“That’s one way of putting it, Mister President.”
“Please keep track of her condition and keep me posted. I’d like to talk to her as soon as she’s feeling up to it and check in with her. If she’d be open to that, obviously. If not that’s fine, but I’d still like to be kept apprised of her condition.”
“Yes, sir.”
I return to the residence, where I request for the housekeeping staff to finish up immediately and clear out.
The last thing I want or need right now is company.
I head into the bedroom. Before I undress I pull the ring box out of my pocket and stare at it in my hand for a long moment without opening it.
It should be a footnote now and not still holding our rings.
I tuck it into the nightstand drawer and opt to take a long tub bath instead of a shower. When I start the water running I dump a package of Epsom salts into the water because I know I’ll be achy tomorrow from the hike. Then I strip and examine my stump for any issues.
Fortunately, I don’t need any of the stuff in the bag Jordan has with him because we have extras of everything here. That’s my travel kit for when I’m on the move.
I ease my body into the steaming water and slide deeper into the tub as it fills. Once the water’s up to my neck I shut it off and float there for a while and try to force the sound of the gunshots out of my brain, along with the sight of the woman getting shot. With my head tipped back and floating, the water laps over my ears, helping me shut out the world for a little while.
I suppose I could go swimming downstairs if I really wanted to because the pool’s heated, but I’d rather hole up here and lick my wounds for a while where no one can see me and I don’t have to…people.
In an alternate universe, the three of us would be back here already, celebrating and giggling over the outraged conservative media hot takes regarding the kiss I would’ve laid on Leo after popping the question. Jordan would be scanning social media feeds and we’d be cracking up at whatever derogatory hashtags started trending.
And I’d already have talked to my parents and learned if I still have a relationship with them or not.
A wave of guilt washes over me at my selfishness. A woman was shot today, a man died, and at least a hundred people were traumatized by what they witnessed.
Including one of the loves of my life.
Here I am, whining that I didn’t get to do something I should have had the balls to do a long time ago.
Maybe this is cosmic karmic retribution for me dragging my heels for so fucking long.
Soaking and sulking, I stay in there a while longer, only climbing out once my fingers start pruning. I pull on sweats and rather than dealing with Duck or my walker I opt to use my wheelchair. Then I go round up the briefing books I’d brought upstairs with me last night.
Might as well do some work. The afternoon is still young, right?
I dump them on the kitchen table and then wheel over to the fridge.
Inside sits the bottle of champagne and fixings for the special celebratory dinner Jordan had prepped and ready to cook for us. I stare at it for a moment and fight the urge to scream. Our guy should be here with us, dressed in nothing but his leather collar and a smile, giggling and happy that I finally got my shit together and even happier that he and I will get to sleep with Leo every night.
Slamming the door shut, I drag the briefing binders into my lap and furiously wheel out of the kitchen and down the main hall to the elevator landing, where the agent stationed there barely manages to step out of my way in time as I blast into the elevator car and spin around without saying a word.
He steps in with me, speaking into his cuff to notify the detail I’m on the move as I punch the button to head down.
I don’t say anything as we travel to ground level, where the main kitchen lays. When the door slides open the agents standing there make way for me and silently follow as I head toward the kitchen. I need to try to quiet the angry bees threatening to swarm inside my brain.
Even though I don’t want company in my personal space today I consider this the kitchen staff’s kingdom and don’t mind the temporary distraction being here might provide.
Martin, the head chef, is on duty today and understandably looks surprised to see me. “President Woodley. Hello, sir.”
“Hey. Sorry to drop in like this. It’s been…a weird day.”
“I heard there was an issue earlier.”
“That’s one way of putting it. Listen, can I please get a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches? The ones Jordan orders for me?” I don’t even know how to order them; they’re always perfect.
“Of course, sir. Wheat bread, the usual?”
