Page 51 of Valor on the Move
“It was a party decision, Rafa.” Ramon steepled his fingers and brought them to his chin. “It was about those people who insist on—”
“I’m those people, Dad! But no, you thought I’d live in the closet and marry a woman. That was never going to be my life. It never will be. One day I do want to get married, and I’ll be marrying a man. At least it’s still legal, no thanks to you. But you made me stand up there in front of all those people, smiling while you talked about traditional marriage, and God, and the Bible, and all that hate disguised as religion.”
“The party has a platform, Rafa. These decisions aren’t always mine,” Ramon insisted.
“If you didn’t even believe it that makes it worse!”
His mother stepped toward him, beseeching. “Rafa, we’ve always tried to guide you on the right path. You and Ashleigh are happy together! We thought it was the best for your future if we—”
“I can’t do this. I can’t.” His breath coming short and fast, Rafa’s head spun. He tore open the west door, hurrying along the little corridor past his father’s private study, and into the small dining room where his father and his staffers often ate. At the open door to the main corridor, he stopped in his tracks. Shane and Alan undoubtedly thought he was still in the Oval Office, and were stationed with the other crowd of agents in the main hallway by the northwest door.
He was alone.
“Rafa?” his father called.
Rafa patted his chino pockets, his heart soaring as he felt the hard metal of his car key. He’d toyed with the idea of taking a drive to clear his head after the interview, but now it was a burning need. Fuck his parents. Fuck the White House. Fuck the Secret Service. Fuck them all. He was going to take a drive.
There was no time to waste. Heart thumping, he edged out of the little dining room and into the main hallway, walking as fast as he could past the senior advisor’s office and the chief of staff’s. He kept his head down as he went, ignoring anyone he passed, resisting the urge to run.
Of course when he rushed by the security on the outside door, they called his name, and now he did run, racing to his car and hopping in as Shane and Alan burst out of the West Wing. In the rearview, he could see them hightailing it to their Suburban, and Rafa stepped on the gas. At the gate, he nodded and smiled to the guard, who raised the barrier just before he undoubtedly received a radio message, his expression changing as he called, “Wait!”
But Rafa wasn’t waiting. He roared away, and of course the Suburban followed. For a crazy moment he considered trying to ditch them, but it wouldn’t do any good, and would likely get them in trouble.
“Fuck!” His voice sounded hoarse. “I just want to be alone!” He sped along the streets of DC, making turns to avoid stopping when he could. He had to keep moving. He had to. Seven years hiding in that place, and he was done.
In his pocket, his phone buzzed. He ignored it. When he was forced to stop at a red light, the Suburban was two cars behind him. His phone buzzed again, and he pulled it out. The caller ID only said United States Secret Service. Of course they had his cell number, but only called when they really had to. Was it Shane? The thought of hearing his voice was too much to resist, and Rafa hit the speaker phone as the light went green.
“Rafa?” It was indeed Shane, and Rafa’s eyes burned as his chest swelled. He wanted to pull over and tell Shane everything—pour out all the words that clogged his throat and threatened to choke him.
But he couldn’t, because the echo on the line indicated he was on the speaker in the Suburban, and because Shane was his Secret Service agent. He wasn’t his boyfriend. He wasn’t even his friend. Rafa was a job to him. He was nothing. Nothing. “Leave me alone,” he gritted out.
“I know you’re upset. Just tell me where you’re going. You can go wherever you want. Okay?”
The pain and fear and resentment tore through him with jagged teeth. “I know I can. I’m not a prisoner! Just let me go and leave me alone. Please.”
“You know we can’t do that.” There was a pause, and Rafa could hear the murmur of Alan’s voice, probably talking to command. Probably calling more agents to come and box him in. “We just want to help.”
“No you don’t.” He took the freeway entrance, stepping on the gas and heading toward Virginia. “Everyone just wants me to shut up and smile and be a good boy.”
