Page 4 of Enemy of My Enemy
“What’s the alternative? We stay in hiding and sneak around? You stay my dirty little secret?” Jack shook his head. “We tried that. It didn’t work. This, us together? This is what’s right.”
Ethan’s eyes flicked back to Jack. Swinging from the Secret Service and a life dedicated to silent, steady protection to the oh-so-public life under the microscope as Jack’s—as thepresident’s—boyfriend was still a struggle. He’d made a career out of stability and steadfast surety.
A life of careful footing, of not taking any unnecessary risks, and following the rules… and then he’d met Jack. And he’d thrown his entire life rulebook out the window. Jack was a force of nature, a blue-eyed tornado that had sucked all the air out of his world. His smile had slammed into Ethan, throwing him off balance, but it had been his beautiful soul that had pulled him headfirst into the fall. And fall he had, so deeply in love with Jack.
Jack was right, at least partly. He—Jack—was worth it.
“I need to take my own advice, huh?” Ethan tried to crack a tiny smile. He’d welcomed three different presidents to the White House, each time briefing them on just how much their life was about to change and how public it was about to become. How much of a fishbowl the White House truly was.
“You told me to ignore ninety percent of the garbage that was thrown at me and play hardball with the final ten percent. Hurl some surprise curveballs back at ’em.”
“I think you managed to surprise everyone.” Ethan grabbed Jack’s hand. “No one saw this coming.”
“Not even me.” Jack smiled and led them away.
Ethan took a deep breath.
It was his first day as first gentleman of the United States.
Jack squeezed his hand as they headed down the stairs, never letting go.
At the bottom, Secret Service Agent Levi Daniels smiled at them, waving good morning and holding out two paper cups of coffee from the White House mess, still steaming. “Two sugars for you, Mr. President, and black and burned for Ethan.”
Chuckling, Jack accepted the coffee and then turned back to Ethan. He pressed a kiss to his lips. “Knock ’em dead,” he whispered.
He headed off as Ethan smiled, blushing. Jack looked back before the Secret Service agent striding in front of him pushed open the door to the West Colonnade and he disappeared toward the West Wing.
Daniels stayed behind, sipping his coffee and standing with Ethan in the silent Cross Hall.
“Not going with the president?” Ethan frowned at his friend. Daniels was Agent Scott Collard’s second-in-command of the Presidential Protective Detail surrounding Jack. Ethan had once been the lead, but Scott took over after Ethan’s forced transfer to Iowa six months prior.
“Nah.” Daniels’s eyes twinkled. “My best buddy is going to his first day at his new job. I gotta support that.” Daniels gestured down the Cross Hall toward the East Wing and the domains of the—traditionally—first lady. Furious carpentry work over the weekend had changed all the signs in the East Wing to read “First Gentleman.”
Inhaling deeply, Ethan nodded and set off, Daniels falling into step beside him. One of Daniels’s hands rose, gripping Ethan’s shoulder and squeezing for a long moment, but dropped before they turned and headed into the public hustle and bustle of the East Wing.
* * *
Eyes slid sideways,the staff from the East Wing of the White House all seemingly hovering in the lobby, waiting to catch a glimpse of Ethan as he entered.
Ethan pushed through, nodding and giving his best tight smile to the crowd.
“Relax,” Daniels breathed at his shoulder. “You’ve got your constipated agent face on.”
Ethan threw a glare Daniels’s way.
“These are your people now.” Daniels’s eyebrows arched high as he nodded to the mass of humanity.
His people. Jesus. The Office of the First Gentleman, all his. Swallowing, Ethan tried to smile again, though he couldn’t fight the nerves clutching at the back of his throat.
Daniels stayed by his side as he escaped up the stairway to the second floor of the East Wing. On the quieter second floor, the Office of the First Gentleman made its home. Oil paintings of former first ladies hung on the walls, and at the end of the hallway, a corner office overlooking the Kennedy Garden, opposite the Oval Office, sported a shiny brass doorplate, reading, “First Gentleman, Ethan Reichenbach.”
“Fuck me,” Ethan breathed. Just last Monday he’d been moody and grumpy with Jack on their nightly Skype call, bemoaning his exile in Iowa. He’d been frustrated, missing Jack and Levi and Scott and everything about DC, and Jack had offered him the impossible: be his first gentleman.
He’d dismissed it out of hand. He didn’t want to be a freeloader. The first gentleman earned no income. It was a ceremonial position only. He’d be an anchor on Jack’s neck. An albatross. They were trying to stay out of the public’s eye, not catapult into it. There had never been an unwed first gentleman before, certainly not a gay first gentleman. The whole idea was a disaster. He’d already done too much damage to Jack’s presidency.
On Wednesday, he’d flown to DC, stood in the Oval Office, and told Jack he’d take it. He’d resign from the Secret Service and move back to DC, ending his exile. He’d move in with Jack. They’d build a life together. No looking back.
That new life had started immediately. They’d danced the night away at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, and Ethan had torn up his return ticket to Iowa. Thursday he’d faxed in his resignation. Friday he and Jack took an early day, spending the weekend ensconced in the Residence as Pete released the announcement to the world.
