely sleeps deeply. His PTSD means he frequently awakens at any noise, or the slightest jostle of the aircraft. Even if we’re alone and locked behind a door, it’s common for him to jolt awake several times during the night.
My poor pet. It’s more proof how hard this whole thing’s been on him, and is an unmistakable indictment of me and how I’ve failed to take proper care of him.
While he’s asleep, I go through his speeches on my phone and make notes for him, then send them all to his phone so he can send them to his comms staff to make the changes. Nothing controversial on this trip, and my noted changes aren’t substantive, simply rephrasing some things to make them sound more natural, the way Elliot normally speaks.
I awaken Elliot an hour before scheduled touchdown to help him dress. Once he’s dressed, including his bulletproof vest, I put on mine. Any time he’s making a public appearance and it’s not somewhere like at the House or Senate, then he has to wear it.
That’s an order from me in the wake of Kev’s shooting. I won’t have my pet put at risk, and he needs to get used to wearing it again, even when he doesn’t want to. As POTUS, I’ll be requiring him to wear it any time he’s outside the White House.
Unfortunately, I know wearing it brings back his nightmares. It reminds him of his time in the army, and what happened to him.
Once we’re both dressed and ready, he has a brief consultation with his chief of staff, then we follow him down to the press cabin for a quick gaggle with them. It’s impossible for them to see the truth behind my pet’s mask right now. They see a friendly, smiling man who keeps them laughing and who never minds directly answering hard questions. He doesn’t always agree with Shae, but he always supports her and defends her and maintains the administration’s official positions, even if it’s not one he himself might normally hold.
He’s a good soldier.
He’s loyal, to a fault.
You need look no farther than his devotion to me to see proof of that.
I still haven’t told him about Stella’s call and I decide to break that to him once we’re strapped into our seats for final approach.
He grimly smiles. “Thank you for handling her, Sir.”
“I still haven’t done much. Want me to call her back and screen it for you while you’re at dinner?”
“I’ll still probably have to talk to her.”
“Yes.”
“How long is the trip from the airport to the dinner?”
