Chapter Thirty-Eight
My sleep Friday night is filled with nightmares. I haven’t had nightmares in a while, and those used to be of the night of the club shooting.
Iwish. No, these nightmares are worse.
Far worse.
Now I’m haunted by what I saw in the SitRoom and it keeps trying to morph and twist into me watching someone kill Elliot.
Or Leo.
Meaning I’m going to need alotof fucking coffee.
Apparently, Leo takes my warnings to heart, or he listens to Elliot. I don’t know or care which one, but on Saturday, Leo behaves himself. I don’t see him, or hear from him, even though I let Elliot keep the burner phone and text with Leo at will. I doubt Leo’s in attendance in the crowd at any of the events, because the President is working today and I’m certain Leo’s with her.
Having the pressure off me allows me the space, while Elliot’s speaking to attendees at the events, to finally devote brain cells to recalling memories of my life with Leo. Mostly because while Elliot’s speaking, I have time to sit back and do nothing but watch and wait.
Until now, thinking about the past is something that’s been too painful to consider.
Something I spent months tryingnotto think about.
There’s so much I miss about Leo and our life together. Even when there were days we were both so busy we barely saw each other awake for more than a few minutes, at least we could text all the time, or sneak a quick hug or kiss.
I miss that.
I miss being able to go to the movies with him, or grabbing a bite to eat.
I miss going to watch bands play at clubs.
I miss browsing bookstores, and watching him playfully scowl while he buys a hard copy of a book and I grab it on my Kindle.
Stopping by an ice cream shop.
Going out for a bite to eat with friends. Mostly guys from the Secret Service, or people Leo knew from his private security work, but still friends.
All of that done anonymously, without a literal cadre of on-duty Secret Service, and press, and onlookers eagerly watching.
I don’t know how Elliot can stand being on display the way he is, his life tightly controlled and regimented. He could go out and do more things than he does, but he doesn’t. He hates the attention, and even more, he hates the thought that he’s creating an inconvenience for other people.
Honestly? He doesn’t really have any friends.
Guess that’s why he needs me and Leo.
Saturday night, we don’t return home until after midnight. Elliot’s drained and I get him put to bed, where he immediately falls asleep.
With my body too full of caffeine to sleep yet, I walk down to my room and sit on the bed and stare at the picture of me and Leo while I hold my day collar in my hand. It rode in my pocket all day today.
I want to believe in fairy tales. I want to believe in happily ever afters.
I want to believe this can work.
I want to believe it was Leo’s pain, his genuine love for me, that made him act like a fucking dumbass. That Elliot’s right when he tells me Leo thought he was doing what I wanted by letting me go.
I never wanted to hurt Elliot. Not even the times I was aggravated at him for bowing to his fear instead of listening to his heart.
I wanted Leo to be happy. Making Leo happy mademehappy.
Elliot makes Leo happy.
