Jordan frequently ended up with Pecan duty on school mornings. He was personally responsible for most of the tortoise’s most popular costumes. He was instrumental in putting together a limited-edition Pecan photo calendar that was sold as a fundraiser for the wildlife preservation charity Chris is heavily involved with.
One of Jordan’s duties was helping stage pictures for social media posts for the East Wing.Thiswas one of the things he loved doing, and it was so utterly, perfectly Jordan that I feel a little closer to him by taking part in it today.
I blink back tears as I watch the kids carefully situate Pecan on the towel in his wagon before trundling him outside.
This isn’t fair. Jordan should be here.
I want to take a picture of them and send it to him and even start to reach for my personal phone…
But then I remember.
Elliot needs you.
Jordan’s last words to me echo through my memory even as I struggle against another wave of crushing grief.
I’m forty-six years old. Never before have I ever felt so utterly lost and alone. Not even in those darkest days after the plane crash, when I tried to rebuild both my body and my life.
I’ve faced loss before…or thought I had.
Since losing Jordan, every bit of pain I ever thought I knew now pales in comparison.
At this point, I suppose I can only pray it gets better before I give in to the self-destruction seductively beckoning to me from within the darkness deep inside my soul.
Hopefully,beforeI accidentally take Elliot—or Shae—down with me.
Chapter Three
Then
The evening I officially meet Elliot Gerald Woodley for the first time, I spot the freshman congressman in a bar early on a Friday night, before the place has gotten crazy and crowded. He’s sitting by himself in a narrow booth and looking terrified as fuck as he clutches in both hands what appears to be a bourbon on the rocks.
While there are a few het-presenting couples at tables and at the bar, the place is well-known as an upscale, predominantly gay hangout for people who spend a lot of time on and around Capitol Hill. Sort of a corner closet, if you will. Not exactly a seedy hook-up joint. More of a down-low kind of place.
Where you can have plausible deniability, if you’re seen there.
Even better?
It’s a block from my apartment building.
Which was a happy coincidence.
He’s not wearing his lapel pin, but the congressman’s face is not unknown to me. I know a little about US Representative Elliot Woodley (D-NE), including that he nearly died while deployed overseas in the army. The guy’s also handsome. If he’s in the closet, meaning he’s not looking for drama or a scandal, he might be exactly what I’m looking for.
If he’s a bottom.
Pleaselet him be a bottom.
My guess is if he was a Top, he wouldn’t look so terrified while he sits there nursing what I think might be Jack Daniel’s. I could be wrong, but I doubt it.
About him not being a Top, and about the JD on ice.
I currently work for a private security contractor, doing some personal protection fieldwork but mostly instruction, logistics management, and threat assessment, along with the occasional assignment requiring my linguistics or psychology training. It’s work that pays well and allows me the freedom to pick and choose my assignments. Meaning I usually stick with easy or safe ones that keep me busy and prevent boredom from settling in.
This weekend, however, I’m completely unoccupied and searching for fun.
After observing Elliot for about ten minutes, I notice it doesn’t appear he’s specifically waiting for someone. If I hesitate too long in approaching him he’s liable to leave when he finishes his drink.
Or bolt, like a terrified deer.
