Page 22 of Enemy of My Enemy

On screen, a picture of the Washington Eagle’s morning headline leaped out at him, screaming in bold capital letters: “The President’s Lover’s Lovers”. A sub-headline drove the nail deeper into Jack’s heart, a heavy swing of the journalistic hammer. “The Fifty in DC Who Told All and the Dozens Still Keeping Their Secrets.”

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. The air wouldn’t come and his lungs seemed to stutter. His mind went blank. His lips moved, but no sounds, no words fell out.

“Mr. President?” Pete stepped closer, a worried frown on his face. “Sir?”

“What’s wrong?”

Jumping, Jack looked up, right into Ethan’s worried gaze. He tried to hide the phone, tried to darken the screen before Ethan saw, but it was too late. He moved to Jack’s side and gently took it from him, powering it on.

All the while, Pete was talking, a fast torrent of words, but Jack heard nothing.

This is going to kill Ethan.

Color drained from Ethan’s face as he read the headline. His jaw dropped as if suddenly broken, unhinged, and his eyes bulged, shock mixing with terror on the edges of his gaze. He stumbled backward, dropping the phone as his back hit the kitchen island.

Pete swore and barely managed to catch his cell before it clattered to the marble tile.

Jack exhaled, able to finally breathe again for the first time since Pete had entered. Sounds came thundering back, Pete’s low cursing, the hum of the refrigerator. Colors sharpened, the blue of Ethan’s suit pants and the crisp white of his dress shirt contrasting with the light flooring and dark wood cabinets. The paleness of his face.

“Sir, we havegotto get on this. I’ve read the whole thing, and…damn.” Pete sighed. “We need to come up with a response.”

“Can they be convinced not to publish?”

“No, sir. The Eagle is a conservative rag. This is a dream for them. There’s all kinds of stuff about traditional values and the corruption of the American way in here. And they take some pretty big hits at you. They don’t pull their punches.”

Ethan pitched forward, burying his face in his hands.

Jack started for him.

“Sir, the web version hits the wires at midnight. We have three hours to address this. We have to saysomething. Preparesomething, Mr. President.”

Ethan. He had to get to Ethan. He hadn’t said a word since he’d read the headline. What was Ethan thinking? Ethan’s pain, his bare mortification, loomed larger in Jack’s mind than the fallout to his presidency Pete was so concerned with. “I’ll meet you in the Oval Office in ten, Pete.”

“Sir?” Pete frowned, squaring his shoulders and gripping his phone. “Sir, wedon’thave a moment to waste—”

“Ten minutes.” Jack glared at Pete. “I will see you there. Go.”

Pete went, his shoulders sagging as he turned and headed out.

Jack stood in front of Ethan, reaching for him. “Say something. Ethan. Say something.”

Ethan pulled away from Jack and the sound of his voice. “All I do is hurt you. Hurt your presidency. God, I should never have—”

“Shhh. We’ll get through this, Ethan. Like everything else. Together.”

“I’m supposed to keep you safe. And all I’m doing is hurting you. And your career. Over and over again.”

“Ethan…” Jack fumbled for something, anything to say.

“They’re using me to attack you.” A surge of anger seemed to flash through Ethan. His hands clenched into fists as he pulled free from Jack’s hold. “Go,” he growled. “You need to go take care of this.”

“I need to be with you.”

Ethan shook his head and closed his eyes. “No one needs to be with me right now.”

* * *

Five hours later,Jack finally stumbled back up to the Residence, to his and Ethan’s bedroom.