enemies of the state (17 page)

Fuck it. Ethan moved in front of Jack and grabbed his shoulders, squeezing tight. “Mr. President, I believe in you. I know you’re going to do the right thing. And, speaking as a former soldier, I think it’s time we do something, sir. We’d lose some great people, yes. But, as I know from being over there, dying for the mission and dying for your team is part of the deal. It’s something you believe in. Something you know that’s a part of you, in your blood and in your soul, every day.”

“I don’t want to start the next World War. Telling the Russians to go get stuffed won’t stop a war. It will likely start one. But they haven’t been interested in cooperating for years.”

“I know that you’ll figure it out. If there’s any president who could get us through this time, it’s you.”

Jack looked up, holding Ethan’s gaze. The blue in his eyes burned, like ice turned to flame. He stared, not blinking, searching Ethan for something. Ethan stayed still, not breathing, as his thumbs stroked over Jack’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Ethan,” Jack finally said. He smiled, soft and slow. “You don’t know how much I really do value you.”

Ethan kept his smile tight, trying to hide his disappointment.
You don’t know how much I care about you.
“Can I distract you?” he said instead. “How about a game?” He nodded back to the pool table.

“Yes. Definitely. And no more talk about this. I want to hear something different.” Jack popped up as Ethan stepped back. He set down his beer and grabbed his pool stick. “Pour yourself a drink and tell me stories about you.”

Ethan’s hands shook as he poured a glass of whiskey, neat, from the dry bar in the back of the room. This wasn’t a night for beer. He needed something stronger. “Me? You don’t want to hear my stories.”

“Yeah, I do.” Jack lined up at the break and took the opening shot. Balls scattered around the table, and he sank two solids. “Solids again. Come on. Try to distract me while I shoot.”

Breathe. Breathe.
Ethan’s hand clenched around his pool stick. His eyes trailed over Jack’s back, down to his ass, and then back up to his face. Jack was concentrating on his shot, and he didn’t see Ethan’s wandering eyes. “I’m really not that interesting.”

Crack. Another solid sunk. Jack waggled his eyebrows at Ethan as he sauntered around the pool table, lining up for his next shot. Now he was facing Ethan, making a shot that had him staring right at Ethan’s crotch.

Ethan shifted, trying to hide his half-hard cock.

“You know, you’ve been spending a lot of time here at the White House. Either working or spending time with me.” Another crack, another ball sunk. Jack moved around the table again, this time not looking at Ethan. “I don’t want to monopolize your time. You said once you were a loner, but you’ve got to have some kind of social life. Girlfriend?” He leaned down, his tongue peeking out of his lips as he set up his next shot.

Now or never. Ethan inhaled, exhaled, and then inhaled again. He was dizzy, suddenly light-headed, as if he was untethered from reality. Was he really about to do this?

“No girlfriend. Not that there would ever be. I’m gay, sir.”

Crack. Another clean shot, and a perfect sink of the number four ball. If the revelation surprised Jack, he didn’t show it. He leaned back, searching for his next shot. “Cool,” he said simply. “No boyfriend, then?”

Jesus Christ. Is he or isn’t he?
Ethan had opened the door, and if Jack was even remotely interested in him, he should be crashing through like the Kool-Aid man. If he had been flirting. But he seemed to not care, and while part of Ethan rejoiced that Jack didn’t care about his sexuality, another part screamed inside of him, desperate and frustrated and confused and yearning. “No boyfriend,” he grunted. He hesitated, closing his eyes as another solid sank into the pocket. “I met someone that I think I’d like to be with, though.”

“Oh yeah?” This shot was harder, and Jack stretched for it. He put a spin on the cue ball, and the seven ball slipped sideways into the side pocket. “What’s he like?”

“Brilliant,” Ethan said quickly. His eyes burned as he stared at Jack, watching him study the table. Only the eight ball was left, and if Jack sank that, he’d have run the table without Ethan taking a single shot. Jack’s head cocked to the side, his eyes narrowed, as he studied the angles. “He’s perfect. Brilliant, hilarious, confident. I think he can do anything.” Ethan swallowed. His eyes traveled Jack’s body, slowly. “He’s gorgeous, too.”

“Wow.” Jack flashed him a quick smile, big and warm. “Seems like a catch. And you, Ethan, sound smitten.” Jack called the corner pocket with the tip of his pool stick. “Where’d you guys meet? And what are you going to do? Going to ask him out?” Jack turned his head, winking at Ethan. “I suppose I can learn to share you.” He turned back to the table and made his shot.

A perfect sink.

Jack stood, smirking.

Ethan smiled back. The moment crystalized in his mind, a perfect moment folded into the depths of his heart. The soft, subdued light of the lounge, the deep wood paneling, the green felt of the pool table, all contrasting with the brilliance of Jack, standing there in a slouch, one hand on his pool stick, his shirt unbuttoned and loose and his hair disheveled.

Jesus Christ, I love this man. I’m in love with him.

“C’mon, Ethan. What are you going to do?”

He was moving before he knew it, padding around the table to Jack’s side. Jack watched him, a small smile on his face, his eyes open and relaxed, just waiting for Ethan’s answer.

“This,” Ethan breathed. He reached for Jack’s face with one hand, cupping his jaw. Jack’s stubble, barely growing from that morning, scraped against his palm. “
Jack
… I’m going to do this.” Leaning in, Ethan pressed his lips to Jack’s. Brushing against Jack, Ethan’s lips parted, his tongue snaking out and slipping against Jack’s lower lip. Ethan moaned, tried to step closer. His hand slid along Jack’s jaw to the back of his neck.

Jack’s hand pressed against Ethan’s chest, pushing hard.

Pushing him away.

Ethan broke the kiss with a gasp and fell back as Jack stared at him, shocked.

Confusion rained from Jack’s eyes. He stared at Ethan like Ethan was suddenly different, entirely so, from the man he had trusted only a moment ago. He tried to form words as Ethan’s world crumbled into shards all around him.

“Shit,” Ethan hissed. “Shit!”

“Ethan…” Jack dropped his pool cue. It clattered to the carpet. “I’m…
Ethan
… I’m sorry… I’m not… I’m so sorry…” He shook his head, blinking slowly. His open mouth wavered, seeming to search for something to say.

Trembling, Ethan’s hands clenched into fists. He threw the pool stick onto the table beside him, knocking balls every which way. Fire flooded his body, burning him alive. He was so stupid. So fucking stupid. He knew he shouldn’t have done that. Fuck! What was his problem? “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” His throat closed around his words. His vision blurred. Ethan blinked fast. Dammit, he wasn’t going to cry. He fucking wasn’t.

Jack was still staring at him, motionless. Ethan chanced a quick glance at him.

And looked away immediately as his heart shattered again, sucking the air from his chest. That wasn’t what he wanted to see on Jack’s face. Not ever.

“I gotta go,” Ethan growled. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Without another glance at Jack, Ethan took off, racing out of the game room. He didn’t even use the secret stairs. He thundered down the main stairwell, blowing past the agents standing post at the base of the stairs in the Cross Hall. He jogged down to the tunnel, and he didn’t stop until he was all alone, buried in the center underground between the Residence and the West Wing. Collapsing against the wall, Ethan sank down, kneeling as he pitched forward.

He was powerless to stop the tears from flowing. They burst forth, raining past his fists. Grunting, Ethan clenched his fists, burying them against his eyes, trying to stop the flood of his tears. He couldn’t breathe, and he gasped, hiccupped against his choked throat. Roaring, Ethan stood and wheeled around, slamming his fist against the concrete wall behind him.
Fuck, fuck!

The pain shattered through his arm. His knuckles split again, torn skin and blood smearing against the dirty concrete. Shuddering, Ethan leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cool cement. Slowly, he sank down to his knees, huddled against the wall over his bleeding hand.

* * * * *

Four hours later, Ethan was pounding vodka tonics in the sky bar at Dulles airport. He had a bag stuffed with suits and cargo pants next to him and a red-eye ticket on a plane to Prague, boarding in half an hour. Maybe it was cowardice to run, but Ethan had to get away. He couldn’t face Jack, not now. Not after exposing himself, revealing his love, and being dismissed.

Jack wasn’t gay. He wasn’t flirting with Ethan. He didn’t want him. It had all been in Ethan’s head.

Exactly as he’d told himself. Exactly what he’d yelled at himself about. This was exactly—
exactly
—what everyone had told him would happen.

Ethan stared at his phone, at his text messages. Not a peep, not a word, from Jack.

He signaled for another drink, keeping his red-rimmed eyes downcast.

Get to Prague. Handle the back end of the summit. Stay away from Jack. And, when he got back, request a transfer. He didn’t even care where. Send him to Alaska. Or to Utah. Send him anywhere. Just get him away from Jack. Get him away from his heartbreak.

His chin quivered as the tears threatened to spill again. Fuck. He didn’t think a human being could cry this much.

Ethan ran his hand over his face, and when his drink arrived, he downed it in one long drag. Just numb everything. Make everything go away. Make all the pain disappear.

* * * * *

Jack stayed rooted in the game room as Ethan fled. “Ethan, wait!” he tried to call out, but the words stuck in his throat. Frozen in place, he watched Ethan run.

After Ethan was gone, Jack exhaled, collapsing in half as he braced himself with his hands on his knees. He stumbled sideways, slumping against the couch. One long slide had him sitting on the carpet, leaning back as he breathed hard and fast.

Hyperventilating, that’s what he was doing. He was hyperventilating.
Calm down, Jack. Breathe in and out.
He tipped his head back, trying to focus on the ceiling.

Ethan’s suit jacket, tossed over the back of the couch, stole his gaze.

He reached for the black jacket, tugging it down into his lap. It was bigger than his jackets. Ethan was bigger than he was, stronger, taller, more muscular. He was like a poster boy for the Army, with muscles for days and an all-American cut jaw. He could have anyone—guy or girl—he wanted.

Why the hell had he fallen for Jack?

Ethan’s words played on repeat in his mind.
Brilliant. Hilarious. Can do anything. Gorgeous.
The way Ethan had spoken… He wasn’t just smitten. He was head over heels.

For
him
. Ethan was head over heels for
him.

Jack slammed his head back against the soft couch. His hands gripped Ethan’s jacket.

Slowly, he pulled the jacket up to his nose.

Ethan’s scent—soap, citrus, and a hint of sweat—teased him. His eyes drifted closed.

A moment later, Jack ripped the jacket from his face. What was he doing? Ethan was his friend. He’d become his closest friend, if Jack was honest with himself. He’d become important to him, deeply important, in a way that had surprised him.

But he wasn’t attracted to Ethan. He wasn’t gay. He wasn’t even looking for a relationship. He never had, not since Leslie’s death.

What was he going to do?

Chapter Eight

With Days to go before NATO Summit, Russia makes Aggressive Moves

Days before an unprecedented NATO Emergency Summit, Russia has once again rocked the world on the heels of the Islamic Caliphate’s increasing belligerence. Russia has moved troops and tanks to Abkhazeti, a breakaway province of Georgia that aligns itself with the Russian Federation. The Russians’ troop movements suggest a possible invasion of Islamic Caliphate-controlled Iraq. Abkhazeti is only 1200 miles from Mosul, a critical city controlled by the Caliphate. Russia has also stated they will “aggressively defend” their interests, including their deployed personnel, and will take “all necessary actions to prevent the loss of Russian life.” Meanwhile, Russian forces in the Crimean Peninsula have increased, as have Russian deployments to their occupied territories in Romania, Moldova, and Estonia. European leaders expressed nervousness that these latest moves by Russia indicate a possible future land grab within Europe by the belligerent Russian state.

* * * * *

Ethan woke in his hotel room in the Aria in Prague with a blinding headache.

Groaning, Ethan rolled away from the hotel’s window, burying his face in his pillow. Sunlight streamed through the glass, striking the window box of tulips and daises, and reflecting off the whitewashed castle walls surrounding Ethan’s hotel room.

It was quintessentially perfect. The hotel was a renovated minor castle, steps from more famous, and huge, Prague Castle, and the walls of the Aria had been painted a blinding white while red clay roofs overlapped the meandering, tiered gothic walls built against the side of a hill in the center of the Little Kings Quarter. Parkland spread out around the former castle gardens for the royalty over the centuries before. The Aria had a view of the Little Kings Quarter, including Prague castle, the river, and old town. Gothic sculptures dripped from rooftops and garden walks, pointed steeples mixed with medieval reconstructions, and cobbled streets wound through the ancient city, bringing the hustle of people and honking European cars together in the morning bustle.

Ethan pulled his pillow tighter over his head. Beside the bed, an empty bottle of duty-free whiskey lay on its side, uncapped.

His phone buzzed, clattering on the floor. Ethan lunged, falling out of bed. Groaning, he tried to crawl to his phone.
Maybe it’s Jack
, his heart whispered. Maybe, maybe.