Chapter Twenty-Five
Late Sunday morning, I leave Elliot immersed in a trade and tariff policy briefing with staff, which will take a while. He has a defense spending briefing immediately after, and then a climate briefing. He’ll be busy for the next couple of hours.
That means I have time to run errands.
I’ve already done my research and found two stores I want to hit to cross items off the top of my list, in addition to other stops I need to make.
The first is a New Age shop that also sells jewelry. There, I immediately lay eyes on the perfect chainmail bracelet for Elliot. It’s made from stainless steel links and it resembles my old one very closely.
I find myself wanting to jiggle my right hand, to shake a bracelet that’s no longer there. Briefly, I think about going to Leo’s after all, to root through his dresser and look for my bracelet, to see if he kept it.
Then again, maybe he didn’t.
Maybe I don’twantto know that.
He still hasn’t replied to Elliot’s texts. I didn’t let Elliot text him this morning.
#ratbastard
#twocanplaythisgame
Yet I practically feel my bracelet on my right wrist, a phantom limb pain.
The urge is so strong that I also buy a second one, which is a different weave than the one I bought for Elliot, but the same size stainless steel links and about the same weight. If they’d had two exactly alike, I would have bought both of them. Unfortunately, they didn’t. These two are closest in appearance.
I move my watch from my left wrist to my right and put the bracelet on my left. Elliot will wear his on his right. Left for the Sir, right for the sub.
Left leads, right receives.
Stop number two also produces pay dirt. The adult store is on the pricey end, but they have more in stock than just the discount, cheap-ass sex toys you can find anywhere. They don’t have fancy, custom collar sets, but they do have a nice matching set of a collar and wrist and ankle cuffs, made from soft, supple black leather, with no embellishments.
They’ll do for now, until I can order a custom set. While I’m there, I stock up on condoms and lube.
Then I cruise by a hardware store, where I purchase several snap clips, a couple of bundles of paracord, and a box of nitrile gloves.
Next…
I have the cab wait for me at the next stop. I finger the keys in my pocket as I walk up to the main door at the storage facility and punch in the access code.
The door slides open.
I quickly make my way inside the building, to the climate-controlled storage unit. My hands shake as I fit the key into the padlock, my heart skipping a beat as I turn the key and it easily opens.
Wiping away tears, I remove the lock and open the door.
Literally looks exactly the way it did the day I closed the door and snapped the lock shut on it six months earlier. As if Leo hasn’t been here since then.
It’s nearly enough to take my knees out.
After locking up, I hurry back to the cab and return to the residence. When the agent on duty in the gatehouse looks in the bags to check my purchases, he pauses before giving me an arched eyebrow.
No one else is close enough to hear me. “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” I softly warn. “The vice president is entitled to his privacy.”
He nods. “Yes, sir, Mr. Walsh. Thank you.” He returns the bags to me.
Elliot would have died of mortification had he been there. Then again, if Elliot was holding the bags and taking them inside, they wouldn’t have searched them.
Elliot will have to get over it. The Secret Service damn well knows Leo’s more than just friends with Elliot. They aren’t idiots, and they haven’t spilled Elliot’s tea in six years. They’re not about to start now.
