Problem was, they still had eight months on their lease and didn’t want to break it. The professor is holding off looking for someone else to take over the lease based on my department head vouching for me.
Meanwhile, I return to Leo’s apartment.
God, that fucking hurts, thinking of it as his now and not ours.
Leo’s not home, for which I’m feeling…torn. It’s good that he’s not here, watching me finish my packing. The grief in his gaze has grown so deep over these past two weeks that it’s shredding my heart even more. I’ve whittled down what I still have in Leo’s apartment to four large suitcases, a carryon, and my laptop case.
I fly out tomorrow evening, but I didn’t tell him that.
I don’t need to.
He knows.
Without thinking, I shake my right hand as tears sting my eyes.
Yeah, my day collar.
That has to come off.
No, I don’t want to remove it. I promised him when I accepted it that I’d never take it off without permission.
Keeping it on is more self-torture of the unhealthy kind. It’s no healthier than Leo lying to himself about Elliot ever coming out of the closet.
Twelve fricking years, they’ve been together.
If Elliot can’t make himself come out in all that time, it ain’t happening.
Just sayin’.
Guy’s a decorated, wounded war vet, has an economics degree, is an experienced lawmaker. He’s the fricking vice president.
Yet he’s still terrified to come out.
It’s not like he’s a twelve-year-old kid petrified his ultra-religious parents might send him to a gay conversion therapy camp.
Oh, right. That was me.
And yet, I still managed to reach out to Mimi—my grandmother—who literally lived on the other end of the country, seek her help, and change my life.
Chart my own course, set my own sails.
I was twelve.
Elliot’s forty-three years old, and Leo’s forty-seven.
How many more years of Leo’s life is Elliot going to waste? How many of his own?
I’m twenty-nine, and this isn’t healthy.
As it was, I held off putting in my notice for a week because Leo begged me to give him one last chance to convince Elliot.
I don’t know what he said or tried during that extra week, but I know he wasn’t successful.
If he had been, I wouldn’t be standing here right now, crying my eyes out.
Guess I’m lucky Leo didn’t order me to stay.
Who am I kidding? If he had, I would have stayed.
Hell is crying, because as hard as Leo fights to try to get Elliot to let him in, I wish he’d fought a fraction that hard to get me to stay.
* * * *
When Leo arrives home from work, he doesn’t speak. He pulls me into his arms, kisses me with a level of passion that hasn’t waned since that first frantic night we made love six years earlier, and breaks my heart with his quiet tears that mix with mine as he makes love to me in a bed we’re sharing for the last time.
Why am I doing this?
Why am I killing both of us by leaving?
Except…nothing’s going to change. Whether I do this now or in two years, when it’ll hurt even more, I’m still going to mourn. Worse, me staying could hurt Elliot, and I don’t want to do that.
It’s like the stars aligned when I called my old department head at FSU to talk to her about what I’d need to do to resume the pursuit of my master’s degree.
She told me there was also a job opening, and, oh, hey, look at that, an available apartment, in my price range, because one of the professors was moving.
An apartment just off campus, an easy walk for me.
Do ass-kickings from the Universe come any clearer than that?
If I still believed in God and prayer, I would have said it was a message from the Lord telling me in no uncertain terms that leaving was the right course of action.
Fucking kills me, but growing pains always hurt, don’t they? Women give birth in agony, and then heal.
Usually.
I can suck it up and do this.
Leo won’t.
Leo will never admit Elliot won’t change. Can’t change.
Leo will never be able to see this can’t work. Because despite Leo’s training and cynicism, where Elliot Woodley is concerned, Leo is forever an optimist. And Leo will always put himself last, no matter what.
Loving Leo enough, or his love for me, isn’t the problem and never will be. Leo and I are perfect together.
But, aside from Elliot’s fear, so are Elliot and Leo. Perfect together, that is.
Last month, Kevin Markos, the president’s chief of staff—and the other third of the secret triad comprised of her, her husband, and Kev—sits down with me for a closed-door meeting.
Just the two of us.
“Do you know where you’re going with your career, Jordan?”
The man is spooky good at what he does. Part of it’s the years he spent as a cable news anchor, insightfully piercing the layers of an interview subject’s bullshit to get to the heart of the matter.
“I honestly don’t know. I’m not sure what my role will be when Elliot’s elected. Everyone seems to assume I’ll be part of the campaign.”
That’s something else. That Elliot hasn’t been able to outright say to Leo or anyone else yes, he’s running. It’s obvious from everything he does and says, but he’s never turned to the man who’d die for him without hesitation and told him he’s running.
“Do you want to be part of the campaign?” Kev asks.
“I mean…” I think about it. “I’m getting really good at this stuff.” I laugh. “I never thought I’d like reading polls and planning ground strategy. Never thought I’d understand, much less like politics.”
Kev sits back. “Liking it and being good at it can be mutually exclusive. Before you decide this is the path you want to be on, you need to take a long, hard, honest look around DC at people who do it for a living. You’re a sweet guy, a nice guy. If this is the life you want, more power to you, because yes, you are dedicated, and yes, you have a knack for this.”
The hovering darkness I’d felt growing thicker for months finally makes itself known. “You don’t think I should be here?”
“On the contrary. I think you will be great here, or in politics in general. I think you have the potential for a lucrative, exciting career in politics.” He studies me. “But is that what you want to do?”
“Why?”
“Because I know what Leo hoped would happen hasn’t. I’m not putting my nose in the middle of your relationship. That’s not me. But you and I both know Elliot needs Leo. And Leo’s never walking away from Elliot.”
I slowly twist my hands in my lap without looking at them. “And Elliot’s not warming up to me like that,” I softly say.
We sit there for a moment as I let that settle in the air between us like dust beaten from curtains that have been pulled closed for far too long.
“Has Elliot said anything to you about me?” I finally ask.
Kev shakes his head. “I know Elliot is Leo’s good boy. He’ll do whatever Leo asks of him.”
“Except come out.”
Kev shrugs. “I can’t fault the guy. I’m still technically in the closet. I’m a dirty secret who can take down a presidency, if I make one wrong decision or have a single, stupid misstep. You and I are members of a very exclusive club, in that way. That’s the only reason we’re talking now—because I do know where you’re coming from, in some ways.”
“If I stay, I stay a dirty secret, and I make Elliot miserable in the process.”
“I don’t think you’re making him miserable.”
“I damn sure ain’t makin’ him happy, Kev.”
He smiles. “You can’t make people happy or unhappy. They choose their path.” He plays with his pen before pointing it at me. “If you stay, you need to have a focus
besides Leo, or it could make you bitter. That means focusing on your career.” He taps the pen on his desk for emphasis on the last word. “Because if I know Leo Cruz, he’s not going to be happy letting you date anyone, and I know damn well you don’t have time for a hobby.”
I snort. “I don’t want to date anyone else, but you aren’t wrong there, either.” Besides, we have an agreement that it’s only the three of us—me and Leo and Elliot.
Elliot even has standing permission from Leo to use me however he wants, something I fantasized heavily about early on…and an offer Elliot’s never taken advantage of.
Another rejection that doesn’t sting as much now as it used to.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“If you stay, then you and I should have an open line of communication over the next couple of years, and even beyond, if you want. I can coach you. Not just about politics, but about managing optics. You’ve learned a lot already. There are even more things you’ll need to know.”
“Like throwing people off the scent and keeping them off it?”
Kev smiles. “Exactly. Among other political warfare tactics.”
I settle back in my chair and think about it for a moment. “If I don’t stay, I should probably leave sooner rather than later.”
“Probably. But I think it’ll break Leo’s heart if you leave.”
“You’re not helping. I thought you were trying to hint I should leave?”
“I’m not trying to confuse you. I’m trying to show you I’m a sounding board. We’re on the same team. That’s why we’re talking. If I thought you should leave, you’d already be gone. Elliot’s going to need Leo. And the only thing out there that could take Elliot down, if he doesn’t come out, is someone stumbling over the three of you. I’m here to help you with managing that.”
Kev chuckles. “In two years, it’s not my problem any longer, but I want to help you as much or as little as you’ll accept.”
When we finish our conversation that afternoon, I return to my office in the East Wing, shut the door, and use my personal cell to call my old department head, Dr. Sently.
You know what happens next.
Now you’re caught up.
Leo wouldn’t let me give him back the key for the apartment or the storage unit. That last afternoon, when I took off the chainmail bracelet Leo had given me as my day collar and I put it in his hand…
I know the tears in his eyes and the agony in his voice will haunt me for the rest of my life.
That I hurt this man who I love almost beyond reason.
Except I love him enough to let him go so I’m not constantly pulling him away from Elliot.
Elliot needs him.
The country needs Elliot.
And it’s obvious Elliot neither needs nor wants me. He damn sure doesn’t love me.
This bitch right here doesn’t need to be hit over the head with a clue-by-four.
Chapter Two
Now — Late September
Lately, I’ve been bingeing Todrick Hall, Orville Peck, Phillip Phillips, Camila Cabello, Lizzo, and Arctic Monkeys. Not just during my walks to and from work, either.
Pretty much all the time.
Even my soul can’t make up its goddamned mind what to feel. I swing between sun-melting rage and soul-shriveling grief.
There are nights I think about swishing into some leather bar, tossing back a couple of shots of Patron, waltzing up to the butchest leather Daddy in the place, and promising him I can rock his damned world if he’ll only shut off my brain for a few hours.
Then there are the nights when all I want to do is curl up in bed with my sketch book and draw.
Except I think I’m going to sketch a design idea and then, invariably, Leo, or some landmark in DC, drifts out of my pencils, and my heart shatters again. It’s like automatic writing. As if my soul’s on autopilot and still stuck in our nation’s capital.
Probably because it still is.
And then I cry.
I frequently find myself frantically shaking my right wrist only to remember that, no, I don’t have my bracelet anymore.
Maybe I should have kept it, but that would have hurt even more, I think. To know Leo wanted me, yet I walked away because there’s no way in hell Elliot will ever want me.
You’d think I’d be used to rejection, but this one hurts even worse than losing my parents.
Explain that one to me, because I don’t know the answer.
Mimi’s cookbooks and recipe box sit, untouched, on the counter where I put them over three weeks ago, when I unpacked them from one of the suitcases I brought with me from DC.
I can’t bring myself to cook. What the hell would I do with all that food, anyway? I barely feel like eating. I survive on soup, fruit, canned chicken, and ramen noodles.
Ironically, not too far off the mark from Elliot during his worst days. All I need is cereal, frozen pizzas, and TV dinners, and I’m the vice president.
Minus the hunky suits following me around.
And the caring Sir to watch over me.
I also burn between agony that I was a fucking dumbass to walk away from Leo, and seething hatred at Elliot for him wasting Leo’s time and mine when he’s got the perfect fucking guy right the hell in front of him.
Then he could’ve had me as a bonus. All he had to do was trust Leo.
I mean, isn’t that what this boils down to? That Elliot can’t fucking trust Leo to set the course for all three of us to follow?
In that case, Elliot should let Leo go, so someone who really appreciates Leo can take care of him.
Make him happy.
A bitch like me, of course.
I get it—I did this to myself.
Totally own that.
Elliot isn’t blameless, though.
Guess I should’ve known Leo wouldn’t fight for me to stay. I mean, yeah, he asked me to stay.
I’d hoped he’d order me to stay.
Get off his fence and choose me. Or at least choose to work to keep me.
Called that one wrong.
My fault, again. Because I’ve seen first-hand over the last six years what Leo’s endured with Elliot. The emotional tug-of-war Elliot’s put Leo through. They’ve been together, what, nearly twelve years? To think Leo would choose me after all these years was fucking stupid. My relationship with Leo was in many ways a mirror image of what he had with Elliot.
To think he’d order me to stay when he refuses to take Elliot’s choice from him was doubly stupid.
Besides, I’m the dumbass who reminded Leo that Elliot needs him, and who refused to let Leo quit and leave with me when he offered to do just that.
Fuck.
I’m also the dumbass who paid way too close attention to the lessons I learned from President Samuels’ chief of staff. I know the perils awaiting Elliot if Leo isn’t standing in the shadows, supporting him and taking care of him during the campaign and after Elliot’s elected.
I understand the fact that there are people who’d probably kill—maybe even literally—to have Elliot in their pocket.
Without Elliot committed to me even a fraction as much as he is Leo, I’m a strategic weakness that would be easily exploited, given so much as one false move.
No, Kev didn’t tell me I should quit and leave. He would have outright told me that, if that was his message. It was wrapped in a more general warning about what could happen if Leo wasn’t around to protect Elliot, and how I should proceed if I was staying.
After six years of trying, Elliot wasn’t letting me in. I’m a masochist, but I’m not that kind of masochist. It was tearing Leo up, too, and I couldn’t keep doing that to him.
Doesn’t help that I’m once again thinking about the terrified twelve-year-old who huddled in his plane seat and prayed the pilot didn’t turn the flight around and send me back to my parents in New York.
I think about the rejection, the fear.
I think about that nameless woman who stepped betwe
en me and my parents in the airport, the gate agent who hustled me down the jetway, and the flight attendant who kept an eye on me, and who ushered me straight into Mimi’s waiting arms.
Which, of course, leads me to thinking about Meredith and Alan Cruz, Leo’s parents. People who welcomed me in as family simply because Leo loved me.
How Meredith—I mean Mom—fixed some of Mimi’s recipes for us the first time Leo took me home to meet them.
Leading me to remember how Leo secretly sent his mom the recipes ahead of our first visit to their home in California, because Leo loved me, and he wanted me to feel welcomed.
And now, dammit, I’m crying again.
At some point, I need to call Meredith and talk to her before she finds out Leo and I aren’t together any longer, but I don’t know what to say to her. She’s going to ask me a lot of questions, I’m sure, that I won’t have the right answers to. I’m not asking Leo what he told them.
Or if he’s even told them.
Hell, they don’t even know about Leo and Elliot.
I guess I can stick to the basic truth—that the campaign schedule will be brutal, and I want to finish my degree.
That’s the reason I gave Chris Bruunt and everyone else who’s asked. Only Kev, Leo, and Elliot know the real reason.
Well, Elliot might not know, if Leo didn’t tell him. Hell, Elliot might not even know I’ve left DC.
While I haven’t exactly told Kev, he’s not an idiot. He’s President Samuels’ chief of staff. With my resignation coming on the heels of our discussion, I know he assumes it’s related.
Anyway, seems like that’s the easiest truth to tell anyone who asks why the hell I’d give up a great job in DC—at the fricking White House—to return to Tallahassee, of all places.
The campaign schedule will be brutal.
I wanted to finish my degree.
Although neither of those truths come anywhere close to scratching the surface of my soul.
Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2) Page 2
