Valor on the Move (8 page)

“Hi, Rafa. How are you?”

The line was so clear his father could have been right there in the room. Irrational guilt whooshed through Rafa since he’d been masturbating and thinking of a man—his Secret Service agent, no less. He tugged the duvet over him as if his dad could see he was naked and sticky. “Um, great. How are you?”

“Oh, fine. These Chechens are being stubborn. Russians too, but what else is new?”

Rafa forced out a laugh. “I’m sure you’ll wear them down. You always do.”

“Well, I try. But I want to talk about you, Raf.”

Great. Since when?
“Uh-huh? Everything’s fine.” It wasn’t that his father didn’t love him—he did, very much. But Ramon Castillo was a damn busy man.

“Enjoying your summer break?”

“Mmm-hmm. I’m working more with Mom’s foundation.”

“Good, good. When I get home, I’d like us to sit down and talk about your future.”

I can’t wait.
“Sure. Well, you know I still have one term left of college, so…” Thank God for that.

“Of course.” He paused. “Raf, are you sure everything’s all right?”

His heart skipped. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?” He’d been telling his father everything was terrific for years and he’d never been questioned.

“You must miss Ashleigh.”

Relief coursed through him. “Well, yeah. But she’s getting such great experience. She wanted to thank you again for helping with the internship.”

“Of course.”

Rafa could imagine his father’s self-deprecating smile and dismissive
who, me?
wave of his hand. As a conservative man of the people, he’d perfected his humble routine years ago. Not that Rafa thought he hadn’t genuinely wanted to help Ash. It was just hard sometimes to know what his father was really thinking. “We appreciate it, Dad.”

“Perhaps you should fly over and surprise her. We could easily arrange a plane.”

“Oh! Um…that would be awesome, but like I said, I’m doing a lot of stuff with the foundation. I’m actually chairing an event in August.” He was suddenly incredibly grateful Marissa had called. Not that he didn’t miss Ashleigh and want to see Paris, but it made him uneasy for some reason.

“I just want to make sure you’re happy. We worry about you.”

You do?
“I’m good, Dad. Honestly.”

“All right.” His voice went distant for a moment as he said something to someone else. “Raf? I’ll see you next week. Love you.”

“Love you too. Have fun with the Chechens.”

After he hung up, Rafa laid there on his bed, staring at the artfully swirled paint on the cream ceiling. Jesus, how was he going to tell them the truth? He should have done it in high school
,
but his father’s reelection campaign had been brutal. He’d barely squeaked out a second term, and Rafa hadn’t wanted to distract him.

Then the bill had happened. His stomach churned just thinking about it.

S.J.Res. 19: A joint resolution proposing an amendment to the Constitution of the United States relative to marriage.

The battle over same-sex marriage had waged on for years, even after the Supreme Court’s verdict declaring it legal in all fifty states. Then a junior senator from Oklahoma had introduced the bill to amend the constitution and overrule the Supreme Court. They wanted to call it “constitutional” marriage, and of course no same-sex couples need apply.

Even now, almost four years later, it made him sick to remember that night the week of Thanksgiving.

The TV lights were blinding as they stood on stage waving to hundreds of people gathered in some meeting hall or banquet room. Sweat trickled down his temple, and he hoped his neatly slicked hair would stay put. His mother’s opal bracelet shone delicately as she waved. It was so noisy he could barely hear himself think…

When Rafa’s father had addressed the crowd at the National Family Coalition, Rafa had listened with an automatic smile. His dad talked about marriage and family and God, and this new bill. About doing what he knew was right in his heart. All the while, Rafa had stood there frozen in the glare of the lights, still smiling while a chunk of his soul died.

Adriana had screamed at their father in the limo afterward, and Chris and Matthew had argued with him too. Their parents had insisted it was only politics—a party decision. Rafa had sat very still in the corner, not even hearing them after a while as a buzzing filled his head. His throat had been dry, palms clammy. He’d kept his head down and wished he could simply disappear. Even now, the remembered terror went bone deep. He’d always been afraid to tell his parents the truth, and after that night it had felt absolutely impossible.

Sighing, Rafa ran a hand over his face. He
would
come out. He wasn’t going to live his whole life in the closet, not even if it meant losing his parents’ love. He thought they’d come around after a while. That at least they wouldn’t turn their backs on him completely. They were Catholic, but had never been regular churchgoers aside from during campaigns. His parents had always been much more vocally religious to appeal to voters than they actually were. Gay marriage had been on the backburner during his father’s election campaigns, and while Rafa had known his parents weren’t exactly riding a rainbow float in a Pride parade, he’d never expected…
that
.

He knew it hadn’t been personal—how could it be when his parents didn’t know he was gay? But it had hurt him more than he’d ever thought possible. Then there’d been the guilt that if he’d come out before college, he might have influenced his father’s thoughts on the matter. Although surely not the Republican Party’s, and they were the ones making many of his father’s decisions when it came down to it. It was the way of politics. Thank God the Democrats had managed to kill the bill.

Now it was almost over, and Rafa would be graduating and they’d all leave the White House. Maybe they could be a normal family again. Then he’d sit them down and tell them. Until then, he had to stick to the plan. The plan had worked all these years.

Blowing out a long breath, he checked the time on his phone. It was still early, but he had basil to chiffonade.
 

Glancing in the reflection of the microwave, Rafa smoothed a hand over his hair. He’d tamed it with pomade after his shower that morning as usual, but now he squinted critically. Was it too much?
Maybe I should wet it a bit, or—

“Oh my God,” he muttered. “This isn’t a freaking date. Chill.”

The timer beeped, and he stirred the tomatoes and basil. He added the goat cheese before carefully putting it back in the oven. Lucky for him there’d been another casserole dish he could use. Then he checked the simmering ravioli, which he’d stuffed with caramelized onion and roasted Portobello mushrooms. It had occurred to him Shane might be a vegetarian, so he’d played it safe. The gorgonzola cream sauce was thickening nicely, and he stirred it, splashing a little onto the cuff of his dark green button-down. He swiped it off with his finger and popped it in his mouth.

“Taste good?”

“Jesus!” Rafa whirled around to find Shane filling the doorway. His heart thumped stupidly, and he smiled. “I guess you’ll be the judge of that.” He nervously patted his hands on his chinos. “It’s almost ready.”

Shane checked his watch. “Great.”

Rafa’s smile faded. “Sorry, do you have to get back downstairs? I’m a little late. The timing is tricky—I’m still working on it. If you want to come back in a bit? Or we could just forget it. You’re busy.” Why had he even asked? The whole thing was dumb. His food probably sucked anyway.

But Shane shook his head. “It’s fine. Besides, now that I smell it, there’s no way I can leave without having a taste.”

“Cool. Alan won’t miss you?”

Shane’s expression tightened. “He’s not here. Probably won’t be the rest of the week. His son’s in the hospital.”

Rafa paused in stirring the sauce. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Is he going to be okay?”

“Hopefully. He has a rare disease. Something to do with the immune system.” Shane was silent for a moment, as if weighing whether to say more. “It’s brutal. Alan’s daughter Jessica died of it last year.”

“God. That’s awful.” Poor Alan. He seemed like a really nice guy. Dying kids was just the worst. Rafa shifted uncomfortably. “Tell him I hope his son will be all right.”

“I will. Thanks.”

The timer beeped again, and he slipped on his oven mitts and removed the casserole dish, depositing it onto a cooling board. “This needs to sit for a bit. Do you want to radio his replacement?”

“It’s okay.” Shane still stood in the doorway. “We’re short-staffed, so I’m on detail by myself. We figured you weren’t likely to be running around in the middle of the night.”

“Oh. Yeah, not really my thing. But why didn’t Brent tell me? I can make sure to stay in if that’s easier for you guys.” He’d seen Brent and Raul downstairs earlier, but they hadn’t said a word.

“It’s not your responsibility to make things easier for us, Rafael.”

Rafa shrugged. “Why not? You’re responsible for my life. It’s pretty much the least I can do. Oh, and call me Rafa. Everyone does.”

Shane regarded him for a moment before nodding.

“So it’s just you and me all night?” The words were barely out when Rafa wished desperately he could reel them back.
This is why you shouldn’t talk.
The tips of his ears burned, and he concentrated on the sauce, stirring it vigorously.

“Well, you and me and all the other security staff. Guess you’re never really alone.”

Okay, it seemed fine. Shane was being normal, and hadn’t read anything sexual into what he’d said. Rafa exhaled. “Yeah. Not really. At school, my detail’s always in the hallway. I get the closest to alone here, actually. The third floor’s mine, for the most part. And when my parents are away and the second floor’s empty, I can almost imagine there’s no one around for miles.”
Now you’re babbling. Stop.
He drained the ravioli in a colander, and curiosity got the better of him. “Isn’t it boring?”

As usual, Shane’s expression was even. “What?”

“Protecting people. Spending hours and hours with me or whoever. Standing outside doorways, or in the corner of rooms. Watching crowds for danger. Do you even get to eat while you’re working?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes you get to eat, or sometimes it’s boring?”

“Both.”

“Well, I hope you’re hungry now.”

“I can always eat.”

“A man after my own heart.” Rafa smiled, and—holy shit—Shane actually smiled back. It was just for a moment, a flash of teeth and the corners of his mouth lifting, but it was a smile. Butterflies fluttered to life in Rafa’s stomach, and he wanted to make Shane smile again. He wondered what sort of things Shane liked. Did he have hobbies?

Stop thinking about him like that. This is NOT A DATE, you loser.

Keeping his eyes on his work, Rafa gently placed three ravioli in the center of a shallow bowl. Then he spooned the sauce over and sprinkled a few toasted pecans on top. “Um, here. You can try this while I cut the bread.” He picked up his bread knife and went to work on the warm baguette. The chopping board had been in the kitchen when they’d moved in, and Rafa loved all the old cut marks on the worn wood. For some reason it made him feel…safe, maybe. He glanced up. Shane was still barely inside the kitchen. “You can come in, you know. I won’t bite.”
Shit. Did that sound like a come-on?

“Should I use my hands?”

“What?” Rafa dropped the knife, and it slid off the board and clattered to the floor, narrowly avoiding his leather-clad foot. He squawked out a laugh. “Whoops. And oh, uh, I’ll get you a fork. Sorry.” He laughed nervously again.

Shane only raised an eyebrow. “Should I get the first aid kit out just in case? Tonight you’re wearing shoes, at least.”

“Definitely learned my lesson.” After rescuing the bread knife from the floor, Rafa opened and closed drawers, suddenly unable to remember where the cutlery lived. When he found it, he yanked out a knife and fork and thrust them at Shane, who leaned back.
Great. Stab the guy. That’ll make things so much better.
“Sorry. Um, here you go.”

Shane took the cutlery. With his bowl on the counter, he sliced into a ravioli and took a bite. After a moment, he mumbled, “Mmm.”

Rafa exhaled and went back to the bread.
He likes it. Does he like it? It seems like he likes it. Play it cool.
“Do you like it?” he blurted.
Yep. Real cool.

“I do.” Shane took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Nice sweetness with the onion. The mushroom…it’s good.”

“No, the mushroom what? Don’t just tell me what I want to hear. I have enough sycophants in my life.”

The corner of Shane’s mouth twitched. “Fair enough. The mushrooms might be a little salty.”

“Okay. I’ll check that. Thank you.” Rafa speared a piece of ravioli and tasted it without the sauce or pecans. “You’re right—bit too salty.” He hurried over to his notebook and scribbled. One day he’d perfect a signature dish that had all the flavor notes just right. He went back to the bread and served up the roasted tomatoes, basil, and goat cheese. “It’s kind of like bruschetta, I guess. But hotter. More filling, especially with the olive oil. It’s supposed to soak the bread a bit.”