Page 179 of Enemy of My Enemy

The knot in his chest pulled tighter, constricting his heart.You knew it would never happen. There was never a future to this, never.Sasha ducked beneath the jet’s tail and trailed forward, tracing the edge of one wing.

Sergey slapped the side of the MiG, bellowing at the back of Sasha’s head. “You arenota man! Not a Russian! You are acoward!”

Sasha whirled, fury roaring through him, so much so that he was suddenly shaking with raw, scathing rage. If there was one thing—and only one thing—that he was not, it was a coward. He’d done everything in his life with his chest open and his shoulders back, lived through everything his life had thrown at him. Lived through his shame, his brokenness, and made something of himself. Fine, Sergey could hate him. He could berate him and throw him away. But he couldnotcall him a coward.

He was on fire, burning from his soul. “I amnota coward!” Sergey took a half step back, his eyes widening.

A second later, Sergey shoved Sasha’s folded flight map in his face. He saw his route, sketched out in pencil, and his fuel calculations, obscured and outright faked at the end. “I know what you are doing,” Sergey hissed. “Even with this jet fully fueled, you only have enough to get there. You do not have enough fuel to getback!” Anguish laced his words, underpinned his voice.

Sasha’s rage fell away. Emptiness slammed into him, punching him in his stomach.

He turned back to the wing, tracing the smooth metal with his palms. He had to move, had to do something, or he’d fly out of his skin. Or do something that couldn’t be undone. “It does not matter. We need this. And, it would not matter if everyone knew or not. They would still ask me to fly this mission. This way, their conscience is clear.”

“Why are you so determined to do this?” Sergey ducked under the wing, popping up right in Sasha’s face. Hurt split Sergey’s expression.

“Let my life mean something!” Sasha’s hands made tight fists, his nails biting into his palms. “I was thrown out of the Air Force in disgrace! Let this be my legacy! Let medosomething!”

“Your legacy is already stunning! Your life means everything!Youare everything to our fight! Our troops look up to you. They love you! Theyneedyou! I cannotdothis without you!”

Pretty words, but not the ones he wanted to hear. Sergey wanted him for the mission, for the fight. For everyone else.

He headed for the nose of the jet.

“Sasha…” Sergey growled, chasing him. He reached for Sasha’s arm, tugging him around. “This is not good. Do not do this,” he breathed. “Please.”

“We need to know.” Sasha stared at Sergey’s hand, still lingering on his elbow.

“Send someone else! Sendanyoneelse. Not you.”

“Send another to their death?” Sasha shook his head. “No.”

“Damn it, Sasha!” Sergey squeezed down on his elbow, almost bruisingly tight.

It was too much, Sergey chasing him around the jet and begging him not to go. His pleading eyes and his body pressing too close. He’d thought Sergey was going to hate him, belittle him for his affections, for his gratitude that had morphed into hero worship and morphed, yet again, into something deeper, something intractable that lived in the center of his heart. Instead, Sergey was almost begging him to stay at his side, and that yanked away the last of Sasha’s crumbling restraint.

He shook Sergey’s hand off and grabbed his shoulders, shoving him against the cockpit ladder. “Damn you, Sergey. Damn you.”

He captured Sergey’s lips with his own, pouring everything he felt, every urge, every yearning, every hopeless desire, into his kiss. He swiped his tongue over Sergey’s lower lip, sucked it into his mouth. Nibbled down, and when Sergey gasped, he snaked his tongue between Sergey’s shocked lips. Moaned into the kiss.

He crowded close, pressing his body against Sergey’s and trapping him on the ladder. Sergey was taller, leaner. Sasha trailed his hands down Sergey’s body, over the dirty long-sleeve shirt covering his thin chest, his loose combat fatigues hanging on his sharp hips. back up, curling his hands around Sergey’s neck. “So beautiful,” he murmured, kissing him again. “Sergey.”

Sergey hadn’t moved. He stared at Sasha, frozen, mouth open in shock, as Sasha slowly pulled back.

Dread, and the certainty that he’d made a mistake, roared in on all sides. Suddenly, the world feltexactlylike it had the moment he’d seen those hockey sticks in the hands of his so-called friends.

Sergey stared. “You—”

You knew there was never a future to this, to this hopeless love. You promised yourself you wouldn’t dream—

Sasha stepped back, pulling away and dropping his hands, freeing Sergey. “It is nothing. Do not worry yourself.”

Sergey said nothing. Did nothing.

There was a hollowed-out void in his heart, filled with dark shadows and nightmares from his past. Sergey’s biting sarcasm and quick smile had filled his life, wrapped up the void in an acceptance of who he was that he’d fiercely cherished. Sergey had been the very first toknowhim, to accept him for exactly who and what he was. The first who had ever encouraged him to be both opposing sides of himself at once: a proud Russian and a gay man drowning in shame and self-hate.

Sergey had helped him chip away at his own self-hate, piece by piece, with his smiles and his sarcasm and his unending confidence in Sasha.

After that, Sasha had to make room for his silent yearning, for the way his heart had opened to Sergey. How could all of him not crave all of Sergey? How could he not fall entirely in love with the man? With the best man he’d ever met?