⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine(Star Wars Week)⏳: Vector Prime by RA Salvatore

Summary:

The New Jedi Order #1

Twenty-one years after the Battle of Endor, the New Republic will face an even darker enemy. . . .

More than two decades after the heroes of the Rebel Alliance destroyed the Death Star and broke the power of the Emperor, the New Republic has struggled to maintain peace and prosperity among the peoples of the galaxy. But unrest has begun to spread and threatens to destroy the Republic’s tenuous reign.

Into this volatile atmosphere comes Nom Anor, a charismatic firebrand who heats passions to the boiling point, sowing seeds of dissent for his own dark motives. And as the Jedi and the Republic focus on internal struggles, a new threat surfaces from beyond the farthest reaches of the Outer Rim—an enemy bearing weapons and technology unlike anything New Republic scientists have ever seen.

Suddenly, Luke Skywalker; his wife, Mara; Han Solo; Leia Organa Solo; and Chewbacca—along with the Solo children—are thrust again into battle, to defend the freedom so many have fought and died for. But this time, the power of the Force itself may not be enough. . . .

Original Review May 2021:

So it's been at least 10 years since I last listened to this on abridged audio and about 5 years prior for actually reading the hardcover copy.  But it's like it was yesterday.  Everything came flooding back.  I've said it before and I'll say it again, I enjoy Disney's Star Wars journey but their version will always be non-canon/alternate timeline.  The SWEU will always be the real future of the SW saga.  I wish there was an unabridged audio but for now there isn't so even an abridged version is topnotch.  The New Jedi Order has created one of the best SW villain species in the Yuuzhan Vong.  Talk about terror and one that needs defeating.  Won't divulge anything for any newcomers that are looking to follow a different path than Disney's but be prepared because the beloved bubble around our heroes is not pop-proof and this one will have lasting effects.  It really is the only flaw in the SWEU, this one should never have been lost(but that's all you're getting😉).

RATING:

It was too peaceful out here, surrounded by the vacuum of space and with only the continual hum of the twin ion drives breaking the silence. While she loved these moments of peace, Leia Organa Solo also viewed them as an emotional trap, for she had been around long enough to understand the turmoil she would find at the end of this ride.

Like the end of every ride, lately.

Leia paused a moment before she entered the bridge of the Jade Sabre, the new shuttle her brother, Luke, had built for his wife, Mara Jade. Before her, and apparently oblivious to her, Mara and Jaina sat comfortably, side by side at the controls, talking and smiling. Leia focused on her daughter, Jaina, sixteen years old, but with the mature and calm demeanor of a veteran pilot. Jaina looked a lot like Leia, with long dark hair and brown eyes contrasting sharply with her smooth and creamy skin. Indeed, Leia saw much of herself in the girl—no, not girl, Leia corrected her own thoughts, but young woman. That same sparkle behind the brown eyes, mischievous, adventurous, determined.

That notion set Leia back a bit, for she recognized then that when she looked at Jaina, she was seeing not a reflection of herself but an image of the girl she had once been. A twinge of sadness caught her as she considered her own life now: a diplomat, a bureaucrat, a mediator, always trying to calm things down, always working for the peace and prosperity of the New Republic. Did she miss the days when the most common noise around her had been the sharp blare of a blaster or the hiss of a lightsaber? Was she sorry that those wild times had been replaced by the droning of the ion drives and the sharp bickering of one pride-wounded emissary after another?

Perhaps, Leia had to admit, but in looking at Jaina and those simmering dark eyes, she could take vicarious pleasure.

Another twinge—jealousy?—caught her by surprise, as Mara and Jaina erupted into laughter over some joke Leia had not overheard. But she pushed the absurd notion far from her mind as she considered her sister-in-law, Luke's wife and Jaina's tutor—at Jaina's own request—in the ways of the Jedi. Mara was not a substitute mother for Jaina, but rather, a big sister, and when Leia considered the fires that constantly burned in Mara's green eyes, she understood that the woman could give to Jaina things that Leia could not, and that those lessons and that friendship would prove valuable indeed to her daughter. And so she forced aside her jealousy and was merely glad that Jaina had found such a friend.

She started onto the bridge, but paused again, sensing movement behind her. She knew before looking that it was Bolpuhr, her Noghri bodyguard, and barely gave him a glance as he glided to the side, moving so easily and gracefully that he reminded her of a lace curtain drifting lazily in a gentle breeze. She had accepted young Bolpuhr as her shadow for just that reason, for he was as unobtrusive as any bodyguard could be. Leia marveled at the young Noghri, at how his grace and silence covered a perfectly deadly fighting ability.

She held up her hand, indicating that Bolpuhr should remain out here, and though his usually emotionless face did flash Leia a quick expression of disappointment, she knew he would obey. Bolpuhr, and all the Noghri, would do anything Leia asked of them. He would jump off a cliff or dive into the hot end of an ion engine for her, and the only time she ever saw any sign of discontentment with her orders was when Bolpuhr thought she might be placing him in a difficult position to properly defend her.

As he was thinking now, Leia understood, though why in the world Bolpuhr would fear for her safety on her sister-in-law's private shuttle was beyond her. Sometimes dedication could be taken a bit too far.

With a nod to Bolpuhr, she turned back to the bridge and crossed through the open doorway. "How much longer?" she asked, and was amused to see both Jaina and Mara jump in surprise at her sudden appearance.

In answer, Jaina increased the magnification on the forward screen, and instead of the unremarkable dots of light, there appeared an image of two planets, one mostly blue and white, the other reddish in hue, seemingly so close together that Leia wondered how it was that the blue-and-white one, the larger of the pair, had not grasped the other in its gravity and turned it into a moon. Parked halfway between them, perhaps a half a million kilometers from either, deck lights glittering in the shadows of the blue-and-white planet, loomed a Mon Calamari battle cruiser, the Mediator, one of the newest ships in the New Republic fleet.

"They're at their closest," Mara observed, referring to the planets.

"I beg your indulgence," came a melodic voice from the doorway, and the protocol droid C-3PO walked into the room. "But I do not believe that is correct."

"Close enough," Mara said. She turned to Jaina. "Both Rhommamool and Osarian are ground based, technologically—"

"Rhommamool almost exclusively so!" C-3PO quickly added, drawing a scowl from all three of the women. Oblivious, he rambled on. "Even Osarian's fleet must be considered marginal, at best. Unless, of course, one is using the Pantang Scale of Aero-techno Advancement, which counts even a simple landspeeder as highly as it would a Star Destroyer. Perfectly ridiculous scale."

"Thank you, Threepio," Leia said, her tone indicating that she had heard more than enough.

"They've both got missiles that can hit each other from this close distance, though," Mara continued. "Oh, yes!" the droid exclaimed. "And given the proximity of their relative elliptical orbits—"

Saturday's Series Spotlight

Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3

RA Salvatore

Leominster, Massachusetts is known for four things: Johnny Appleseed, a thriving plastics industry, Robert Cormier, and New York Times bestselling author R.A. Salvatore. With over 20 million books sold worldwide, more than four dozen book and numerous game credits Salvatore has become one of the most important figures in modern epic fantasy.

 A lifelong resident of Massachusetts, R.A. Salvatore, began writing shortly after receiving his Bachelor of Science degree in Communications/Media from Fitchburg State College. He penned his first manuscript in 1982, in a spiral notebook, writing by candlelight while listening to Fleetwood Mac’s Tusk album. 

 Bob’s first published novel, "The Crystal Shard", was released in February of 1988. By 1990 his third book, "The Halfling’s Gem", had made the New York Times bestseller list. 

Salvatore spends a good deal of time speaking to schools and library groups, encouraging people, particularly young people, to read. With the zeal of a religious convert, he talks about the virtues of reading and the ultimate appeal, “it is fun.” He remembers his return to reading when he was in college, “The blizzard of 1978 shut down my college for a week. My sister had given me a copy of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, which I read while house-bound. When I got back to school, I changed my major from math to communications.”

Salvatore makes his home in Massachusetts, with his wife, Diane and their two dogs, Ivan and Dexter. He spends his “free time” coaching and playing softball on a team made up of family and close friends. His gaming group still meets on Sunday nights to play games. Of late, they have been playing the new game R.A.designed with Bryan Salvatore and Geno Salvatore, "DemonWars: Reformation", a role-playing game set in the World of Corona.

FACEBOOK  /  WEBSITE  /  BOOKBUB

AUDIOBOOKS  /  RANDOM HOUSE  /  KOBO

WOOKIEPEDIA  /  INSTAGRAM

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Vector Prime

👀Audiobooks are Abridged👀

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK

B&N  /  KOBO  /  iTUNES AUDIO

AUDIOBOOKS  /  WOOKIEPEDIA

iTUNES  /  AUDIBLE  /  BOOKBUB

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New Jedi Order Series

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PENGUIN RANDOM HOUSE  /  WIKI

AUDIOBOOKS  /  GOOGLE PLAY

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Monday Morning's Menu(Star Wars Week): Star Wars Legends - Death Trooper by Joe Schreiber

Summary:

The chilling tale of the undead in a galaxy far, far away.

“This is the Star Wars of every horror fan’s dreams—gory, funny, and brimming with a blood-spattered cast of swashbucklers and space-zombies.”—Seth Grahame-Smith, author of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

When the Imperial prison barge Purge—temporary home to five hundred of the galaxy’s most ruthless killers, Rebels, scoundrels, and thieves—breaks down in a distant part of space, its only hope appears to lie with a Star Destroyer found drifting and seemingly abandoned. But when a boarding party from the Purge is sent to scavenge for parts, only half of them come back—bringing with them a horrific disease so lethal that within hours, nearly all aboard the Purge die in ways too hideous to imagine.

And death is only the beginning.

The Purge’s half-dozen survivors will do whatever it takes to stay alive. But nothing can prepare them for what lies waiting aboard the Star Destroyer. For the dead are rising: soulless, unstoppable, and unspeakably hungry.

Original Review May 2022:

This is just a tiny simple review as it's been 13 or so years since I read Death Troopers.  Since Disney scrapped years and years of stories to create their own future, this novel is part of what is now the Legends timeline, which for many of us SWEU fans is the real canon and Disney is the alternate journey.  Revenge of the Fifth seemed like the perfect day to shine a spotlight on this unusual sub-genre in the Star Wars universe: zombies!  It's great to see where Han & Chewie spent some time prior to that fateful Mos Eisley meeting, I bet you never expected them to be facing zombies?  Since you don't expect zombies to pop up in the SW universe, this might not be for everyone but if you like odd blended with "ewww" and thoughts of "I can't unsee that" then personally I think you'll find Death Troopers right up your alley.

RATING:

Purge  

The nights were the worst.  

Even before his father's death, Trig Longo had come to dread the long hours after lockdown, the shadows and sounds and the chronically unstable gulf of silence that drew out in between them. Night after night he lay still on his bunk and stared up at the dripping durasteel ceiling of the cell in search of sleep or some acceptable substitute. Sometimes he would actually start to drift off, floating away in that comforting sensation of weightlessness, only to be rattled awake-heart pounding, throat tight, stomach muscles sprung and fluttering-by some shout or a cry, an inmate having a nightmare.  

There was no shortage of nightmares aboard the Imperial Prison Barge Purge.  

Trig didn't know exactly how many prisoners the Purge was currently carrying. He guessed maybe five hundred, human and otherwise, scraped from every corner of the galaxy, just as he and his family had been picked up eight standard weeks before. Sometimes the incoming shuttles returned almost empty; on other occasions they came packed with squabbling alien life-forms and alleged Rebel sympathizers of every stripe and species. There were assassins for hire and sociopaths the likes of which Trig had never seen, thin-lipped things that cackled and sneered in seditious languages that, to Trig's ears, were little more than clicks and hisses.  

Every one of them seemed to harbor its own obscure appetites and personal grudges, personal histories blighted with shameful secrets and obscure vendettas. Being cautious became harder; soon you needed eyes in the back of your head-which some of them actually possessed. Two weeks earlier in the mess hall, Trig had noticed a tall, silent inmate sitting with its back to him but watching him nonetheless with a single raw-red eye in the back of its skull. Every day the red-eyed thing seemed to be sitting a little nearer. Then one day, without explanation, it was gone.  

Except from his dreams.  

Sighing, Trig levered himself up on his elbows and looked through the bars onto the corridor. Gen Pop had cycled down to minimum power for the night, edging the long gangway in permanent gray twilight. The Rodians in the cell across from his had gone to sleep or were feigning it. He forced himself to sit there, regulating his breathing, listening to the faint echoes of the convicts' uneasy groans and murmurs. Every so often a mouse droid or low-level maintenance unit, one of hundreds occupying the barge, would scramble by on some preprogrammed errand or another. And of course, below it all-low and not quite beneath the scope of hearing-was the omnipresent thrum of the barge's turbines gnashing endlessly through space. 

For as long as they'd been aboard, Trig still hadn't gotten used to that last sound, the way it shook the Purge to its framework, rising up through his legs and rattling his bones and nerves. There was no escaping it, the way it undermined every moment of life, as familiar as his own pulse. 

Trig thought back to sitting in the infirmary just two weeks earlier, watching his father draw one last shaky breath, and the silence afterward as the medical droids disconnected the biomonitors from the old man's ruined body and prepared to haul it away. As the last of the monitors fell silent, he'd heard that low steady thunder of the engines, one more unnecessary reminder of where he was and where he was going. He remembered how that noise had made him feel lost and small and inescapably sad-some special form of artificial gravity that seemed to work directly against his heart.  

He had known then, as he knew now, that it really only meant one thing, the ruthlessly grinding effort of the Empire consolidating its power.  

Forget politics, his father had always said. Just give 'em something they need, or they'll eat you alive. And now they'd been eaten alive anyway, despite the fact that they'd never been sympathizers, no more than low-level grifters scooped up on a routine Imperial sweep. The engines of tyranny ground on, bearing them forward across the galaxy toward some remote penal moon. Trig sensed that noise would continue, would carry on indefinitely, echoing right up until-  

"Trig?"  

It was Kale's voice behind him, unexpected, and Trig flinched a little at the sound of it. He looked back and saw his older brother gazing back at him, Kale's handsomely rumpled, sleep-slackened face just a ghostly three-quarter profile suspended in the cell's gloom. Kale looked like he was still only partly awake and unsure whether or not he was dreaming any of this.  

"What's wrong?" Kale asked, a drowsy murmur that came out: Wussrong?

Trig cleared his throat. His voice had started changing recently, and he was acutely aware of how it broke high and low when he wasn't paying strict attention. "Nothing."  

"You worried about tomorrow?"  

"Me?" Trig snorted. "Come on."  

" 'S okay if you are." Kale seemed to consider this and then uttered a bemused grunt. "You'd be crazy not to be."   "You're not scared," Trig said. "Dad would never have-"  

"I'll go alone."  

"No." The word snapped from his throat with almost painful angularity. "We need to stick together, that's what Dad said."  

"You're only thirteen," Kale said. "Maybe you're not, you know..." 

"Fourteen next month." Trig felt another flare of emotion at the mention of his age. "Old enough." 

"You sure?"  

"Positive." 

"Well, sleep on it, see if you feel different in the morning..." Kale's enunciation was already beginning to go muddled as he slumped back down on his bunk, leaving Trig sitting up with his eyes still riveted to the long dark concourse outside the cell, Gen Pop, that had become their no-longer-new home.  

Sleep on it, he thought, and in that exact moment, miraculously, as if by power of suggestion, sleep actually began to seem like a possibility. Trig lay back and let the heaviness of his own fatigue cover him like a blanket, superseding anxiety and fear. He tried to focus on the sound of Kale's breathing, deep and reassuring, in and out, in and out.

Then somewhere in the depths of the levels, an inhuman voice wailed. Trig sat up, caught his breath, and felt a chill tighten the skin of his shoulders, arms and back, crawling over his flesh millimeter by millimeter, bristling the small hairs on the back of his neck. Over in his bunk the already sleeping Kale rolled over and grumbled something incoherent.  

There was another scream, weaker this time. Trig told himself it was just one of the other convicts, just another nightmare rolling off the all-night assembly line of the nightmare factory.  

But it hadn't sounded like a nightmare.  

It sounded like a convict, whatever life-form it was, was under attack.  

Or going crazy.  

He sat perfectly still, squeezed his eyes tight, and waited for the pounding of his heart to slow down, just please slow down. But it didn't. He thought of the thing in the cafeteria, the disappeared inmate whose name he'd never know, watching him with its red staring eye. How many other eyes were on him that he never saw?  

Sleep on it.  

But he already knew there would be no more sleeping here tonight.    

Meat Nest  

In Trig's old life, back on Cimarosa, breakfast had been the best meal of the day. Besides being an expert trafficker in contraband, a veteran fringe dweller who cut countless deals with thieves, spies, and counterfeiters, Von Longo had also been one of the galaxy's greatest unrecognized breakfast chefs. Eat a good meal early, Longo always told his boys. You never know if it's going to be your last.  

Here on the Purge, however, breakfast was rarely edible and sometimes actually seemed to shiver in the steady vibrations as though still alive on the plate. This morning Trig found himself gazing down at a pasty mass of colorless goo spooned into shaved gristle, the whole thing plastered together in sticky wads like some kind of meat nest assembled by carnivorous flying insects. He was still nudging the stuff listlessly around his tray when Kale finally raised his eyebrows and peered at him. 

"You sleep at all last night?" Kale asked.  

"A little."  

"You're not eating."  

"What, you mean this?" Trig poked at the contents of the tray again and shuddered. "I'm not hungry," he said, and watched Kale shovel the last bite of his own breakfast into his mouth with disturbing gusto. "You think the food will be any better when we get to the detention moon?"  

"Little brother, I think we'll be lucky if we don't end up on the menu."  

Trig gave him a bleak look. "Don't give 'em any ideas." 

"Hey, lighten up." Kale wiped his mouth on his sleeve and grinned. "Little guy like you, they'll probably just use you for an appetizer."

Monday Morning Menu

Red Harvest  /  Death Troopers

Joe Schrieber

I was born in Michigan in 1969 and lived all over: Alaska, California, Wyoming, all before age 10. The restlessness sank in -- after graduating from the University of Michigan, I just kept moving. I've lived in LA, New York, Philadelphia, Portland, Oregon, and Martha's Vineyard. Constant relocation forced me to be creative in my employment: I've been a pet-sitter, an office boy in a DC law office, waited tables and worked at something like six different Borders Bookstores...which has to be a record. These days I work as an MRI tech at Hershey Medical Center in Hershey, PA.

BLUESKY  /  iTUNES  /  AUDIBLE

GOOGLE PLAY  /  AUDIOBOOKS

CHIRP  /  KOBO  /  WIKI  /  WOOKIEPEDIA

RANDOM HOUSE  /  BOOKBUB

B&N  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS

Death Troopers

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N

iTUNES  /  iTUNES AUDIO  /  AUDIBLE

GOOGLE PLAY  /  AUDIOBOOKS  /  WIKI

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RANDOM HOUSE  /  GOODREADS TBR

Red Harvest

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N

iTUNES  /  iTUNES AUDIO  /  AUDIBLE

GOOGLE PLAY  /  AUDIOBOOKS

KOBO  /  WOOKIEPEDIA  /  BOOKBUB

RANDOM HOUSE  /  GOODREADS TBR

🎭Week at a Glance🎭: 4/20/26 - 4/26/26

Monday's Musical Melody: The Chanteuse and the Bodyguard by VL Locey

⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine⏳: Be Still My Heart by Charlie Cochet

📘🎥Friday's Film Adaptation🎥📘: The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

Saturday's Series Spotlight: LA Storm by RJ Scott & VL Locey Part 2

Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: On Guard by JR Gray & Andi Jaxon

Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: On Guard by JR Gray & Andi Jaxon

Summary:

New York Gods #1

Selling my virginity wasn’t how I saw my first week of college going.

But after my parents cut me off, an offer from a gorgeous rich stranger doesn’t sound so bad.

It’s only twenty-four hours and I’ll never have to see him again.

Wrong.

Much to my horror, the stranger is Oliver Godfrey, the captain of my fencing team.

And as if that isn’t bad enough, his parents own half the city.

There is no escape from him or the way he makes me feel.

He’s everything I don’t want.

And everything I need.

A playboy like him shouldn’t look at me twice, so why is he ruining my life?

But what Oliver wants, Oliver gets, and he wants me.

He’s arrogant, possessive, and infuriatingly obsessed with me.

This can’t work.

His parents want him to marry an heiress so I can’t keep him.

All I can have is stolen moments hidden in the dark.

He's going to break my heart and I'm going to let him.

PROLOGUE

Isaac

The hot August night sticks to my skin as mosquitos bite every inch of exposed flesh they can find.

“Come on, babe,” Tim whines. “It’s been two years, and I leave for school next week. We aren’t going to get any more chances.”

With my wrist trapped in his grip, he rubs my palm against the bulge in his jeans, and I jerk back.

“Stop it. I’m not ready.” I wrap my arms around myself, clutching at my ribs like it’ll stop him from reaching for me again.

I hate how he’s pushed this since we graduated a few weeks ago. Like there’s a time limit on our virginity, and we have to have sex right now or miss out forever. We’ve been dating for two years and really only kissed. Why would that change now?

Voices carry on the humid breeze from the front of the church. Wednesday night is bible study and youth group. That hasn’t changed my entire life.

Timothy has been part of the church as long as I have, and since we started dating, we sometimes sneak out early and hide in the shadows behind the sanctuary to make out or just hold hands and talk. It’s the only time we get a few minutes alone.

“We don’t have time for you to get ready. I don’t want to go to college a virgin,” Tim hisses at me, crowding me against the wall.

My stomach twists, and I fight back the tears threatening to fill my eyes. Who the hell is this Tim?

“I promise it’ll feel good.” He smiles at me and dips his head to press his lips to mine. It doesn’t feel the same, though. It’s tainted now, dirty, like he’s just trying to distract me long enough to say yes.

If only I wasn’t so desperate to be held.

I give in a little, wrapping my arms around his waist so he’ll pretend to care about me for just a minute. He groans into my mouth and runs his hand up my neck and into my hair. A spark of arousal shoots through me when he pulls on the strands, changing the angle of the kiss, and taking control.

Tim’s free hand slides under my shirt, and I shiver. A part of me wants to be touched, wants to know pleasure, craves the physical affection, but I don’t want my first time to be a rushed groping while he hurries not to get caught. Both of our parents are inside and will kill us if they find out.

“My parents are here. We can’t.”

“I’ll come over tonight. They’ve let me stay before. They won’t know. They think we are friends.” Tim grabs my belt, and I try to shove his hand away, but he kisses me again.

I give over to the kiss, whining softly. “Tim . . .”

“They won’t know.” He shoves me back, putting his arm across my chest while his other hand works open my belt.

My heart hammers in my ears, but I don’t stop him, torn between what feels good and what I know is wrong. I’ve pushed it too far. Let this thing with Tim go on too long. I know it’s wrong and what my father will do if he finds out.

“We can’t.” I try again as Tim lowers my zipper.

Tim pulls my belt from the loops with a triumphant smile. His lips part, and he’s about to say something⁠—

“Isaac Mathew Becker!” My father’s voice booms in a terrifying snarl.

I startle and shove Tim away from me while fear and shame leave my body quaking. Oh god, what’s he going to do?

I don’t dare look at Tim. Maybe he can back away into the shadows and make a break for it. Maybe he can tell his family it’s all a misunderstanding when my father calls his, because I know he will, and they can laugh it off.

“Mr. Becker.” Tim takes a step forward, all cowering shoulders and trembling hands. “He told me to meet him back here, that he wanted to show me something. I think he has the devil inside of him.”

The blood drains from my face, hearing the lies falling from my boyfriend’s mouth. What little pitiful hope I have falls to ashes at my feet. Quickly, I scan the crowd, looking for my little brother, Noah. I find him peeking around our mother, the horror I feel reflected on his face, but he doesn’t condone it. He’s the only other person who knows. The only person I’ve trusted with my deepest, darkest secret.

I can barely breathe through panic. Can hardly think past my instincts that have me frozen in place as my father storms over and lifts his bible in the air. I can’t move my arms or turn my back to protect myself as he hits me with the holy doctrine that tells of love and acceptance from a forgiving God.

But that’s not what they preach here.

Over and over, he hits me while my heart breaks and my world crashes down around me. I don’t notice the tears running down my cheeks or the body-wracking sobs as my parents scream scriptures. My skin burns. The sting of every impact taking all my focus.

I deserve this punishment for the sins I’ve committed.

The other members of the church hear the commotion and come to investigate, witnessing the worst moment of my life. Timothy’s parents rush him off, out of the spotlight, while my mother pours holy water over my head and prays for my eternal soul.

I’m humiliated.

Ashamed.

Terrified.

I’ve known since I started high school I’m not interested in girls like the boys I’m friends with and that I have to hide it from everyone around me. For years, I’ve played the part they forced me into. I didn’t choose any of this, yet they will punish me like I did. The mold they expected me to fit never did, but I’ve tried every single day to make it work. Finally, that perfect impression they thought I would become has shattered, and there’s no faking it anymore.

No one chooses to live a harder life.

No one chooses to live in fear of being hated by everyone around them.

No one chooses to look over their shoulder constantly, waiting for someone to attack them for simply existing.

My knees give out, and the rough, pebble-strewn asphalt digs into my hands and scrapes my shins. The fall makes my body ache, but no worse than the emotional pain my father is causing with his damnation.

At some point, it ends, and Father grabs my arm in a bruising grip, yanking me from the ground, and drags me across the parking lot. He throws me into the car and slams the door behind me with a rage so hot on his face it may leave blisters. I cover my face in my hands and bend in half, but all I want in this moment is to disappear or to stop breathing. Noah gets in next to me but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t reach for me.

He has to protect himself, too. I understand.

“You are not going to college this year,” my father shouts. “You’ve managed to stray too far from the path we raised you to follow! You’ve let the devil corrupt you and tempt the Roberts boy to follow you to hell!”

Mother sniffles in the front seat. “I thought we raised a good boy,” she cries. “What have we done to deserve a homosexual as a son?”

“And to force your perversion onto a good, God fearing boy is unacceptable!” Father roars, taking a turn too sharply, and my head slams into the door. The pain barely registers.

My father continues to berate me, telling me what a horrible person I am, how I’m going to hell unless I beg God for forgiveness and promise to never even look at another boy. My stomach twists into a knot, and my head swims. I feel like I’m going to pass out or throw up, maybe both. Maybe then he’ll leave me be. Just for a minute.

We squeal into the driveway of the home I grew up in, and before the car has come to a complete stop, the doors open, and Father grabs a fist full of my hair to yank me out. Mother is quietly sobbing as she unlocks the door and steps aside to let us pass. Using the hold like a handle, he throws me to the floor in the living room and stands over me. I curl into a ball to try to protect myself, but it doesn’t work. It never does.

“Get up!” he demands, but the fear coursing through me makes me stumble. When I fall back to my knees, he kicks me over and yells again at me to stand up. With trembling knees, I make it to my feet this time, and he smacks my cheek with his bible before shoving it at me. “You’re going to stand here and read Leviticus out loud until you can recite it from memory.”

On Guard

JR Gray

Gray is a cynical Chicago native, who drinks coffee all day, barely sleeps, and is a little too fashion obsessed. He writes romance sprinkled with kink, and hot as hell, dark and angsty characters because everyone deserves a happily ever after.

Andi Jaxon

Andi is a Northern California girl transplanted to the PNW and loving the change. Foggy mornings, coffee (hot or iced), with a hoodie on are the days. When not corralling her kids, she’s annoying her friends with random messages and memes or ghosting everyone. There is no in between. Andi has no volume control and laughs loud enough to be heard across a busy room. She writes stories that typically hurt because there’s beauty in pain and no life is exempt from it. 

JR Gray

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On Guard #1

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