A mere two weeks ago, my daily routine often revolved around finding a moment to stop by Jordan’s office in the East Wing to say hello.
Even though we usually saw each other at home later that night.
I force myself not to walk over to the East Wing because I’m pretty sure someone else already occupies what was his office, and I don’t want to torture myself like that.
I also don’t want to torture myself with the resentment bordering on anger over Elliot’s part in all ofthis.
Thisbeing my current grief. Sure, I’m supposed to be the “Master,” whatever the fuckthatmeans. Used to think I had a solid grasp on that.
Then life got damned complicated. Elliot pulled back yet again, Jordan walked into my life at almost the same time, and I realized I was tired of being alone and lonely every night.
Felt exhausted from loving a man who was terrified to publicly acknowledge who I was to him as friends, much less lovers.
Hoped that, in some way, me dating Jordan might jolt Elliot into making a decision.
But Jordan…
My sweet, beautiful boy.
Sucking in a breath and chewing on the inside of my lower lip to stave off the pain knifing through my soul helps to keep my tears at bay. I’m not much of a crier, but fuckinghellI’ve shed more tears these past two weeks than I think I have in my entire goddamnedlife.
I head upstairs to the residence. Even though I have a desk in the administrative office just outside the Oval Office, I officially have a small office on the third floor, not much more than a desk in a glorified closet. Today, I can retreat there for a few minutes, lock the door behind me, and gaze at the small photo of me and Jordan, which I keep pinned to the corkboard beside my desk. The photo was taken the night of Shae’s first Inauguration, before we headed to the first of the balls. We’re both wearing tuxes and my boy looks good enough to eat.
The photographer perfectly caught us staring into each other’s eyes, with us both smiling. Jordan’s expression is full of playfully feigned innocence, while mine is barely restrained hunger. I find myself blinking against the stubborn prickle of tears that hits me.
I’ll never forget that night.
It was the night Jordan completely gave himself to me as my boy, heart and soul—askedto be mine—and my world truly changed forever.
It was also a melancholy night, because I couldn’t proudly stand beside Elliot and publicly celebrate with him. I couldn’t dance with him.
I couldn’t do anything more than give him a friendly bro hug and watch from afar as he uncomfortably danced first with Shae, then with his mom and sister, before making excuses to sit down because of his leg.
Which was mostly an excuse to get him out of dancing with anyone else. Even then, plenty of eligible women were already throwing themselves at him.
Reaching out, I touch a finger to the picture. I have a larger version, an eight-by-ten, framed and hanging on the wall in my bedroom at home.
Another, stronger wave of grief and resentment rolls through me. This time, I tip my chair back and stare at the picture of us.
I could have married Jordan.
I could have walked away from Elliot, married Jordan, and left the politics of DC behind me for good once Shae’s second term ends. Made a damned good life for us in the private sector where I’d been working when Chris plucked me up and dropped me back into the maelstrom that is our nation’s capital and its political machinations.
There are so many things I could have done differently. I can beat myself up about them a thousand different ways and it still won’t change one salient point: my sweet, beautiful boy isgone.
So are my dreams of living life with him safely tucked by my side.
Leaving me picking up the pieces of my shattered heart and soul while trying not to hate Elliot, all while trying to do my job as the caretaker to the president of the United States of America.
* * * *
At 8:02 a.m., I’m in the family dining room in the residence and finishing my breakfast with Chris and the kids when I receive a text on my work phone from Secret Service that Portia, Prophet, and Plumber are out of the SitRoom and on the move. I don’t know where Elliot’s going next, but Shae and Kev are on their way upstairs to the residence.
I opt to stay and tell Chris and the kids that they’re on their way.
Honestly?
I don’t want to cross paths with Elliot right now.
