Page 47 of Stars
No matter how badly he wanted to go to him, he could not. Sergey Puchkov the man could not abandon the office of President Puchkov.
The world was on edge. American media screamed for retribution, for Russia to pay for what its predecessor had done decades before. Russian media rocked from astounded to furious, wary to warlike. What other marvels did they possess that the people did not know about? Why were they clawing their way up from generations of privation and corruption when their technological superiority had always been right there, just out of reach? Why was the whole world not Russian red?
The world needed answers from President Puchkov and from Russia.
And Sergey needed Sasha.
He couldn’t hold it back any longer. Sergey fell limp to the floor, his shirt untucking from his wrinkled pants as he slid down the old wood paneling. His legs spread, knees flopping, elbows balanced on his thin thighs. His head fell forward, spine curling like he could roll into a ball and make it all go away.
“Sashunya… I didn’t want it to be like this.”
He heard Sasha’s ragged inhale. “Neither did I,” he whispered. “But Seryozha, I cannot say no.”
“I know. I love your damned stubborn morality. You do what’s right. You always have.” He tried to chuckle. “It’s always been me who has steered you off course.”
“Don’t say that.”
“You always knew a relationship between us would bring nothing but problems.”
“You showed me I was wrong,” Sasha said softly. “I will love you until the end of time.”
Come home. Don’t go. I need you.
“I’m fucking proud of you,” Sergey choked out. “You’re going to save the world again. How many men can say they’ve done it even once?Govno, you’re a hero. You always have been. You always will be.”
Now he heard Sasha’s quiet, muffled tears. “The mission— It’s only supposed to be six days. When I am back, I am flying straight home.”
“You’d better,” Sergey said, trying to force a laugh. “I don’t want you trying to shoot for Mars yet. Wait for someone else to go first,da?”
“I’m flying home to you.”
His throat closed. Tears burned down his skin, fresh rivers that fell from his chin and soaked his shirt. “I will always be waiting for you,” he forced out in a whisper. “Always.”
There was a thumping on the other end of the line, a heavy fist knocking on a door. “Sasha? We’re late!”
“Blyad,” Sasha muttered. “It’s Mark. He’s picking me up. We’re staying at JSC and flying to Kennedy tomorrow afternoon.”
Too fast, it was happening too fast. In his mind, Sergey watched rockets ride trails of fire to the sky, part the clouds, and ascend to the heavens. Watched them burst apart, black smoke and debris raining down on the world. Watched darkness descend, the skies fall. Watched his heart break as Sasha vanished from his life on a pillar of flame. “Sasha—”
“I can call you tomorrow? We’re in the simulator for the next twenty-four hours. It’s the integrated sim. The whole mission, from leaving the ISS to boarding the satellite.”
Sergey nodded. “Yes. Yes, call me. Please. I don’t care what time it is here. Call me.”I have to hear your voice.
More knocking. “Sasha?”
“I love you,” Sasha breathed.
“I love you. I love you so—”
The line cut.
Sergey pitched forward, silently howling. The president couldn’t lose it in his office in the Kremlin, not in the middle of the day. But he was, he was fucking losing it, all of it.
Sasha was vanishing, was riding a comet as it burned through the night sky. There for a moment and then gone, burned to ash and turned to dust.
This day was always going to come. But Sasha’s first mission was supposed to be a happy day, sunshine and laughter and celebration. Not a midnight launch on a classified mission to a Soviet killing machine.
They were supposed to be together. He was supposed to kiss Sasha goodbye. He was—
