The night before we’re to fly to DC, Declan stays over at my place because we have to be up early for our flight. I talked him into agreeing to stay with me Sunday night after our return, and he’ll drive straight to the office from my house.
This weekend, he parks his car in my garage. Because, as I logically point out, why let anyone possibly see and question a strange car in front of my house all weekend? Not that it’d be easy to see from the road, because of my long driveway and the private gate and everything.
But goddamned drones are everywhere now.
So he does that—parks in there.
And as I watch the overhead door roll down with his car parked next to mine, another of those shivers washes through me. Like maybe a tantalizing preview of things to come, I don’t know.
I feel an unreasonably deep satisfaction over convincing him to park in my garage.
I give him a door clicker, so he can drive in and park in there any time he comes over.
Makes sense, right?
Right.
The next morning, Declan wakes me up by kissing me and presenting me my coffee. We shower, and I make love to him in there to help settle my skittish nerves before the EPU officer arrives to drive us to the airport.
I wear a baseball cap today with my jeans so that, hopefully, few people will recognize me. In the airport, Declan and I act as if we’re nothing more than friends with each other, and we’re dressed casually, comfortably, not in suits. Hopefully we can escape recognition.
But when we board, don’t think I miss how he crowds behind me in the jetway, gently nudging me toward the plane. If he didn’t, I wouldn’t keep moving forward.
Even after I’ve downed a Xanax.
We end up sitting on the port side, thankfully, and there are only two seats in each row on our side of the aircraft. Even though Declan’s ticket has him in the window seat, I won’t let him sit there. In fact, I’m nearly puking when I grab his shoulder before he can step into our row. I forcibly shove past him so I can take the window seat.
Casey automatically lets me take the window seat when she flies with me, regardless of what our tickets say.
I suspect I won’t ever allow someone I’m travelling with to have the window seat.
Especially if they’re someone I love.
Thankfully our seats are in front of the wing, so that makes things a little easier on me. I don’t know if that was deliberate on Casey’s part or not, but I’m beyond grateful.
We’re belted in and ready for takeoff when I feel the first tendrils of the pill kicking in.
Declan’s hand brushes against mine, where I’ve got it clamped around the armrest between us. “Are you all right, Sir?”
I nod.
I tune out the safety talk, especially the part where they demonstrate how to put the masks on, and chastise us to put our own mask on first before helping someone we’re with.
I close my eyes, remembering the feel of that mask pressed against my face and the sound of me screaming into it.
How I couldn’t put one on Ellen because she didn’t need it then.
Not until we’re up in the air and I hear the landing gear softly thump as it tucks into the belly of the aircraft do I finally relax.
Unfortunately, that only lasts for the first thirty minutes of the flight. That’s when we hit a pocket of turbulence and the entire plane bounces and shudders.
We both had our seatbelts on, but the seatbelt light goes on and the captain calls for the flight attendants to secure the cabin and take their seats as another jolts rocks us.
The breath whooshes out of me as I try to shut down the memories. Even with the Xanax in me, even with Declan softly talking to me and reminding me to breathe, it takes every ounce of will I have not to start screaming.
The noise of something shifting in one of the overhead bins close to us becomes a bang in my brain, making me jump. I chew on my lip as the screaming wind howls through my mind. I look in front of me, almost expecting to see the emergency masks drop and dance like ugly, plastic puppets.
“Breathe, George,” Declan softly says, interrupting the cycle, dragging my brain toward him and now and here.
I clench my jaw as we hit another bump. I’m struggling not to throw up, memories of that horrible flight jagged and fresh in my mind once more.
I pry the fingers of my right hand off my armrest and hold it out to Declan. “Hold my hand,” I manage.
“What?”
I swallow to force down the lump in my throat. “Please hold my hand,” I whisper. I leave it extended.
It’s a need I…can’t even process right now. Not with all the memories wrapped around the phantom sensation there.
His fingers tentatively wrap around mine.
“Harder,” I hoarsely order.
His grip increases.
“Harder.”
He complies, and I involuntarily gasp as I…feel it.
Her.
Like she’s there instead of him. I both want to remember her and I need to know it’s him.
“Please don’t let go,” I beg as I close my eyes against the tears threatening to break free.
I don’t want to cry anymore. I’ve cried so much. Too much.
Ellen wouldn’t want me to cry. She’d want me to go on, to find happiness. She’d scold me to quit taking her death out of his ass, or taking out my anger and grief on him and Casey.
But it’s so fucking hard.
I thought we’d have a lifetime together still.
So many plans.
So many dreams.
One very large, terrifying fucking nightmare made real.
His other hand closes over the back of mine, and now he’s tightly gripping me with both of his.
I feel him tip his head onto my shoulder, his breath washing against my cheek. “I’m right here, Sir,” he whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Who knows if anyone’s watching us?
Fuck.
Them.
I lean my head against Declan’s and nuzzle him, breathing in the scent of his shampoo—correction. Not his.
My shampoo.
He showered with me this morning, and I stood behind him, and—
My cock surges as the jolt hits my system, that fresh memory wiping away all others for a brief and precious moment.
—my fingers laced with his, both hands pressing his palms against the shower wall as I slowly fucked him and left a pretty damn dark love bite on the juncture of his right shoulder with his neck, all while he eagerly ground his ass against me and begged me for more.
Us.
It was us. This morning.
In my shower.
My boy.
Mine.
And he’s alive, and sitting right next to me, and it’s the warmth and strength of his hands holding me anchored to reality.
It’s not Ellen’s partially decapitated body, with her hand spasming around mine in a grisly last grip as frigid air and rain screams in through the hole ripped in the fuselage.
He pulls my hand onto his left thigh and nuzzles my ear. “I’ve got you, Sir.”
The sob escapes me. I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek again to keep from falling into hysterics.
He has no way of knowing those were nearly the identical last words I said to her, the last words I’m sure she ever heard me say to her before my soul was ripped from my heart and perfection was torn from my grasp.
I’ve got you, girl. I love you.
Declan makes me release his hand and presses my palm and fingers to the inside of his thigh left, cupping him, sliding my hand up with his right hand over mine, until I feel the edge of my hand pressing against his cock.
Which is…hard.
My boy is taking a huge risk.
He’s taking a huge risk because of me.
For me.
Strangely enough, it hits me for the first time that I love him.
Not just love him—I’m in love with him.
> When the hell did that happen? I’m talking I feel it with a certainty, the same way I felt about Ellen after just a couple of weeks.
Except… I also know I have something in my heart for Casey. Something beyond friendship. I don’t know if it’s love, or in love, or lust, or a mix of all three, because it’s frightening and scary and confusing. But it’s strong enough I know I can’t walk away from her, either. Especially not after all the years we’ve known each other.
I need her as much as I need him.
He drapes his left arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, tightly holding me.
“It’s okay, Sir,” he whispers in my ear, his breath warm against my face and forming another tether to reality. “We’re together, and it’s only turbulence, and you’re not alone.”
I’m not alone.
I drag in a shuddering breath.
I’m not alone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Declan finds me a bench to sit on when we hit baggage claim. I nearly didn’t make it off the plane, my legs were so shaky from the effects of the Xanax and the adrenaline crash, fight or flight reactions in overdrive long after the turbulence ended and the flight resumed its previously smooth journey.
Twenty minutes later, we’re in a cab on our way to the hotel. Declan keeps his arm around my shoulders, holding me tightly against him.
Thank god for my boy.
Thank god it was him and not Casey with me on the flight. I’m not sure I could’ve handled the panic if it’d been her. It’d been too close to what had happened.
He’s just different enough in all the right ways.
Strong enough to help carry me, to prop me up, literally and figuratively.
I’m really out of it. I’m barely aware he’s checking us in at the hotel. He even fishes my wallet out of my back pocket for me for my ID. Then the bellman brings our bags for us while Declan keeps an arm around my waist and helps me up to the room, and puts me to bed, and…
I dream about Ellen. But instead of the nightmares I’ve been plagued with since that day, this is the first…good dream.
In it, she’s sitting on our bed and smiling at me. I sit to talk with her.
“You need to let me go,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean, George. You have Casey and Declan now. Let them heal you.”
“I don’t want to say good-bye to you.”
“You don’t have to.” She stands. “I’m happy to share you with them. You need them, and they need you. I’m glad you have them. Let them take care of you.” She heads for our bedroom door.
I try to ask her what she means, but I can’t get out of the bed to follow her, and then everything fades into calm, dreamless rest.
When I’m finally coherent again, I find myself lying in a very comfortable bed, naked, with Declan next to me, also naked, sitting up and watching TV.
I’m draped over his lap.
“There he is,” he says. He plays with my hair.
I draw in a deep breath. “What time is it?”
“Almost two p.m. We need to check in with the conference either this afternoon or first thing tomorrow morning. We have the cocktail party tonight at nine, the mixer. But that’s something we can miss, if you want to. I think we need lunch, though. I know I’m hungry, and you didn’t eat anything this morning.”
“Please tell me I didn’t embarrass the hell out of myself?”
“No, Sir. You were moving a little slowly, and not talking much, but I’m the only one who noticed. I don’t think anyone recognized you.”
“Okay.” I force myself to sit up, where I lean in and kiss him. “Thank you.”
I love his bashful smile, the one only Case and I get to see. “You’re welcome, Sir.”
I tip my head forward, our foreheads touching, and I wait.
He chuckles. “You’re welcome, George.”
I kiss him again. “You’re a fast learner, boy.”
“I try, Sir George.”
It takes me a moment to process that. When I do, I roll my eyes.
But he’s smiling.
“Brat.”
He shrugs. “Ma’am’s called me worse.”
“I’m sure she has, knowing her.”
* * * *
I opt to take a shower with him, making love to him there and reinforcing in my scattered soul that we’re on the ground and safe and everything’s okay. Then we get dressed, business casual but both of us in ties, and head downstairs to check in for the conference.
Declan is back in professional mode as we go downstairs. Getting into and out of the elevator, I have to indicate for him to go first.
I know he misses why I do that because his attention is mostly on his work phone, where he’s paging through e-mails and discussing stuff with me that I should know.
I lead the way to the conference check-in desk though, and I haaate the way the staffers manning it recognize me and fawn all over me in a mix of admiration and star-struck wonderment.
Declan subtly interjects himself to keep them on track with a smile and the expert and professional shepherding skills he uses on our staff at home.
Jesus, I get hard just watching him handle them, transferring their attention from me to him and allowing me time to pull my own phone out to check it.
It’s my personal phone, and I text Case.
Thank you for sending him with me. I owe you—big time. Love you.
I get a smiley face emoticon in reply, followed by—
Best man for the job right now, G. Let him take care of you. Love you, too, asshole.
Another smiley face emoticon follows that.
I smile and send her the blowing a kiss emoticon.
Once we finish navigating the check-in, Declan scans through the program and itinerary. “We’re good until tonight.”
I know there are sessions this weekend he won’t be allowed into, because they’re for the members only. I’m dreading those.
They wanted to elect me to a leadership role last year after the plane crash decimated their ranks, but I declined. I couldn’t deal with anything else on my plate, and I was honest about that. If they try again this year, I’ll refuse again.
The only reason I accepted their request to present the keynote speech was because Casey accepted it for me before I could decline it. She wants my visibility raised ahead of campaign season getting hot and heavy. We don’t know who my Democratic challenger will be yet. If they’re from the far-left end of the political spectrum, I’ll have a better than good chance of defeating them, because all I’ll have to do is slide to the left just a hair. My record speaks for itself.
If they run a very conservative Democrat, however, especially one who’s pro-life? Someone who’s a DINO?
Then I might find myself in a heated race. I’ve always managed to duck and weave around that question and frame it by saying the law of the land is that abortion is legal, and we should keep it safe and legal and not get between a patient and a doctor.
Personal rights.
I’ve always kept the focus off the religious aspect of it and had Ellen’s permission to use her as well. To say abortion was never an option for us as parents—it wasn’t, but not because of religion, because we just didn’t consider it an option—and that my spiritual views say it’s not my job to judge people. That it’s between them and their Creator. Also, that since I’m a man, I don’t feel I have a right to dictate what a woman can do with her body if I’m not married to her or the father of her.
Which is usually close enough for pro-lifers and pro-choicers alike to latch on to my words as proof I support them.
Yes, both sides.
Because I didn’t have to run on that issue before, it’s never played a large role.
Casey and Declan—and the political consultants helping us with our campaign—have all warned me this time it will be an issue, and I can’t stumble or fumble the answer when I’m asked about it.
What
I’d like to do is sign an executive order protecting abortion in our state, but that can be tossed out by the next governor. So everyone convinced me to sit on it for now, while Casey and Declan and others work behind the scene to get bills introduced that can make laws to protect abortion and twist them around to disguise them as patient medical rights laws, sandwiched into other bills that need to pass, like funding and infrastructure, so even the most stalwart conservative is pressured to vote for it or look like a real shithead.
Meanwhile, I flat-out told the new Speaker of the Senate, my replacement, and the Speaker of the House, that if they passed any laws that outright restricted abortion, or any laws that would serve to limit rights for anyone, I’d veto it even if it was our fucking state budget. That I’d force them back into session until they fixed it. And that I would lay it squarely back on their shoulders, personally naming them and the bills’ sponsors in a very loud and embarrassing PR campaign that would make for interesting sound bites for their opponents to use in attack ads when they were up for re-election.
That if either of them wanted to get shit done, they’d better learn to pass clean bills quickly, because I would go on PR campaigns against them if they didn’t.
That quickly saw them slicing shit out of several bills winding their way through committee in both houses.
I had a good bit of power as Speaker. I could herd the fuck out of those cats, but even I knew when I had to ease up the pressure and let some things go through that I personally didn’t approve of and had no trouble voting against once they were on the floor. There was always something else in the bill I could point to as my reason for voting no.
As governor, however, I hold the veto power. And as the past Speaker, I know the tricks to use to ensure it’s an override-proof veto, which strings to pull.
The weak points within the State Assembly where I can apply pressure.
And, in a couple of instances, where Casey and Declan can apply barely disguised extortion.
It’s nice being governor and knowing a shit-ton of secrets because my former coworkers made the mistake of thinking I was a really nice guy, and they used to confide in me and ask for off-the-record advice.
Dirge (Devastation Trilogy 1) Page 23
