Page 38 of Enemy of My Enemy
Jack’s parents called, and Ethan traded stiff hellos with his mother and father from suburban Texas. Jack’s parents had learned about Ethan at the same time the rest of the nation had, and it was still a sore spot for Jack’s mother. Ethan hadn’t met them yet, but had spoken to them once over Christmas. On the phone, Jack’s mother sounded sweet, and she kept asking them to come visit as soon as they could.
At noon, they headed downstairs to the Rose Garden and the snow-covered lawn. Jack challenged Ethan to a snowman building contest, laughing in ankle-deep drifts as flakes dusted his hair and his cheeks turned cherry-red. Secret Service agents watched, most of them younger agents Ethan had supervised before his career had fallen apart. They grinned and called out tips for Jack and heckled Ethan.
Welby sidled up to Ethan, his hands in the pockets of his wool coat.
“Mr. First Gentleman.” Over his scarf, the ragged end of a knife scar curled around his throat.
Blushing, Ethan nodded his hellos as he packed the snow around his snowman’s middle. He couldn’t meet Welby’s eyes. Months ago, Jack had asked Welby to buy him and Ethan their first sex supplies. Welby had done it, and Ethan hadn’t been able to look at him since.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you. How are you two doing with your condoms and lube? Do you need me to buy more?”
“Oh my God.” Ethan turned away. Heat smothered him, the burn of embarrassment coursing through his body. “Jesus Christ, Welby.” Apparently, Welby had learned to loosen up.
Welby scooted closer. He’d been the Secret Service boor, a man utterly devoid of humor or personality. But now, a hint of hilarious mischief danced in his eyes. “I know what brand the president asked for. It would be no problem.”
Fucking ground never opened up and swallowed a person whole when they damn well needed it. Ethan turned away again, trying to put the snowman between him and Welby. Jack was laughing as another agent unwound his scarf and tossed it to Jack for the snowman. He would be no help in staging a rescue.
He glared at Welby, the bastard, who was fighting back his laughter.
“I see you’ve picked up a sense of humor somewhere. Jackass.”
Welby slapped Ethan on the shoulder. In his other hand, he pulled out a long carrot and two dark grapes. “Anything for you and the president, Mr. First Gentleman.”
“Thank you, so much,” Ethan deadpanned. “We’ve got it taken care of.” Mortification burned, but he took the offerings for his snowman’s face.
Welby winked and headed back for the West Wing.
Ethan glared after him.
It was Scott who brought Ethan an unmarked brown bag containing lube and condoms every other week. He’d adjusted the type and brand that Jack had bought—the good stuff didn’t come from the grocery store—and when he first asked Scott to accept the online deliveries and be his sex supplies mule, Scott, to his credit, had only blinked twice before agreeing.
Jack had no idea.
They took pictures with their snowmen, and the agents all voted Jack’s snowman as better than Ethan’s. Jack laughed, his eyes glittering, and he kissed Ethan out in the open as the snow continued to fall.
Welby came back a half hour later, standing in the background, nodding to them both.
They made their excuses and slid out, grabbing coats and scarves from Welby’s arms on the way down to the parking garage. Ethan turned back and grabbed as many of Jennifer’s flower arrangements as he could carry and met Jack and Welby in an unmarked SUV.
Jack stared at him, bemused, a smile on his face.
“One of my staffers is the chief floral designer for the White House,” Ethan said, loading the flowers into the cargo area of the SUV, around weapons lockers, mounted shotguns, a med kit, and bulletproof vests. “She was really excited about the arrangements. I thought it would be a nice touch. She’d like it.”
“Your staff includes the chief floral designer?” Jack’s eyebrows shot straight up, and he fought to hold back a grin.
“She’s absolutely delighted that you love her flowers.” Ethan pressed a kiss to Jack’s lips as he slid into the SUV.
“I most certainly do.” Jack winked back at Ethan.
Welby was almost grinning up front, watching them in the rearview, and he waited until their seatbelts were fastened before driving off. They kept the red and blues off and slid out of the underground parking garage like they were any normal White House staffer.
Welby took them through city streets, north via Wisconsin Ave and past the now empty vice presidential residence at the Naval Observatory. Snow fell softly until Welby pulled into the secured entrance at Walter Reed Army Medical Center.
The director of the hospital and a platoon of military police met them at the door. Ethan grabbed the best arrangements and carried them up as Welby glued himself to his and Jack’s sides. The hospital director led them, flanked by the soldiers, until they reached the recovery wing for American and Russian soldiers wounded in the ground fight against the Islamic Caliphate.
Jack had opened Walter Reed to any Russian soldiers who needed advanced medical interventions or surgeries as a result of their combined combat operations in Syria and Iraq. Most of the injuries were due to IEDs, but others were there because of sniper fire or missile attacks. Walter Reed and other advanced bio labs were regenerating soldiers’ lost limbs, growing clones of destroyed or amputated body parts from the soldiers’ DNA and stem cells.
At Walter Reed, some were healing after their replacement limbs had been grafted. Others were waiting for their limbs to finish growing. Many of the Americans and Russians had served in the same area and were wounded together. Now, they recovered together, and in the finest military tradition, were teaching each other the foulest curse words in their languages. The Americans also teased the Russians mercilessly, saying theirs would come to them star-spangled in the red, white, and blue.
