Which, of course, triggers another round of self-loathing. I’m a grown-ass adult, a veteran—POTUS, for chrissake. I should have a handle on this. Maybe I’ve been grossly unfair to Jordan and Leo all these years.
Maybe, you dumbass?
That’s another reason I’m unsettled, even angry at myself. Because my fear isn’t self-contained. It’s impacted the two men I love, and yet they still stay with me.
Irrational love and loyalty. It’s humbling and maybe one day I’ll actually be fucking worthy of them.
Sitting in my living room, with the TV on for noise more than anything, I try to resume reading. It’s just past eleven when I finally admit that’s useless because I cannot focus on anything except my forced solitude.
I need…more.
While I know I should go to bed I also know sleep will be damned near impossible tonight. Even if I do manage to fall asleep today’s incident will no doubt trigger nightmares. Without Jordan in bed to soothe me through them I’d rather not try to sleep yet. I can always nap with my head in his lap tomorrow down in my study after my PDB.
Wheeling back into the bedroom, I change into shorts and then spy Jordan’s iPod and earbuds on the dresser. I know he uses it when working out because he told me if he uses his phone to play music in the gym he ends up standing there reading and replying to emails and working instead of exercising.
Grabbing it, I use the elevator to make my way to the home gym upstairs and set up a machine to work on my arms and chest. I pick one of Jordan’s workout playlists, pop in the earbuds, and get started.
It’s not my favorite music but the mix of Todrick, Lil Nas X, Arctic Monkeys, and other pop and rock artists throbs through me while I push myself harder than I probably should and I think about Jordan and Leo.
About the time I’ve pointlessly wasted for us over the years.
All the angst I’ve caused them and put myself through in the process.
I need to work up a sweat. I need to punish myself.
I need tohurt. Because Jordan’s not here, and Leo’s not here.
Worse, I’m sure Jordan’s in emotional distress and I can’t be the one comforting him, or at least helping Leo comfort him. Twice now Jordan’s been in close proximity to danger, and twice now it’s been Leo there to see him through it.
Protecting him.
Caring for him.
It should beme, but itcan’tbe me, and I know this.
Ihatethis.
An hour later I’ve worked my way through several rounds of machines, weights, and cardio. I’m drenched in sweat and my arms and legs tremble from the intensive workout. On top of the earlier hike, I’ll definitely be feeling this tomorrow.
Good. I deserve to hurt.
Returning to the bedroom, I strip and use my walker to climb into the shower and rinse off. I can’t even comfort myself by slipping on one of Jordan’s dirty T-shirts because, hello, it wouldn’t fit me.
But as exhausted as I now am maybe the nightmares won’t be so bad. Maybe I’ll manage to escape them tonight.
Before sliding into bed I retrieve my leather collar from the drawer, kiss it, and buckle it around my neck. At least in this way I can keep one thing “normal” and maybe it’ll also help hold my nightmares at bay.
Hey, a guy can dream, right?
* * *
Around one a.m.I’m still lying there and staring at the ceiling when I hear the lock on the door to the living room beep.
In walks Jordan, dressed in jeans and absolutely swimming in a plain black T-shirt that hangs past his hips. I’m certain it must be Leo’s.
He’s trying to be quiet. I opt to speak up so I don’t startle him. “Hey.”
He pauses without looking my way. “Hey.”
