Page 24 of Indiscretion

Had I not been so consumed by my self-pity yesterday…

Well, last night I wouldn’t have been alone. Neither would he.

I know exactly which aide he means. Iwillhave a talk with Chris as soon as I return to the White House. Her name’s Hannah, I think, and she makes goo-goo eyes at Elliot every time she’s in the same room with him. Plus, she finds any and every excuse to put herself in the same room as Elliot, which is easy to do since she has almost full access to the West Wing, due to her duties. She’s not allowed upstairs unescorted but she’s free to move back and forth between the East and West Wing. While no second-hand rumors have reached me—yet, because asking around would be weird, since the fact that I’m gay isn’t a state secret—I knowexactlywhat her goal is merely from watching the way she watches Elliot.

To become the Second Lady.

We have a lot of shorthand in our texts. EW, if you haven’t guessed, is East Wing. PS means Press Secretary’s office.

What’s worse in this one text, and what really makes me feel like shit, is that Elliot’s not only asking to see me, he’stellingme he needs me.

Beggingme.

It rarely happens. He only does that when he’s at his lowest and the knot he’s tied in the end of his rope is rapidly fraying.

Badly.

Even worse?

There’s a second text, sent late yesterday evening.

SLS just called. I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t ask for the schedule change. She’s the one who ordered it. So You can visit Your family. I’m sorry.

Fuck.

I lay my head back against the seat, eyes closed again. SLS—ShaeLynn Samuels.

POTUS.

Honestly? Before this morning, I hadn’t even considered that she’d think about that. It is totally her, too. She knows I’m from California and that my parents and sister still live there. She always worries about me burning out and not taking enough time off for myself. Plenty of times I’ve showed up for work when I didn’t need to be there, because I’d been monitoring things on my day off. She’s groused at me countless times to take long weekends or go visit my family.

Except she’s only got a few years left. This may be the last time in my life I get to serve in the White House. Nothing’s guaranteed, including my relationship with Elliot.

And yes, I believe Elliot when he says he didn’t ask her to assign me to him. But he spent the night in emotional agony, his PTSD and anxiety no doubt doing ten times the damage to his psyche than I did with my temper tantrum.

My pet’s in pain, he’s struggling, and I once again dropped the ball.

Worse, my actions, and petty behavior, exacerbated his pain and anxiety.

My grief and anger over Jordan’s loss don’t magically disappear but this is a gut-check as I once again hear Jordan’s words, in his voice.

Elliot needs you.

I guess this means that, like it or not, I’m going to California.

Chapter Seven

Then

Once we’re both naked, I help Elliot up and off the bed and into my bathroom. I bring everything with us—Duck and the liner and stump socks, all of that. Then I make him show me what else needs to be done.

I also get my first good look at his left leg in normal light. There’s the largest scar, from the amputation, a dark pink, twisting line which starts on the outside of his calf several inches above where his leg ends, travels down and around the end of the stump, and back up the inside of his calf. Then there are other scars, on both legs and his torso.

I put the lid down on the toilet and make him sit there while, under his instruction, I take care of washing out his liner, turning it right side out again, and drying it. I get my first good look at Duck, too. I hand-wash the limb socks in the sink with a little laundry soap and hang them over my towel rack to dry.

One of them is worn over his stump, under the liner, and that one both helps protect his skin and is moisture-wicking. The others are worn on the liner to take up space between it and the sleeve. Depending on how swollen his stump is on any given day, or even from between morning and afternoon, he can add or subtract outer socks to keep from having too much of a gap. He carries extra supplies in the messenger bag he brought with him, because sometimes he has to adjust things during the day, or he gets really hot and sweats and has to change out socks.

“Do you have enough extras?” I ask.