It was Welby.
Ethan had made him leader of the advance team after moving him out of the temporary lead detail position. He hung his head for a moment, but flopped onto his back, kicking away the sheet that had tangled in his legs as he fell off the bed. “What?” he growled as he answered.
“Sir, we’re ready to start POTUS’s movement rehearsal.”
Shit
. Ethan struggled to sit up. The sunlight blinded him, and he flopped back down. “What time is it?”
“Zero nine thirty, sir. You said you wanted to start right on time.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Rubbing his eyes, Ethan rolled over and pushed himself up to his knees. The room swam, and he held his breath as he struggled to keep his stomach down. “Look, I’m running a bit late. Get the team started now. I’ll catch up with you. I’ll be down in a few minutes. Leave an agent with a car.”
“Yes, sir.” Welby hung up.
Exhaling, Ethan sagged back on his heels. He peeled open his eyes, wincing against the sunlight.
He glared at the phone in his hand. No texts. No texts last night, no texts when he landed, and no texts this morning. Jack was ignoring him.
Fuck!
Ethan hurled his phone across the hotel room. It bounced off the wall and fell to the carpet, plastic cracking as it impacted. Swallowing, Ethan fell forward, burying his forehead in the carpet.
He flexed his right hand. His knuckles were still swollen and bruised. He’d washed the dried blood off at his condo before heading for Dulles, and he could move all of his fingers. Nothing was broken. But it hurt like a bitch.
His heart hurt worse, though.
Groaning, Ethan pulled himself to his feet and headed for the bathroom. Just a few more days. He’d be through with this and could request a transfer. He could get away, far away. Just a few more days.
* * * * *
Jack blinked, staring at his notepad. He was doodling, trying to draw a perfect triangle. The angles weren’t right, and he’d already tried a dozen times before. Voices echoed around him, but they sounded far away, as if underwater. His brain wouldn’t work, wouldn’t think. He blinked again.
“Sir? Mr. President?” Gottschalk nudged him. “Are you okay?”
Starting, Jack dropped his pen. “I’m fine,” he lied. He straightened, adjusting his jacket, and stared across the table at his Cabinet. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
Lewis Parr, the secretary of defense, shared a long look with the secretary of homeland security. “Mr. President, you are supposed to fly to the NATO Summit tomorrow afternoon, and the Russians have put troops and missiles less than a thousand miles from Prague in Romania. This is a direct threat, sir. We have to respond.”
“They’re also moving heavy lift aircraft into the Abkhazeti region of Georgia. We think they’re going to invade Iraq while the summit is going on.” Gottschalk leaned forward, glancing sideways at Jack. “France has been saying ‘I told you so’ to every news outlet that will listen. The Germans and the British are keeping quiet, sir. They’re waiting for our response.”
“And what is our response?” Jack stared out over his Cabinet, assembled around the table.
Silence.
Ethan’s face flashed behind his eyelids as he blinked. Jack inhaled deeply, keeping his eyes closed.
“We can deploy troops to our bases in Europe. We can have two divisions mobilized in twenty-four hours.” Lewis leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table.
Jack’s eyes opened to slits. “And turn an already tense situation into a hair-trigger Mexican standoff?”
“Mr. President, we can pull out of the NATO Summit.” Secretary of State Elizabeth Wall said. “We don’t look great, but we save face. We’re not meeting a belligerent aggressor while they’re actively building up troops in Europe and the Middle East.”
“That will defeat the entire purpose of the summit, Elizabeth.”
“Hasn’t it already been defeated, sir?”
Jack grabbed his pen, drawing another triangle.
What do you want to do?
Ethan’s voice rolled through him, replaying their conversation. He wanted to close his eyes and go back to that memory.
Ethan, why do you have so much faith in me?
What was the right call? Match the Russians? Aggression for aggression? America’s tried and true response to the Russians, for the past hundred years?
Or, something different?
“As much as I truly want to tell the Russian’s to go screw themselves, we can’t just keep ignoring this and hope it all goes away. That hasn’t worked for decades.” Jack peered around the table, looking his Cabinet in the eyes. This wouldn’t be popular. “No. We will go to the summit. I’ll meet with the Russian president. Try to defuse this mess before we’re all in the middle of World War Three. We have to try the diplomatic route before we send Europe back to a World War.”
“Sir—”
“I’ve made my decision. I want intelligence on the Russian president, and everything we have on the Russian political environment. If he’s got troubles with the teacher’s unions, I want to know. If his uncle hasn’t paid the electric bill, I want to know. I want to know everything we’ve got before I leave.” He glanced around the table again. “Send your concerns to Jeff. I’ll review them and get back to you.”
Standing, Jack flipped his padfolio closed and headed out. The rest of the Cabinet stood and silently waited for him to leave.
Had he just condemned Europe to another invasion? His fingers clenched around his padfolio.
Gottschalk followed, trailing behind. “Mr. President?”
Jack paused but didn’t turn.
“You all right, sir?” Jeff stepped close, speaking into his ear. His chest brushed Jack’s arm, warm.
Jack shivered. His eyes closed. “I’m tired, Jeff,” he croaked, lying. “Just tired.”
Gottschalk’s hand rose, squeezing Jack’s shoulder. “Take a break, sir. You need to stay rested.” He squeezed once more and then dropped his hand and stepped away. “If you need anything, let me know.”
“Thanks, Jeff.” Jack nodded, not looking at his chief of staff, and hurried on. He breezed past his secretary and into the Oval Office, shutting the door behind him.
Alone. Finally alone.
Leaning back, Jack closed his eyes as he sank to the floor. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t think straight. There were a million things he should be thinking about, and none of them had anything to do with his love life. He was balanced on the precipice of a conflict that could tear the Western World apart, and yet… He was lost in his memories, replaying every moment he’d ever shared with Ethan. Their bullshitting. Watching the games. Getting surprised with burgers. Surprising Ethan in return.
Exhaling, Jack thunked his head against the back of the door.
Ethan…
Every memory was shaded now, colored with the knowledge that Ethan wanted him. Was Ethan trying to get him into his bed? Was he trying to seduce Jack?
No. No, he couldn’t think that. The utterly devastated crush to Ethan’s face when he’d pushed him away hadn’t just been about a failed plan, or a failed seduction. When he pushed Ethan away, it looked as if he’d ripped Ethan’s heart out.
His mind betrayed him, bringing up a memory he wanted to forget. Instead of bringing down Ethan’s jacket to give back, like he’d done every other time, Jack had kept it. He didn’t know why, but he had. He hung it up in his closet, tucked amongst his other suits so the stewards wouldn’t take it away to be dry cleaned with his laundry. Why was he keeping it? Why had he smelled it again as he hung it up?
He wasn’t gay. He wasn’t attracted to men. Hell, he hadn’t been attracted to anyone since Leslie’s death. He’d been a monk, a celibate warrior-politician dedicated to public service. Women had been attracted to him before, had asked him out. He’d had no trouble turning them down. He hadn’t thought twice, and it hadn’t ever bothered him. Not like this.
So why was this so hurtful? Why did it feel like his own heart had been ripped out? Why did he have this aching, excruciating hole in his chest, sucking him down into the depths?
Was he angry? No. No, he wasn’t angry at Ethan. Scared? No, that was stupid. He had nothing to be scared of. He had no reason to be afraid. One man’s affection didn’t scare him. Ethan was his friend. Ethan was…important. So very important.
Swallowing, Jack let his eyes slide open. He stared unseeing across his office, watching memories play in his mind. Ethan, leaning in for his kiss started up again. The feel of his hand, warm, gentle, cupping his jaw. His dry lips caressing Jack’s. The slide of Ethan’s tongue.
Gasping, Jack leaned forward, his head between his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Dammit, what was wrong with him?
Knocking on the door behind him jolted through his body. “Mr. President?”
Jack scrambled to his feet, straightening his suit jacket and running his hands through his hair. “Yes?” He hoped he didn’t sound as desperately nervous as he felt.
His secretary poked her head through the door. Agent Daniels was behind her. “Mr. President, time to head to the Roosevelt Room. Your next appointment is ready.”
“My next appointment?” His mind was blank. He kept glancing at Daniels.
Where was Ethan?
“You have a speech-preparation session with your team, sir.” His secretary frowned at him. “Are you feeling all right, Mr. President? You look pale.”
“I’m fine.” Jack reached for his padfolio, still on the floor. “Thanks for asking.” He tried to smile.
His smile faded as he turned to Agent Daniels. “Shall we?”
Agent Daniels nodded. His eyes lingered on Jack as he passed him by, but he remained silent. Jack’s shoulders slumped. It should be Ethan walking with him. They’d be talking, heads leaned in close. He’d ask him for his opinions on the summit, on the Russians. If there was one voice he wanted to hear, one man’s advice that he wanted, it was Ethan’s.
Jack hesitated at the door to the Roosevelt Room. Sorrow tugged at the base of his heart, yanking on his soul. What had happened? Why had everything gone so strange? Where would they go from here?
He wanted his friend back.
* * * * *
The speech preparation meeting went long. Jack wasn’t fully in the meeting, and everyone else knew it. How could they not, when they were trying to regain his attention every other question? Jack cancelled the rest of his afternoon and stayed in the session. He was going to get this done. The world’s security might depend on it.
Which only made him feel like more of an asshole. They were hovering on the precipice of an all-out confrontation with Russia, and by extension, an explosion in the Middle East, and he was distracted by his own personal problems. Was distracted by a single kiss.
Dammit, why had Ethan kissed him? It wasn’t like he had enough to worry about. No, that wasn’t fair. Ethan kissed him because he wanted to. Because of how he felt. And by God, how he felt. The way he’d described what he saw in Jack…
Enough. He was going around in circles.
Jack paced in the empty Roosevelt Room, ostensibly reviewing the prepared remarks the team had pulled together that afternoon. He’d already sent two stewards away asking about his dinner plans. He wasn’t hungry. He’d barely managed to finish a piece of toast that morning. He kept thinking about the burgers he’d shared with Ethan. Ethan had done that, had gone and grabbed burgers for the two of them because he cared about Jack. Because he wanted to make him happy.
And he’d been very happy.
Had that been a date?
Groaning, Jack leaned against one of the conference table chairs and glared up at the ceiling. Why was this affecting him so much? One kiss, one man’s attraction. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a big deal.
But it is. You miss Ethan. You haven’t had a friend like that in years. You know it’s true.
Yes, he’d been focused on his career. He’d been driven, first by Leslie’s death and then by his drive to change and improve the system. Friendships had become tokens, people who could do favors and who could call on him in exchange. The few people he had in his life who were grounded, normal, and balanced were on the periphery. His running mates. Workout buddies. But he’d never befriended them. Never sought them out, gotten to know them, spent time with them. Relied on them.
Why had he done so with Ethan? Why had Ethan become what he had: the most meaningful person in his life that he’d had in years? Was it his dedication? His humanity? That open warm heart on his sleeve…the one Jack had destroyed? The way he looked at Jack and made him feel like he really could do anything? Like he really could save the world.
“Ethan,” Jack whispered. “Why me? I’m not special enough for you. I’m not what you want.”
The turning doorknob made Jack jump. He stared, guilty, at the entrance, trying for smooth.
Agent Daniels raised both his eyebrows when he saw Jack. So much for smooth.
“Mr. President,” Daniels began. “I’m getting off shift soon. Agent Keifer is taking over. He’ll be outside if you need anything.”
Jack nodded, once. His tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of his mouth. “Agent Daniels,” he finally called out, as Daniels was leaving.
Daniels turned around. “Sir?”
“I…haven’t seen Agent Reichenbach today. Is…is he all right?”
The Secret Service agents were trained to be blank, were trained to have impeccable poker faces. But still, Jack saw Daniels blanch and his eyes tighten at the corners. Daniels shifted, his hands clasped behind his back, and raised his chin. “Agent Reichenbach took a red-eye to Prague last night, sir. He joined the advance team over there. I…thought you knew that.”
Jack pressed his lips together, holding in a scream. He shook his head.
“I apologize, sir.” A beat. Daniels stared at him, pinning him back with his eyes. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. President?”
Mute, Jack shook his head again. “No,” he finally said, just barely above a whisper. “No. I’ll see you tomorrow on Air Force One. Goodnight.”
Daniels nodded, took the hint, and left.
* * * * *
His pacing didn’t stop in the Roosevelt Room. Jack finally headed for the Residence after nine PM. He avoided the third floor, and his study, and the gym, and the East Sitting Hall, all places he’d spent time with Ethan. He stared at the inside of his fridge for five minutes before shutting the doors. He wasn’t hungry.