Page 182 of Enemy Within
Sasha’s hands trailed over Sergey’s body—down his chest, around his back, across his shoulders. Sergey was a lure, a siren’s song, a sweet addiction with no cure. Together they were a rocket, blasting into orbit and riding an eternal flame.
Maybe the world wasn’t ready for their love yet. The world was still crazy, still mad and upside-down. But they could carve a piece of it away for themselves. Find their own home, where men like Anton and Aleksey and Ilya lived, and where they could truly love each other. Until then, until they found that place, they’d keep their love safe in the shelter of their hearts.
“Come home?” Sergey whispered against Sasha’s lips.
Slowly, Sasha nodded.
77
Texas
SUNDAY MORNING, MARY MADE far, far too much food. They ate together on the back porch, stuffing their faces until their bellies groaned. Jack complained that he was going to get fat, but Mary kept sliding more French toast on his plate.
Both of their shirts hung looser, and Ethan could feel Jack’s ribs when he put his hands on Jack’s back. Their strike mission and everything that had happened had taken so much from them, and since coming back, Jack hadn’t eaten much. He moved his sausage to Jack’s plate.
Andrew spent the day working on his old truck. Ethan helped for a while, passing tools back and forth and chatting about the upcoming football season.
When Jack and Mary went for a walk down to the creek that passed through the back of the property, Andrew finally asked Ethan about Madigan, about the Arctic, and about the hearings. A small TV hanging on the wall in the garage was set to TNN. It was muted, but the crawl on the bottom screamed Jack’s name over and over. Eventually, Andrew fell quiet, and he started setting his tools down harder, banging around the truck’s engine as a deep scowl furrowed his face.
Ethan found Jack walking back with his mother, holding her hand as she rested her head on his shoulder. He watched them come up the grassy hillside, sunshine scattering gold in Jack’s hair. Mary’s khaki shorts clung to her wide hips, flared over her knees. She wore a blue shirt with an American flag and a country barn stitched across the chest, a Norman Rockwell warmth in the homespun crafting. Jack’s jeans hung loose on his hips, and his white T-shirt flapped in the light breeze. Ethan’s Secret Service sweatshirt dangled from his free hand.
Jack looked up, saw Ethan, and beamed. His smile went straight to Ethan’s soul, to the center of his heart. A buzz rolled through him, a heady, summer thrum, honey-warm. Jack’s smiles made his heart beat, made his soul catch fire. He smiled back, matching Jack’s wide, glowing expression, his gaze overflowing with love.
They lay together in the hammock through the afternoon, Ethan holding Jack close, pressed against his chest. Sometimes they talked, reminiscing about the first time they met, their early friendship. How nervous they both were in the beginning, desperate for their relationship to work, and scared it would all fall apart. They laughed over their foibles and gaffes. Relived their best moments.
Ethan never brought up the future. Neither did Jack. Would they even have a tomorrow?
Mary and Andrew huddled together inside the house. Andrew watched TNN, hunched on the couch, his hands fisted over his mouth. Behind him, Mary ironed, working through what seemed like every plaid shirt Andrew owned.
The sun dipped in the sky, rays of light sparkling through the wavering branches of the oak and falling across their faces. Ethan cupped Jack’s cheek and stared into his eyes. Everything, everything in his life, came down to this moment, to the man in his arms. He’d never known how deeply he could love, how all-consuming that love could be. How loving Jack could rewrite his entire life. How happy he could be, just holding Jack, and gazing into his soul.
Jack tried to be brave, holding Ethan’s hand and smiling. But fear hung in his fractured blue eyes. His breaths came fast, almost strangled puffs against Ethan’s skin. “I’m scared,” he whispered. “I don’t want to be apart from you.”
“You will never be apart from me.” He stroked Jack’s cheek, dragged his thumb across his flushed skin.
Jack’s phone rang.
Ethan grabbed him, holding tight, as if he could stop time if he just held Jack close. Everything he’d kept buried burst, a volcano erupting inside of him, and he gasped, pressing his lips to Jack’s forehead. It was too soon, too soon. He didn’t want to face this, not now, not ever. It wasn’t fair. Jack had saved him, saved everyone, but the cost was too high.
Hadn’t that been the problem from day one? Jack was always being ripped apart for his heart and his choices made out of love. Love for the country, love for the world. For his friends.
And his love for Ethan.
Ethan kissed his hair, blinking back his tears.
Jack’s hand shook as he pulled out his phone. His other hand clenched down on Ethan’s, their knuckles going white. He swiped to answer. “Hello?”
“Jack. It’s Elizabeth. Senator Allen just called. The committee finalized their recommendations.”
They held their breaths, staring into each other’s eyes.I love you so fucking much.Ethan tried to speak through his gaze, tried to pour his love into Jack. He could never explain how much he loved Jack, put into words how deep his love went, but maybe if Jack could feel what he felt, feel the force that seized him when he thought of Jack, like a tornado lived in his soul.
A single tear slipped down Jack’s cheek. He mouthed to Ethan,I love you.
Elizabeth took a deep, steadying breath. “They are not recommending charges against you for violating the Logan Act. They agreed that you and I were working together and that I endorsed your activities in Russia.”
Jack exhaled hard, and Ethan’s eyes slipped closed. Their hands squeezed.
“They spent most of their time on the Espionage Act charges. There’s a damning statement they’re going to release, saying that it is a felony to mishandle classified information, including exposing foreign nationals to Top Secret information or installations, in either an intentional or negligent manner. That you are, by the black-and-white letter of the law, guilty.”
