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“It’s so nice to be back in the great state of Illinois here at DuPage College,” George says, a hint of a southern drawl slipping into his voice like it always does when he gives speeches. Alex loves to tease him about it. The crowd roars and George smiles and has to wave them down in an attempt to get them to be quiet. “That’s quite the welcome, thank you. This is why I love coming to Illinois. Y’all are always fired up.”
The crowd claps again and George smiles. He looks cool, calm, and confident—impossibly handsome in a form fitting blue button down that very nicely displays his thick, muscular arms. If Alex didn’t know him so well, he’d have no idea that George was feeling nervous. But Alex can see him just barely grinding his jaw, one of his nervous ticks that Alex learned to notice.
“Now, your excellent Congressman, John McLean, already touched on some of these themes, but let me amplify them a little bit. Here in America we don't guarantee equal outcomes. Some people work harder; some people don't. Some people take advantage of opportunities; some people don't. Some people have good luck; some people have bad luck and things don't always work out where everything is perfectly equal. But we do expect that everybody gets an equal shot. We do expect everybody can go as far as their dreams and hard work will take them.
We don't expect anybody to be bound by the circumstances of their birth. But we expect everybody to get a fair shot. And in exchange, we do our fair share. That's the basic bargain at the heart of this country: If you work hard, you can get ahead. It shouldn’t matter what your last name is, or what we look like, or what family we were born into, or how we worship. What matters is effort and merit. That's the promise of America.
And the way we deliver on that is making sure that our education system works on behalf of every person who lives here. And today, in a 21st century economy, where your most valuable asset is your knowledge, the single most important way to get ahead is not just to get a high school education, you’ve got to get some higher education. That’s why all of you are here.
For millions of Americans, community colleges are essential pathways to the middle class because they’re local, they’re flexible. Community colleges offer all people, no matter their situation, a way to earn a valuable, quality college education. Every American, whether they’re young or just young at heart, should be able to earn the skills and education necessary to compete and win in the 21st century economy.
So today I’m here to talk about my ambitious new plan to bring down the cost of community college tuition in America. I want to bring it down to zero. I want to make it free. Community colleges should be free for those willing to work for it. I think it’s a right for everybody who’s willing to work for it.
And the concept is simple: America’s College Commitment will make two years of community college free to responsible students who are willing to work for it. Now, I want to underscore that last clause—everybody who’s working hard for it. There are no free rides in America. You would have to earn it. This isn’t a blank check. It’s not a free lunch. But for those willing to do the work, and for states and local communities that want to be a part of this, it can be a game-changer.”
The crowd of students surge to their feet and clap, several of them hooting and whistling. George smiles almost bashfully. It blows Alex away, but George is still surprised when people cheer for him.
George finishes up the rest of his speech and lets Congressman McLean and Vice President Adams join him on the stage for a few minutes after.
Then he bounds down the stairs and the senior staff swarm him as always. Their motorcade is parked in the parking lot right outside the auditorium, and Angelica hands George his coat. Illinois in February is grueling. Alex hands him a rag so he can wipe his face off. The heat was on full blast in the auditorium, and George always gets sweaty when he gives speeches.
“How was that?” George asks, turning to Hercules, the head speechwriter he hired after promoting Alex.
“Really good, Sir. Your delivery was perfect.”
The Secret Service rush them out the backdoor and into the motorcade. They try to minimize the time George is out in the open during these events. It can be hard to completely secure every position on a school campus, and DuPage is a relatively sizable community college.
After the door is shut behind them—Alex is always in George’s car with him—George pulls his coat off and leans his head against the cool window. “I know it’s cold, but can we turn the air on for a second? I’m still burning up. It was hot as hell in there.”
Alex quickly bends down and adjusts the temperature. “Do you wanna take your button down off? That might help you cool down.”
George smiles tiredly. “You just want to see me in my undershirt.”
“I absolutely do. Your arms always look so good in tanks.” Alex grins and reaches over to help George unbutton his shirt. George pulls it off and leans back with a sigh. His skin is shiny with sweat.
“I’m so tired,” George groans. “I would give anything to sleep.”
Alex squeezes George’s arm. “We’ll be back on Air Force One soon. You can sleep on the way home.”
“Three states in one day is a little much. Especially considering I was up at the ass crack of dawn for a meeting with the Democratic leadership in Congress.”
“And you’ve got a party tonight,” Alex says as he tugs on George’s arm, trying to move him so Alex can hold him.
“Fuck, don’t remind me,” George mutters. He lets Alex maneuver him into his arms and closes his eyes. “I’m gonna get my sweat all over your suit.”
“It’s fine. I’ll get it dry cleaned.”
George hums in acknowledgement and yawns again. Alex kisses his shoulder, trying to ease some of the tension that seems to be imbedded in George’s body.
George sighs. “What if I just skipped the party tonight?”
“George, honey, it’s your birthday party. You can’t skip it.”
“I’m turning 37; why do I need to celebrate that?”
“Because you’re president and you’re important.”
“It’s just a waste of taxpayer dollars,” George mutters. “And I hate parties.”
“Yeah but everyone else likes them. It’s an excuse for all of us to get drunk off of free, expensive alcohol and gossip about which senators are secretly fucking their interns. Or each other… Or both.”
“I don’t even like alcohol that much. It just upsets my stomach and makes the room spin.”
“You seem to enjoy getting wine drunk with me,” Alex teases, kissing the top of George’s head.
“That’s just a nice buzz and wine is nice. All they serve at these things is champagne and hard liquor.”
“Well, yeah, you’re definitely not wrong. Just don’t drink too much and eat some Tums.”
George smiles ruefully. “I always knew 37 would be my lucky year,” he says cryptically. Alex frowns in confusion, but George keeps talking before Alex can ask him what he means. “—here I am complaining about drinking alcohol because it fucks up my stomach. What the hell happened to me. I’m practically a geriatric. I should be updating my will.”
Alex rolls his eyes and squeezes George in a hug. “George, you’re not that old. C’mon, stop being so morbid. And of course alcohol fucks with your stomach, your doctor literally told you that you have a quote: ‘Sensitive stomach.’”
George scoffs. “Did you read my copy of my medical report?” George asks incredulously. Alex shifts his weight and laughs a little awkwardly.
“I mean, you had it just sitting there on your desk in the Residence. You know I have no self control, and I was curious.”
“Why am I not surprised?” George mutters. He pulls out of Alex’s arms and kisses him quickly and a little distractedly. “I should get dressed. Looks like we’re getting close to the airport.”
Alex helps George get dressed and kisses his forehead. “Happy birthday baby.”
A dark look passes over George’s face but he quickly covers it up. “You know you’ve already told me that like 10 times I think.”
“Yeah whatever. Just wait until you get your present tonight,” Alex says, trying to diffuse some of the tension. George is in one of his moods.
George just sighs and shakes his head. “I told you that you didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I know, but that’s stupid and you’re a spoil sport. I wasn’t about to skip out on getting you a birthday present.”
“Alex,” George sighs.
“Don’t worry; it’s small.” Alex leans forward and kisses him as the car rolls to a stop. George rolls his eyes and slides out of the car.
As soon as they’re on Air Force One, George goes straight to the Presidential Suite in the back so he can sleep. Alex wants to follow him, but with a plane full of staff members and the press corps, Alex figures he should exercise a little more discretion. So instead, he follows the senior staff to the area designated for them. They all sit down in the blessedly comfortable chairs that sit around a pair of tables. The room is designed as a place for them to work, but everyone seems to be too tired to want to do anything
Angelica leans back in her chair and takes a sip out of her water bottle. “Is the president feeling okay? He seemed a little off today.”
“I thought the speeches all went well,” Herc says from his spot next to Alex.
“I don’t know. They lacked his usual energy. And he seems a little down. It’s his birthday; he should be happy.”
“I think he’s just tired. He didn’t sleep well—” Alex cuts himself off and clears his throat. “He told me that he didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Well his schedule is clear until the party tonight so he can get a few hours of rest,” Angelica says with a shrug.
“Exactly how long is this party going to be?” Alex asks. Lafayette laughs and looks up from his phone.
“Until everyone leaves. So a long ass time. But it’s at the White House. The president can leave whenever he wants.”
They thought about having the party at one of the nice hotels in D.C. or possibly the Kennedy Center, but George balked at the idea. He always gets nervous walking down the rope line now, and the situation would be eerily similar to when George got shot. Alex quickly informed everyone that the president wanted to hold the party in the East Room.
Angelica hasn’t stopped teasing Alex about how involved he was in planning the party, meeting with the Residence staff on almost a daily basis. One day, he took several hours to meet with the chefs so he could detail exactly what the menu should be, making sure they took note of how to prepare the dishes so that the president would like them.
The entire kitchen staff hates him now.
---
Alex pushes his wet hair out of his face and leans in close to the mirror as he starts to lather shaving cream on his face. He briefly glances at George’s reflection in the mirror. He looks exhausted.
“Hey, what color do you think Jefferson is going to wear tonight?” he asks, trying to get George to at least smile. The funk he was in earlier seems to have only gotten worse.
“I don’t know. Something ugly,” George says absently. Alex watches him step out of the shower and dry himself off in the mirror.
“I’m thinking he’s going to go with a classic purple.” Alex shrugs, a little miffed by George’s obvious disinterest. He’s off in his own head as usual, and he won’t tell Alex what’s wrong.
Alex tries not to get too annoyed—George is probably still tired—and turns his attention back to his face. He starts to shave carefully but almost immediately nicks his chin. “Ow dammit,” he hisses. “I hate shaving.”
“Here. Let me,” George says quietly. “Sit up on the counter.”
Alex quirks an eyebrow but turns and hoists himself onto the counter, kicking his legs while he waits for George to tie a towel around his waist. He holds his hand out and Alex hands him the razor.
George takes it almost painfully slowly, very carefully dragging the razor across Alex’s embarrassingly thick goatee, a sad result of his perpetual laziness. Alex is impressed with how much patience George has for such a menial task like shaving.
He wordlessly nudges Alex’s chin up so he can shave along the curve of Alex’s jaw, and Alex has to fight to keep a smile off his face when George sticks the tip of his tongue out and furrows his thick eyebrows in laser-like concentration.
“Okay. Let me clean you up,” George murmurs once he finishes. He reaches behind Alex to turn on the sink. While George waits for the water to get hot, Alex reaches up to cup his cheek.
“Thanks.”
George smiles briefly, obviously distracted, before grabbing a washcloth and sticking it under the steaming water. He wrings it out before he wipes Alex’s face off, taking care to make sure he gets any extra shaving cream completely off.
“Let me get my aftershave.”
He bends down and Alex pretends not to hear the way his knees crack. George roots around in a drawer for a few seconds before he stands back up, wincing.
Alex shivers a bit when George pats the aftershave onto his face, but then George is finished and Alex slides off the counter. He studies himself in the mirror, rubbing the short stubble that George left, just a shadow of the dark goatee he was sporting before.
“Looks good, baby,” Alex says. He turns to pull George into a hug, but George side steps him and goes into the bedroom. Alex rolls his eyes and follows George. He stands in the bathroom doorway with his hands on his hips.
George either doesn’t notice him or is choosing to ignore him, because he goes about getting himself ready, letting the towel fall to the ground and pulling on a pair of blue boxer briefs. Alex loudly clears his throat and fixes George with a pointed glare when he looks up.
“Yes?” George sighs as if Alex is burdening him with his presence.
“You’ve been acting weird and moody all day. What’s wrong?”
George clenches his jaw and goes back to getting ready, pulling on a pair of tall, black dress socks. Alex huffs and walks over to George, jerking on his arm so he’s facing him. Anger flashes in his eyes, but Alex just puffs his chest out and glares. “Will you please look at me and tell me what’s wrong?”
George rips his arm out of Alex’s grasp and stomps into his closet. He starts to angrily shove through the rack of suits and tuxedos, the hangers screeching on the metal rods. “George,” Alex snaps. “Calm down!”
George steps away from the clothes and takes a series of quick breaths. “I just don’t like birthdays, okay?” he snaps, keeping his back to Alex.
“Hey, don’t yell at me, George. Can you please act like an adult for once and explain in detail what’s wrong.”
George sighs and clenches his fists at his sides. “I’m just—I’m not in the mood to do this. I don’t want to go spend all night walking around and mingling with people who I hate while pretending to enjoy myself. I mean, that’s some birthday, huh?”
“George,” Alex says as patiently as possible, trying not to sound too patronizing. “I understand where you’re coming from, but you’re being a little ridiculous. You need to suck it up. Why are you so god damn angry all of a sudden?”
“I’m just tired.”
“You were tired earlier but you weren’t acting all mean and annoying. Do you need to take a Xanax or something?”
“No I don’t need to take a Xanax,” George snaps. He clenches his fists again and turns to face Alex. “Can you stop pestering me please?”
Alex rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Just get dressed, George. Be in a horrible mood all night. I don’t care.” Alex turns on his heel and goes into the bedroom. He starts pulling his tux on, resisting the urge to slap George across his stupid, pissy face.
George comes out of his closet a few minutes later dressed in a slim fitting, navy blue tux. His bowtie is hanging untied around his neck. He looks good aside from the stormy, dark look on his face.
Alex nimbly buttons up his tuxedo shirt and shrugs his jacket on. Once he’s finished, he sits on the edge of the bed and tugs his shiny dress shoes on.
He’s startled when George flops down on the other side of the bed and rolls over to press his face into the pillow. Alex scoffs and throws a pillow at George’s back.
“You’re gonna wrinkle your tux and then you’ll look pissy and rumpled, which isn’t a good look on you,” Alex says a little snidely. George can be so infuriating.
“Thanks, Mom,” George says sarcastically.
“Oh my God you are being such a child!” Alex finally shouts, getting up from the bed and storming over to stand in front of George. “Get the fuck up and finish getting ready. You’re going to be late to your own party.”
George angrily sits up and starts trying to tie his bowtie, but his hands are shaky too badly for him to do it and he growls in frustration. Alex sighs and wordlessly walks over and steps in between George’s legs so he can bend down and tie it for him. He finishes the knot and smooths it down.
“Thanks,” George mutters. He’s staring at his lap and worrying his lip between his teeth. Alex tips his chin up and fixes him with a stern look.
“I need you to tell me what’s going on, okay?”
“Alex,” George sighs. “I’m just tired—”
“Don’t give me that bullshit again. I know you too well for that.
George’s shoulders sag and he hangs his head. “My dad died when he was 37,” he says softly.
“Okay?” Alex says slowly, a little confused.
George sighs and holds his head in his hands. “Growing up I always thought that 37 was old. It was the age that was looming ahead of me. He died of a heart attack—heart problems run in our family—and I’ve always assumed I would die the same way.”
Alex blinks as realization dawns on him and he sits down beside George. “Is that why you had your doctor do a checkup even though you weren’t due for one?”
“Yeah,” George says softly. Alex sighs and rubs his back.
“George, honey. You’re not going to die. You’re healthy, you eat well, and you exercise. You’re going to be fine.”
“My grandfather died young too. I’ve always had this horrible, foreboding feeling that I would die young. What if this is really my year?”
“You survived being shot, George,” Alex says in a tone he hopes isn’t too patronizing. “I think you’re in the clear.”
“You don’t know that,” George snaps. “And everyone is making such a big deal of my birthday but I just want it to be over. I want to lay here in this bed with you and fuck you until I forget that I’m the same age as my dead father.”
Alex winces and wraps his arm around George’s waist. “Sorry for being such an asshole.”
“It’s fine. I deserved it. I was acting ‘difficult,’ George says with air quotes, “or that’s what Dr. Man calls it. I like your descriptions better though.”
Alex chuckles and kisses George’s shoulder. George heaves a sigh and grinds his palms into his eyes. “Who knew birthdays could induce so much anxiety.”
“I’m sorry. Do you need a few more minutes before you go downstairs?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want me to go on downstairs?”
George shrugs and Alex has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “Baby, I know you’re upset, but I’m serious; it’s really annoying when you do stuff like this. Don’t just shrug and pout. Tell me what you want.”
“I’d like a few minutes alone,” George says softly.
“See? That wasn’t so hard.” Alex squeezes George’s waist in another hug and stands up, adjusting his tux. “I’ll see you downstairs. Don’t take too long.”
***
After Alex leaves, George stands up and goes into the bathroom to stare at his reflection. The older he gets, the more he looks like his father. It’s a little unsettling. Lawrence always took after his mother: His skin was darker, his hair wasn’t curly like George’s, and he had smaller ears that stuck out a little, something George teased him mercilessly about. But Lawrence also had an easy, almost boyish smirk that George was always quietly jealous of.
No, when George looks in the mirror, he sees his father’s face staring back at him. Some days it takes him by surprise and makes him feel sick. He thinks it’s painfully unfair that he has to take after a man he despised.
He’s always taken after his father, down to the nasty temper George works hard to control. It only makes sense that he would mirror his father straight to the grave.
George’s chest starts to tighten as an icy bolt of anxiety shoots from his stomach to his throat, and he has to swallow down a wave of nausea.
Anxiety attack. You should take a Xanax, one side of his brain helpfully supplies.
Heart attack. You’re probably dying, the other side not-so-helpfully supplies.
George stumbles backward until his back hits the wall with a thud.
“I’m okay,” he tells the empty bathroom in an embarrassingly shaky voice. “I’m okay, right?”
Nope. You’re dying. Your heart is probably about to give out right now.
George makes a strangled noise and tugs at the bowtie around his neck. The feeling of it around his neck is suffocating. His chest continues to tighten and his heart beats erratically in his ear, the thump-thump-thump drowning out everything else except the taunting thoughts in his head.
Looks like 37 really is your lucky year.
George’s stomach roils and he shakes his head. “No, no. I’m not dying.” George sucks in a deep breath and tries to blink away the black dots swimming in and out of his vision. “I’m being ridiculous.”
“George? Are you okay?”
Alex? Great. He’s going to watch you die now.
“No, Alex, stop,” George pants out.
But Alex comes into the bathroom—he always comes—and stands in front of George. He starts to talk, his mouth moving rapidly, but all George can hear is his heart beating in his ears. He’s just waiting for it to jerk to a sudden stop. George leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes against a rush of dizziness.
Then someone—Alex—is pressing something against his lips. George lets his mouth fall open and winces when Alex sets a chalky pill on his tongue. It starts to disintegrate and George shudders, gagging as the sharp, bitter taste floods his mouth. But Alex moves quickly and presses a cool glass to George’s lips. George drinks obediently, drinking as much as he thinks he can handle.
“George? Open your eyes, George. I need you to look at me.” Alex taps George’s cheek hard enough to hurt a little and he blearily opens his eyes. Alex’s face swims in front of him.
“I think I’m dying, Alex. I didn’t want you to see this. You should go to the party.”
Alex shakes his head. “You need to lie down while this kicks in.”
Suddenly Lafayette is standing next to them and he helps Alex drag George toward the bedroom. George tries to help, but the room is spinning and he can barely feel his feet so he just sags in their arms, letting them maneuver him into his bed. His breathing is ragged and his chest still aches. Why does dying always seem to take so damn long?
Lafayette and Alex are trying to discretely whisper off to the side, and George doesn’t bother to tell them that he can hear.
“He’s been in a weird mood all day,” Alex says under his breath, glancing over at George.
“Was he okay before you left?”
“He seemed a little upset but not anxiety attack upset, you know? If I thought he was going to freak out, I would’ve stayed with him.”
“Angelica and Burr are trying to control the narrative downstairs.”
“What’re we telling everyone?”
“The president has to attend to a personal matter.”
“And there aren’t any press right?”
“Right.”
“We should’ve just listened to him when he said he didn’t want a fucking party. He hasn’t had an anxiety attack in months.”
“Well I didn’t know a 37th birthday party would trigger him,” Lafayette says a little snidely.
“I mean, neither did I. He’s never mentioned his father dying to you?”
“He has, but I never… I didn’t know he was so freaked out about it. He almost never talks about his father.”
“His anxiety has been so good lately. He’s been great the past several months. I mean, even The Incident didn’t cause this bad of a flare up. I fucking hate this.”
“Alex, calm down. How much longer until you think the Xanax will kick in?”
“Hopefully about five more minutes. It usually takes around 15.”
“Alright, I’m going back downstairs. Try to get him cleaned up. He just needs to come downstairs for an hour or two. He can drink a club soda and no one will know he’s not drinking or that anything’s wrong.”
“Alright. Tell them about 15, 20 more minutes.”
Lafayette leaves and Alex crawls onto the bed. George sighs when Alex starts to gently stroke his side. “Hey George, how’re you feeling big guy?” Alex says sweetly. George grinds his teeth at the endearment; it makes him feel like a child.
“I’m fine,” he says gruffly. “It’s fine. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, you don’t need to apologize. It’s alright. I didn’t… I had no idea that this would be a trigger.”
“I didn’t either. It’s seriously fine.”
“Is the Xanax working? Do you feel any better?”
“Just embarrassed,” George mutters. He sits up and rubs his face. “I’m 37 years old. You’d think I could control my anxiety by now.”
Alex sits up with him and pulls him into a hug. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
George sighs and turns his head to kiss Alex gently. “Sorry I’ve been such an asshole all day.”
“It’s alright; I forgive you.” Alex kisses George’s cheek. “C’mon, lets get you together. I’ll stay with you the whole party, okay? We can make fun of people.”
“People will talk. Half the Republican Party already thinks I’m gay and that Martha was a beard.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Have they ever heard of a little thing called bisexuality?”
“Apparently not,” George says, chuckling, the Xanax helping ease him out of the bad mood he’s been in all day.
“Well, whatever. I don’t care. This is a private event; people aren’t allowed to have their phones.”
“Wow. That’s intense.”
Alex nods and pulls him to his feet. He expertly reties George’s bowtie and smooths down his tux. “We didn’t want anything leaking to the press. This is supposed to be fun. No one wants to worry about the press when they’re trying to have fun.”
“You put a lot of effort into planning this,” George says softly, grabbing Alex’s hand and lacing their fingers together. Alex smiles sheepishly and shrugs.
“I wanted it to be as painless as possible.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that. I promise.” George brings Alex’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles gently. “Well, I guess I should probably show my face at my own party.”
“Do you want to open your present first?”
George smiles. “Yeah sure.”
Alex goes over to the garment bag that he brought his suit in and digs around in the bottom. He stands back up after a few seconds with a small box wrapped in simple blue paper. “It’s probably not, well, it’s not going to be the nicest quality ever, but, well I don’t know. This is what you get for dating someone poor.”
George rolls his eyes and takes the box from Alex. “I don’t care, Alex. I’ll always like whatever you get me.”
He carefully unwraps the box and pops it open, smiling when he sees a pair of silver cufflinks. “Alex, they’re beautiful,” he murmurs as he runs his thumb over them.
“They’re love knots,” Alex blurts out. “They can be your… token. Like my ring.”
George looks at Alex and smiles. “Will you help me put them on?”
“Of course,” Alex says, blushing a little.
George makes quick work of removing the cufflinks he already had on and lets Alex help him put the new ones on. He holds his arm out and admires them, feeling a surge of affection for the beautiful boy standing in front of him.
“I love you, Alex. These are beautiful.”
“You really are wearing off on me you stupid, sappy piece of shit.”
George shakes his head and pulls Alex into a tight hug. “What did I do to deserve you, Alex?” he asks softly, momentarily a little choked up.
“Shut up and stop being so emotional you big softy. What would Putin think?” Alex teases, poking George’s stomach. George laughs and kisses Alex gently.
“He’d be jealous of me because I’ve got the most amazing boyfriend ever.”
“That’s debatable and I think you might be just a little bit biased, but thank you. I know how to take a compliment when I get one.” Alex grins and kisses George’s cheek. “I’ll meet you in the East Room. Remember, get a club soda and then find me. We’ll walk around, make boring small talk, and gossip about how badly dressed everyone is.”
George laughs softly and shakes his head. “And after that?”
Alex smirks and his eyes darken. “After that I’m going to bring you back here and let you fuck me into this mattress until I scream and you forget that you’re 37.”
George swallows and licks his lips as his cock twitches in his pants. “Sound like a deal,” he says hoarsely. Alex grins and gives George one more kiss before leaving.
When Alex is by his side, George feels invincible.
Unlike his father, George knows what it’s like to be loved and love in return.
He rubs one of the cufflinks with his thumb and follows Alex down to the East Room. Maybe he’s not that similar to his father after all.