Page 3 of Enemy of My Enemy

Thirty seconds later, his office phone rang. And rang. And rang.

* * *

Monday morning dawnedcold and overcast in Washington DC. A heavy snowstorm, unusual for early spring, threatened to descend over the capital, and ice clung to the edges of the White House windowpanes, crystalizing in fragile patterns across the glass.

Inside the White House Residence’s master bedroom, a banked fire smoldered, the last few coals still glowing from a late night blaze. Curled up in the president’s bed, buried beneath a heavy down comforter, Ethan pulled Jack close, nuzzling the sleeping president’s forehead with a slow kiss as he stroked his hands up and down Jack’s bare arms. One of Jack’s legs tangled through Ethan’s, their naked bodies warm and pressed together.

“Good morning, love,” Jack breathed, stretching into Ethan’s arms. He pressed a soft kiss to Ethan’s jaw before relaxing back, boneless, his eyes closed and a small smile on his lips. “Waking up in your arms will never get old.”

“Shhh,” Ethan whispered. “Stay asleep. Let’s ignore the world today.” He squeezed Jack’s shoulder, bringing him close. Ethan’s next breath caught in his throat.

If only they could ignore the world. Or the world could ignore them. Had he made the right decision? Had coming here been the right thing to do?

“Stop that.” Jack pushed up to his elbows, leaning over Ethan as the comforter slid down his shoulder. “Stop worrying. I can feel you working yourself up.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Ethan’s forehead. “Everything will be fine.”

Uncertainty flooded Ethan. “Your vice president resigned because of this. Because of me.”

Vice President Glen Green had submitted his resignation—publicly, in a huge press conference called on Saturday afternoon at the steps of the Naval Observatory, the vice president’s residence—and announced that he could no longer continue to serve in the Spiers administration. In an administration that so blatantly and openly trampled on the values of the Republican Party. Unspoken was the statement that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—serve with a president in love and living with another man.

Tensions between Jack and his party had simmered just below boiling ever since his public announcement that he and Ethan were lovers. When Ethan had lived in exile in Iowa, and tried to stay out of sight and out of mind, the grumbles of discontent had stayed—mostly—contained.

But with one sentence on Friday and Ethan’s new role in Jack’s life,everythingchanged.

The roar of the press, the outcry from the loudest and most vitriolic in the Republican Party, and the reaction from overseas leaders nearly deafened the White House. Their first weekend together in the Residence had been fraught with cascading reports of bad and worse news.

Green’s resignation was one of several handed in over the weekend. There were spaces in the administration to fill.

“It wasn’t because of you. It was because of us.” A moment, and then Jack shrugged. One corner of his mouth quirked up, a wry grin. “I never liked him much anyway. He helped win the fringes of the Republican Party.” He wagged his eyebrows. “Don’t think I need to worry about placating them anymore.”

Ethan tried to smile. His hands stroked up Jack’s arms, over warm skin and sinewy muscles. He wanted to pull Jack to him, kiss him senseless, make slow love to him for hours, and search for reassurance and safety in the wrap of his arms and the slide of their bodies. “I don’t want to do anything to hurt you. I don’t ever want to hurt your presidency. You do too much good. The world needs you.”

Smiling again, Jack shrugged and sat up. The blanket slid all the way down, pooling at his hips. A star-shaped scar puckered the skin over his left shoulder, the lingering remnants of a bullet fired by Ethan to save Jack’s life. “I’m okay with one term. Just a few years until we’re free. Then we can be us. Not have to worry about all this.” His hands found Ethan’s and squeezed.

“You’re worth more than one term.”

Leaning in, Jack smiled as he hovered over Ethan’s face. “And you are worth more to me than this job.” A quick kiss to Ethan’s lips and Jack bounced back, stretching, before turning and sliding out of bed. “Shower with me?”

After they had showered and traded flirty grins at their sinks while shaving, and after Ethan had scrambled eggs for both of them, they padded toward the double glass doors at the landing above the main staircase, taking them down from the Residence to the public spaces of the White House.

As they passed the Yellow Room, Ethan slowed, glaring out over the Truman Balcony.

The doors to the Yellow Room had been left open, an attempt to grab and pull as much of the gloomy late winter light as possible into the Residence. Through them, Ethan could hear the distant chants of the protestors held back at the perimeter fence of the South Lawn.

Jack wandered inside, shoving his hands into his suit pants pockets. The cries of the protestors grew louder, and from the windows, they could both make out the distinctive coloring of the hate-filled signs and banners. Some stated that God hated both Jack and Ethan. Several called for God to kill them, and others cried out that this was God’s punishment on America. More proclaimed Jack the antichrist.

“Even this snow won’t keep them away, huh?” Jack called over his shoulder. “They must really love shouting at nothing.”

When Ethan stayed silent, Jack made his way back to his side.

Ethan looked down, avoiding his gaze.

“Hey.” Jack ducked, finally making eye contact. “Those nuts are meaningless.”

“I never wanted you to experience this.” Ethan looked away again, over Jack’s shoulder, glaring through the windows toward the protestors. His lips pursed as he sucked on his teeth, and his chest tightened, hard enough that he had to suck in air through his clenched jaw. “I never wanted you to have to face this kind of crap. The press, the political attacks. Protests.” Ethan closed his eyes and thunked his head back against the doorframe.

This was everything he had wanted to shield Jack from. Screaming mobs filled with hate, political rivals jockeying for who could draw the most blood, and an intrusive media slinging accusation after accusation.

All because of him.