Even if the thought of climbing into his bed and shoving my face into his pillow to smell him is a very tempting proposition. But even if I could do that, the alarm being disarmed will send him a text alert and he’ll know it’s me.
I grab as much as the agents will let me carry, and I’m not shocked to see Elliot gets one of his own bags, in addition to his laptop case, despite Secret Service trying to help him. He glances back at me and I follow him inside, leaving the agents to finish unloading for us.
Elliot heads upstairs immediately, and I follow. On his way past the doorway of the guest room, Elliot casually reaches inside and flips on the light.
“There you go, Jordan.”
“Thanks.”
Our gazes briefly meet and I know damned well I’ll likely never sleep in this bed.
Note to self—mess up the bed every night.
That way, it looks like I made it in the morning after sleeping in it, instead of the way the housekeeper will remake it every day.
The other two rooms upstairs are used for his home office, and house his workout equipment.
Meanwhile, Elliot’s things are brought inside, and some are taken to his bedroom—like his walker, crutches, and other supplies—and some, like his back-up wheelchair, are left downstairs. The head of his detail arrives with my new ID badge, keys, and walks me through the alarm panel. There will be more to do, like filling out paperwork and other HR bullshit, but I’ll do that when we head to the White House tomorrow.
Which…I just realized I don’tknowwhat Elliot’s schedule is for tomorrow, or if we’ll even be at the White House.
Add that to the list.
Twenty minutes later, we’re alone in the house, locked in, the alarm’s on, the outside lights are off, all the curtains are drawn, and it’s time for me to do things properly.
Without undressing, I grab a couple of items from my carryon bag, stick them in my blazer pockets, and head down the hall to Elliot’s bedroom. I should unpack tonight despite my exhaustion, but I have a boy to take care of.
Hecomes first.
He willalwayscome first, because that’s the only way this works.
Not sure how Leo will feel about that, but it’s the new world order, whether Leo likes it or not.
Maybe he should’ve thought about that before not fighting harder for me.
Or before he practically ignored Elliot over the past several months.
I find Elliot standing in front of the bench at the end of the bed, where his suitcase now lays, and starting to unzip his bag. He’s already removed his glasses and I spot them on one of the nightstands.
Without a word, I close and lock the bedroom door behind me before I cross the room, snap my fingers, and point at the floor in front of me.
There’s no hesitation. He turns and sinks to the floor. Force of habit, I realize, has me holding out my left hand the way Leo always did, not grabbing him or assuming he needs the help, but just in case he wobbles a little too far and loses his balance. But once I see he’s fine, I shove my hands into my trouser pockets and stare down at him for a long moment.
Note to self—figure out the music situation.
I have a Bluetooth speaker in one of my bags. I’ll need to make sure it’s in here for us. I don’t see the Bluetooth speaker that I remember being in here.
I keep my voice down. Despite being alone in the house, it feels right to keep things quiet. “Well, here we are, boy.”
I can honestly say this is not how I thought my Thursday night would end, or my Friday morning would begin.
He blinks as he stares up at me. I see the way his eyes are already too bright, dangerously close to tears again. “Yes, Sir.”
He’s an absolutewreck. What I did for him earlier must have barely scratched the surface. I find myself shoving back another wave of irritation at Leo for letting him get this bad. That’s just common decency in a situation like this. He knows how much Elliot needs him.
Why the hell did I rip my heart out of my chest so Leo could focus on Elliot if he wasn’t doing thatonedamn thing?
I can unpack all those conflicting feelings later.
