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Chapter Thirteen

Caleb

The show must go on. Caleb repeated the mantra to himself for the hundredth time as he floated through the throngs of people crowding the Kennedy Center terrace. While Elias had been having his existential crisis about whether or not to run for the presidential nomination, Caleb had been hard at work behind the scenes. Hence, the controlled chaos they currently found themselves embroiled in. He did nothing by halves, something he prided himself on. Judging by the turn-out, he'd really outdone himself this time. If only he could truly appreciate it.

He swept a keen gaze over the terrace and spotted his husband and stepson where he'd left them—Elias scanning through his speech on his phone and Parker entertaining himself close by with a poster board and markers. He couldn't wait to see what sort of adorable campaign slogan the little tyke was whipping up this time. It was these small moments that gave him the strength to do his utmost. Above and beyond. Elias needed his perfectionism and poise, especially after the heinous morning they'd had. Caleb shuddered at the memory as he returned his attention to the padfolio in his hands.

Connor and Luke showing up at the house while they were all still in pajamas and enjoying toaster waffles had been an unexpected surprise. The bombshell they promptly dropped in the center of the breakfast table was not a welcome addition to their drop in. Thank goodness Connor had the forethought to suggest Parker finish his food in the family room before imploding their world. Caleb could barely stomach Elias’ reaction. He couldn't fathom what the damage would have been like if Parker had discovered his bestest friend Anna was taking a surprise trip to some unknown locale, nor would he have responded well if he had learned that the catastrophic events also took Toby, Birdie, Larry, and Theo away from him. They’d handle that crisis mitigation when things were a little more stable. Caleb laughed under his breath. Stable. When was anything ever stable, anyway?

He stole another glance at his husband for clues about his headspace. Elias was good at this—at pretending everything was fine and that he was the picture of calm, collected efficacy. He’d make a supremely good President for that reason. If anyone had seen his response to the news this morning, they'd probably disagree. Caleb had responded to the news that Theo was being framed for leaking classified intelligence and was now on the run to avoid being eaten alive by the machine hunting him down as one would have expected—righteous indignation and burning rage. Elias? There was no anger, no outcry, no outrage. Just a vacant, cold stillness. Caleb had watched the light go out behind Elias’ eyes and could do nothing to stop him as he excused himself from the table to disappear into the shower. Judging by how long he had remained behind the locked door, his shower was a cold one by the time he finished. They hadn't spoken about it since. The giant elephant in the room was now affectionately named Theo.

The show must go on. Caleb reiterated the reminder as he stirred into motion, cutting through the crowd with surgical precision. He had a job to do and he was damn sure going to do it well. He smoothed his sharply tailored suit coat and sidestepped a harried looking event coordinator before honing his focus on a hapless intern who looked to be on the verge of tears.

“Darling, sweetheart, sunshine,” Caleb crooned as he plucked the clipboard from the poor girl’s hands to scan the page. “I appreciate the effort, but highlighting the key points loses its effect if the entire sheet is highlighted.”

“Oh… shit–shoot… sorry.” She made an utterance that was half watery laugh and half strangled sob. Not the most attractive sound.

“Shh, doll. It's fine. More deep breathing exercises, less stress-highlighting. You're doing phenomenally.” He gave her a soft, crooked smile and a reassuring wink. “Phenomenally.”

“Th-thank you, Mr. Cohen-Williams.”

He surveyed the landscape with another sweep of his eyes. It was difficult to smother the sigh as he caught a glimpse of yet another campaign staffer struggling to secure the largest banner behind the podium. He cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered over the din.

“Jessie, baby! If I can see that wrinkle from here, the cameras absolutely will. More zip ties. I bought a gross of them!”

She lifted her hand to give him a thumbs up from afar and dove back into the plastic tote Caleb had wrestled into the trunk of Elias’ BMW this morning. He’d have plenty of fodder for his tell-all memoir by the time they were retiring. Raised voices distracted him from the task of drafting a catchy opening line of said memoir. Ugh. Press people. Love to hate them, hate to love them. He darted around more bodies, his small stature a boon for once, before drawing up close between a liaison and a network rep.

“Sweethearts, my darlings!” Caleb clapped his hands together once. “I have precisely twenty minutes before I have to mic my husband up so he can dazzle the world with his impassioned speech about hope and unity, so here is how this is going to go—you find a way to work together like fully grown, functional adults, or I call some people on my fancy-schmancy cellular device and send you both packing to the sad, sad world of local access television. Capeesh?”

The rabble of protest made him roll his eyes and gently lay his hands on their shoulders. “Oy. Boys, play nice or explain to your bosses how you lost White House access before the campaign even started. I'm sure you'll make the right choice.”

Their acceptance, albeit begrudging, was the best he could hope for. They had twenty minutes and counting. He thrilled at the prospect. If his impeccable timing was right, Elias would be giving his speech with the sunset glinting off the Potomac behind him. The lights of the DC skyline would be blinking to life during the cocktail hour with Caleb’s carefully curated list of VIP donors and key DC socialites in his Rolodex. The banners were a collective effort between him and Taz, decorating the sharp lines of the terrace in a range of sizes perfectly designed to create a sophisticated, modern, yet subtly classic vibe he was pretty damn proud of. He poached a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and escaped the worst of the pandemonium to gift himself a brief moment of peace before the next phase kicked off. He’d earned it three times over.

With his elbows resting on the rail, he cradled the glass flute and expelled a quiet breath. DC glowed in the distance, the familiar skyline rosy gold as the sun drifted lower toward the horizon. From this distance, it was peaceful, powerful, moving. Unfortunately, he knew what the shadows hid from view. He was lost in thoughts about the striking juxtaposition when a buttery-smooth voice interrupted his moment’s peace.

“So, is it as exhausting as it looks?”

Caleb cast his gaze to the left and scrutinized the source of the uninvited conversation. The words were accented in a way that left him on the back foot, a strange mix of crisp formality and something southern, but not like Connor’s drawl. If he had to guess, he'd think Creole or Cajun influence in the smooth, lyrical sing-song quality. There was a faint upward intonation at the end of the sentence that piqued his curiosity. Despite his better judgment, he found himself staring. The man was gorgeous. His complexion was smooth, a tawny light brown color that explained the tight coils of rich ebony hair glowing gold in the low angle of the sun. His eyes glittered. The mahogany color caught the catchlights and brought insane definition to the irises. The flash of his bright white smile, there and gone, finally kicked Caleb out of his momentary slip from poise.

“Come again?”

His guest snickered with all the mischief of a leprechaun. “Mais, frère… t’anks but no. My friend helped me with that before we arrived.”

He winked and shifted his posture, feigning a relaxed casual air as he swept his too keen gaze over the horizon. Caleb’s skin prickled with unease. Anyone who worked in DC politics knew what to look for, and this man was clearly scrutinizing every move from the corner of his eye despite appearing, for all intents and purposes, to be enjoying the view.

“But seriously. Is it exhausting t’make the impossible look easy?” He tipped his head toward the crowds bustling behind them.

“Flattery before names. Bold move, Mr…?” Caleb’s red alert system was blaring full-blast. He had personally selected every single member of not only the campaign team, but also every invitee from the most coveted press liaisons to the unknown but swiftly rising stars of the social scene. This man? This man was not on any of his lists.

“Call me Zephyr.” He rotated to lean on his left elbow as he extended his free hand. “Logistics team.”

“Funny,” Caleb mused aloud as he returned the gesture. The man’s grip was firm and lingered too long to be socially acceptable. “I don't recall signing off on you. And I signed off on everyone.”

His companion, whose name was clearly not Zephyr because duh, no one given that name at birth would keep it into adulthood, tilted his head to the side with a wry smile. “I prefer to stay under the radar. Helps me do my job better, wi?”

“Well, that sounds delightfully stalkery. Should I be concerned, sweetie?” Caleb maintained the lingering handshake in an effort to go toe to toe with the stranger. It was getting more than a little awkward, but he wouldn't bow down. Not now. Not ever.

“Mon frère,” he replied in a low purr as he leaned forward to speak quieter into Caleb's ear. “Only concerning if I weren't on your side.”

He shifted again, not loosening his grip but moving his left hand toward the pocket of his black tactical pants. Caleb nearly squawked, two microseconds away from screeching for security, but he resisted the urge and relaxed only a fraction as a cellphone briefly appeared before the man deposited it straight into the front pocket of Caleb’s suit jacket.

“It’s gon’ ring, and when it does, I suggest you answer.”

Caleb swallowed down his rising panic and recovered enough cool to flash the stranger his best attempt at a smile. “Oo, telephone tag. This feels so early nineties elementary school. Color me curious.”

“Curious, cautious. Same thing?” He finally dropped Caleb’s hand and pivoted on the soles of his feet to saunter, slow and steady, toward the bustling bodies filling the terrace. A brief pause mid stride brought him up short as he cast a devastating smile over his shoulder, complete with a rakish wink. “Anyone tell you y’got a pretty smile? Pretty-pretty.”

Caleb blinked before bursting into laughter. “Indeed. My husband. Daily.”

“Bien. Speaking of—” His head tilted up with a subtle jerk of his chin. “Tell foxy man our friend’s gon’ be all right. The wind’s the best place for him right now.”

With that, the strange man resumed his relaxed exit, all but disappearing into the press of people like a wisp—there one second and gone the next. Zephyr . Caleb’s brow crinkled as he slowly put the pieces together. Zephyr, derived from Zephyros, Greek god of the west wind. A shiver tore down Caleb’s spine and he considered yanking the phone from his pocket to yeet it over the railing, but something stopped him. Perhaps it was stubbornness or sixth sense, but he would wait until he knew more before making any impulsive decisions. He needed more information and the cell was the key. He hated not knowing. Abhorred it. Shaking his head, he checked his wrist watch and sighed to recenter himself. T-minus two minutes. It's showtime, Cay.