Page 79 of The Night Of

As Jonathan entered the rotunda, Steven’s casket balanced on his good shoulder, I and the rest of the world saw the rivers of tears streaming down his cheeks. He closed his eyes as the shadow of the Capitol fell over him. Opened them again and found me. I nodded to him. He nodded back.

I was at the head of Jonathan’s personal delegation, next to Nguyen, who had stayed on as Jonathan’s head of detail. Actually, IwasJonathan’s personal delegation. Jonathan was filling the roles both of the president and of Steven’s surviving family. And Jonathan’s family… was me.

The director had lost his fucking mind when I called him from Bethesda and told him Jonathan and I were together. That we were about to go public any fucking minute, and it was up to him if I was going to stay in the Secret Service or not. It didn’t fucking matter to me, I told him, so he had to decide.

He’d gone on and on about me being called a goddamn hero in the press, that they’d finally had a win after so much fucking loss, and there I was, ruining everything. How I’d broken every fucking rule they had, and that he should throw me out, fire me on the spot, and that I was a son of a bitch on top of everything.

“Sir, I’ve got to get back upstairs,” I’d said. “I told Jonathan I would only be a minute. So, what’s your answer?”

He’d sighed, a long-suffering, woeful sigh, and told me he’d figure something out, and then asked us to please give him a few goddamn hours before we flung ourselves into the headlines. Three hours later, I received orders transferring me to headquarters to join the director’s staff. It was a promotion and a punishment, all in one.

We hadn’t hidden, but we hadn’t exactly come out, either. Jonathan had been released from the hospital, and he’d spent the night in Blair House as they finished cleaning and preparing the Residence for him to move in. Chucking out Yekaterina’s shit, while reverently packing Steven’s possessions.

Jonathan had asked for a few of Steven’s things to remain, mementos and keepsakes from the years they’d shared. Beer steins from their time together in Europe. Framed photos of the two of them from the past two decades.

I learned more about Steven Baker the man, Jonathan’s best friend, as we looked through the pictures and Jonathan told me stories of their adventures and their foibles. He laughed, he cried, he held my hand. But when we were done, he smiled, and he held me tight as we stood in the empty Center Hall in the White House Residence. Steven’s last home and, soon, Jonathan’s home.

I watched Steven and the rest of the pallbearers set Steven’s casket on the Lincoln catafalque, the casket stand that had been built hastily for Lincoln and reused for every deceased president since. It was Steven’s turn to rest, to lay down his burdens and be bid farewell by a grieving nation.

Everyone’s eyes were on Jonathan as he laid his palm on Steven’s casket and bowed his head, saying his final goodbye. When he turned away, I was there. In front of the whole world, in front of Congress, the Supreme Court, the cabinet, the Joint Chiefs, in front of Steven’s staff and Jonathan’s and the rest of the United States government, Jonathan took my hand and laced our fingers together. We met with a gentle, tender kiss, forehead against forehead, our eyes closed, hands entwined.

There was no mistaking what we were to each other. Soft gasps rose around us. I felt Jonathan’s lips quirk.

We fell back in line and took our seats at the front of the ceremony. Nguyen, beside Jonathan, leaned forward and eyeballed me for ten full seconds. He shook his head, but I saw the grin he tried to smother. Secret Service agents never smiled. It was against the rules. I winked at him.

Jonathan rested his hand on my knee, and I wrapped my arm around the back of his chair. Before the ceremony began, Jonathan whispered in my ear, “I think Steven would have enjoyed that.”

I kissed his cheek. “I think he’s probably cheering us on right now.” Jonathan squeezed my leg, and the media captured the seventh public smile of Jonathan Sharp.

I was going to make sure there were tons more to follow.

Jonathan was stoic through the ceremony and the eulogies. He held my knee and my hand. I kept my arm around him, and, when it was over, we walked hand in hand to Nguyen’s SUV.

After we climbed in, Nguyen spun in the front seat and looked from Jonathan to me and then back. “Am I going to need to spin up a second detail? You moving into the White House today with the president, Sean?”

I looked at Jonathan. He looked back at me.

My bags were already packed.

“Yes,” Jonathan said. He smiled. “He is.”