“Yourhusband?” I ask Tommy, happily shocked.
If Jordan deliberately planned a way to distract me so I wouldn’t feel as nervous ahead of proposing to Leo, well, mission accomplished. Goddammit, Jordan’s not only sneaky as fuck, he’s brilliant, too.
The man standing directly on Tommy’s left offers a slightly bashful smile and holds up his hand in a wave. He also appears extremely nervous.
“Um…yeah,” Tommy says. “President Woodley, this is my husband, Rick Conner.”
The man starts to hold his hand out for a handshake but I throw my arms around him in a hug.
“Good to meet you, Rick. Congratulations to you both!”
When I release him his cheeks are pink but he’s smiling. “Th-thank you, Mister President.”
“Oh, screw that,” I tell them both. “It’sElliot. Seriously. So how long have you two been married?” And like that we start chatting, catching up as my detail maintains a nervously loose cordon around us.
I had no idea Tommy was gay. Maybe if I had I would have felt more confident about coming out a long time ago.
Turns out they’ve been married for five years, together for seven.
If Stella was here today I’m certain she’d be huffing and rolling her eyes, if not outright making obnoxious comments. I have no idea if she’s in DC right now or if she decamped to Florida to work out her personal shit with Ellis. I haven’t heard anything from her since election night.
Guess it doesn’t matter where she is as long as she’s nothere.
Jordan slipped me the ring box just after my speech, when Leo walked ahead with the detail and had his back turned to us. I stowed the box in the lower left pocket of my cargo shorts. Even though I know I can’t really feel it there because of where the upper sleeve of Duck rides along my thigh, I imagine the box is trying to burn a hole right through the pocket.
Yes, I’m in shorts today. I’m not ashamed I’m missing a leg, or to let people see me in shorts.
In fact, today of all days it’s even more important people see me and see that it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy my life. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m POTUS I wouldn’t give a shit if people see me using a walker or wheelchair. But ahead of my last election, my political enemies would have eaten that shit up and ruthlessly wielded it against me, claiming I was weak or not physically fit enough to be POTUS.
Now that I don’t have to worry about re-election maybe I can treat my own body a little more kindly in that regard and give myself some slack. I have nothing left to prove, right?
They actually have me cut a literal ribbon to open the new trail. I also have Tommy and Rick walk next to me, with Jordan right behind us as we head out. It’s so good to talk to them and catch up with Tommy that I don’t even mentally lament the fact that I can’t stare at Jordan’s ass in the shorts he wore today.
We’re only a few minutes into the hike when I have us step aside so several men and women in race chairs and handcycles can pass us on the paved path. While we pause, I turn to Tommy. “You live locally?”
“Yes, sir. Elliot,” Tommy quickly corrects himself before I can say it.
I glance back. “Jordan, do you have their info?”
He smiles. “Yes, Mister President. You have this Wednesday evening open.”
We start walking again. “Will that work for you guys?” I ask Tommy.
They wear stunned expressions. “Wednesday evening?” Tommy asks. “For dinner?”
“Yeah. At the White House. Jordan will coordinate everything for you.”
“Um…yeah. Yes, sir. Uh, Elliot,” Tommy says. “Sure!”
Okay, so this is one of the perks of my job, being able to sometimes host people in arguably the most famous residence in America.
“Family dining room, sir?” Jordan asks from behind me and I don’t even need to look to know he’s noting everything on his phone.
“Yeah. One of Mimi’s specials, please.”
He laughs behind me. “Yes, sir. Shall I arrange a car?”
“Absolutely. We’re going to drink and get tanked. Can’t send them out driving like that.”
