💗🧡💛💚💙💜🥰💜💙💚💛🧡💗
For this year's Valentine's Day posts I set down to choose 5 of my favorite heart-pounding tales of romance. As it turned out, 5 was just not doable and I ended with a list of 12 and have broken it into 2 parts. Some of these are flat out romances, others are mystery, thriller, horror, Christmas novellas, some have heat levels that scorch up the pages and others are off-page and leaving it up to the reader to imagine. With all 12 picks, no matter what sub-genre, trope, and dangers that face the couple it is the love the main characters have for each other that is unmistakable, that pulled me in and stayed long after I finished the last page.
💗🧡💛💚💙💜🥰💜💙💚💛🧡💗
Summary:
Peachtree Place #1
Scars run deep but love runs even deeper.
Forced out of the closet and the only home he’s ever known, twenty-year-old Evan Harris makes a desperate phone call to virtual strangers who offer him refuge in Atlanta.
Physically and emotionally scarred from a devastating car accident, thirty-six-year-old Jeremy Lewis struggles to reconcile the popular, outgoing man he used to be with the recluse he’s become.
Resigned to being alone, Jeremy is shocked to realize the shy young man has gotten under his skin, and Evan is too unsure of himself to go after what he wants: a relationship.
Loneliness draws them together, but Jeremy is afraid he’s holding Evan back from the life he deserves.
The scars of their pasts will force them to battle their insecurities and fight for a love that will help heal both their wounds.
Original Re-Release Review November 2018:
When Brigham Vaughn asked me to post about the release of Trust the Connection I said "Of course but I wasn't sure if I'd have time to re-read Evan & Jeremy's journey with the holidays coming up" and she was fine with that. Well then I finished what I was reading and decided I'd make the time because Evan and Jeremy were just so delicious the first time around how could I not revisit them?
There are a few minor editing alterations but the story itself is left virtually unchanged and just as good as I remembered. There really is nothing new I can add to my reviews to the original duology other than if I am completely honest, I think I enjoyed it even more the second time around. Do I still want to bang their heads together once in a while? Most definitely but without the drama it would be a very short story. Watching the boys grow and realize that scars may run deep but they don't have to define you is definitely an emotional rollercoaster but it is a ride you don't want to miss.
Connection #1
Original Review October 2015:
I can't praise Connection enough. When I first started, I didn't think that Evan and Jeremy were going to work their way into my heart as deeply as Russ and Stephen did from Miss Vaughn's Equals series, well was I wrong. They may still be second to my favorite May/December boys but it is a very close second. Do you need to read Equals before delving into Evan and Jeremy's journey? Probably not but I can't imagine not knowing Russ and Stephen's journey so I am going to recommend reading Equals first but that is my personal opinion.
As to the relationship between Evan and Jeremy, the author develops it beautifully. We get both points of view and that really helps with their individual inner monologues. This story will really tug at your heart and I am looking forward to their continuing journey, I can tell it won't be easy but it will be heartwarming. There is only a few authors on my "1-click without blurb reading" list and Brigham Vaughn is one of them.
Trust #2
Original Review February 2016:
I fell in love with Evan when Russ & Stephen met him in Partners and that love only deepened when he became one half of the feature couple of the author's spin-off duology Evan and Jeremy. I will be honest and admit I had my doubts about Jeremy when he was introduced as Stephen's ex, generally exes cause strife wherever they go, but not this ex. Jeremy really begins to heal in Trust but it doesn't come easy and Evan finds it harder to let go of Jeremy and move on when the man pushes him away. I was a little on edge after reading the blurb but knew it was a story I had to read no matter how bumpy the road got and boy was there potholes all over their road. Having grown up around disability and health issues I understood both Jeremy's fears and Evan's hopeful optimism, which only helped the boys when they began to burrow their way into my heart. If you've been reading Miss Vaughn's Equals/Evan and Jeremy series then you can't miss this entry and if you haven't begun yet, well what are you waiting for? I must say that I wouldn't mind seeing minor characters Tod and Chris get their own fairytale journey, *hint, hint*.
RATING:
There are a few minor editing alterations but the story itself is left virtually unchanged and just as good as I remembered. There really is nothing new I can add to my reviews to the original duology other than if I am completely honest, I think I enjoyed it even more the second time around. Do I still want to bang their heads together once in a while? Most definitely but without the drama it would be a very short story. Watching the boys grow and realize that scars may run deep but they don't have to define you is definitely an emotional rollercoaster but it is a ride you don't want to miss.
Connection #1
Original Review October 2015:
I can't praise Connection enough. When I first started, I didn't think that Evan and Jeremy were going to work their way into my heart as deeply as Russ and Stephen did from Miss Vaughn's Equals series, well was I wrong. They may still be second to my favorite May/December boys but it is a very close second. Do you need to read Equals before delving into Evan and Jeremy's journey? Probably not but I can't imagine not knowing Russ and Stephen's journey so I am going to recommend reading Equals first but that is my personal opinion.
As to the relationship between Evan and Jeremy, the author develops it beautifully. We get both points of view and that really helps with their individual inner monologues. This story will really tug at your heart and I am looking forward to their continuing journey, I can tell it won't be easy but it will be heartwarming. There is only a few authors on my "1-click without blurb reading" list and Brigham Vaughn is one of them.
Trust #2
Original Review February 2016:
I fell in love with Evan when Russ & Stephen met him in Partners and that love only deepened when he became one half of the feature couple of the author's spin-off duology Evan and Jeremy. I will be honest and admit I had my doubts about Jeremy when he was introduced as Stephen's ex, generally exes cause strife wherever they go, but not this ex. Jeremy really begins to heal in Trust but it doesn't come easy and Evan finds it harder to let go of Jeremy and move on when the man pushes him away. I was a little on edge after reading the blurb but knew it was a story I had to read no matter how bumpy the road got and boy was there potholes all over their road. Having grown up around disability and health issues I understood both Jeremy's fears and Evan's hopeful optimism, which only helped the boys when they began to burrow their way into my heart. If you've been reading Miss Vaughn's Equals/Evan and Jeremy series then you can't miss this entry and if you haven't begun yet, well what are you waiting for? I must say that I wouldn't mind seeing minor characters Tod and Chris get their own fairytale journey, *hint, hint*.
RATING:
Summary:
Ashley James and Tucker Lee have been friends for years. They are city boys but long for life on the open trail. During a three-hundred-mile hike from the Southern California desert to the mountains around Big Bear Lake, they make some pretty amazing discoveries.
One of those discoveries is love. A love that has been bubbling below the surface for a very long time.
But love isn’t all they find. They also stumble upon a war—a war being waged by Mother Nature and fought tooth and claw around an epidemic of microbes and fury.
With every creature in sight turning against them, can they survive this battle and still hold on to each other? Or will the most horrifying virus known to man lay waste to more than just wildlife this time?
Will it destroy Ash and Tucker too?
Original Review October 2017:
When Ash and Tuck decide to go for a hiking adventure, there is no half measures when it comes to their devotion to make it fun but they are definitely determined to research it thoroughly, which can only keep them safer, right? There is one thing they forgot and that is nature is not always predictable. Will they survive the journey but more importantly, will their friendship survive when it becomes more?
First of all I just want to say that John Inman is King of Macabre. Holy Hannah Batman! If you doubt that Mother Nature can be frightening I highly suggest you read The Hike because it will keep you on the edge of your seat in ways you never expected. "Edge of your seat" may be a cliché but it's cliché for a reason, when a story grabs you like The Hike did me, you know you're reading something special.
I won't go into the plot too much but I will say that if you think the duo will meet furry and fuzzy little creatures along the way then you are reading the wrong book and the wrong author. Don't get me wrong there is plenty of friendship, love, and heart in this story that will warm your heart but its the anticipation of what is lurking around the next bend in the trail that will keep your page turning(or swiping) finger busy.
I'm just going to say it: if you love Stephen King, well then you'll love John Inman and personally, I will read Inman over King any day. King is good but Inman will take the most mundane and every day situation and turn it into the most frightening scenario imaginable. I am no hiker or camper and frankly after reading The Hike, I'm not sure I want to be 😉 This is definitely going in my re-read and my creepy/freaky library.
RATING:
One of those discoveries is love. A love that has been bubbling below the surface for a very long time.
But love isn’t all they find. They also stumble upon a war—a war being waged by Mother Nature and fought tooth and claw around an epidemic of microbes and fury.
With every creature in sight turning against them, can they survive this battle and still hold on to each other? Or will the most horrifying virus known to man lay waste to more than just wildlife this time?
Will it destroy Ash and Tucker too?
When Ash and Tuck decide to go for a hiking adventure, there is no half measures when it comes to their devotion to make it fun but they are definitely determined to research it thoroughly, which can only keep them safer, right? There is one thing they forgot and that is nature is not always predictable. Will they survive the journey but more importantly, will their friendship survive when it becomes more?
First of all I just want to say that John Inman is King of Macabre. Holy Hannah Batman! If you doubt that Mother Nature can be frightening I highly suggest you read The Hike because it will keep you on the edge of your seat in ways you never expected. "Edge of your seat" may be a cliché but it's cliché for a reason, when a story grabs you like The Hike did me, you know you're reading something special.
I won't go into the plot too much but I will say that if you think the duo will meet furry and fuzzy little creatures along the way then you are reading the wrong book and the wrong author. Don't get me wrong there is plenty of friendship, love, and heart in this story that will warm your heart but its the anticipation of what is lurking around the next bend in the trail that will keep your page turning(or swiping) finger busy.
I'm just going to say it: if you love Stephen King, well then you'll love John Inman and personally, I will read Inman over King any day. King is good but Inman will take the most mundane and every day situation and turn it into the most frightening scenario imaginable. I am no hiker or camper and frankly after reading The Hike, I'm not sure I want to be 😉 This is definitely going in my re-read and my creepy/freaky library.
RATING:
Summary:
Haven Hart #5
The city of Haven Hart rests under the heel of Christopher Manos. He reigns over the most dangerous and deadliest citizens as the most powerful crime boss the city has seen in generations. Yet, for the last five years, the harshest edges of his nature have been tempered by the loving devotion of his husband, Snow, and the nephew Christopher adores like a son. His life is a balance of darkness and light until a birthday trip for his nephew, Simon, is interrupted by a hail of bullets and explosions, threatening to destroy it all.
Snow has found a home, a family, and the love of one of Haven Hart’s most powerful men. When Christopher and Simon are kidnapped, Snow risks everything to find his family. Utilizing specialized skills he learned on the streets and the finer points of running a city from his crime boss husband, Snow takes on roles he never dreamed he would--protector, leader, and avenger. No one threatens his family and lives. Experienced enough to know he can’t do this alone, Snow calls in every favor he is owed, risking his life promising favors in return, all to save his family and the man he loves.
The sins of the Manos crime family are escaping the dark recesses of the past and threatening the bright future of everything Snow and Christopher have built. Yet, even with the help of some unlikely and uniquely dangerous people, Snow finds himself wondering if their efforts will be enough to save the two most important people in his life. Will the loving family Snow has finally found be taken from him forever?
Snow has found a home, a family, and the love of one of Haven Hart’s most powerful men. When Christopher and Simon are kidnapped, Snow risks everything to find his family. Utilizing specialized skills he learned on the streets and the finer points of running a city from his crime boss husband, Snow takes on roles he never dreamed he would--protector, leader, and avenger. No one threatens his family and lives. Experienced enough to know he can’t do this alone, Snow calls in every favor he is owed, risking his life promising favors in return, all to save his family and the man he loves.
The sins of the Manos crime family are escaping the dark recesses of the past and threatening the bright future of everything Snow and Christopher have built. Yet, even with the help of some unlikely and uniquely dangerous people, Snow finds himself wondering if their efforts will be enough to save the two most important people in his life. Will the loving family Snow has finally found be taken from him forever?
What can I say about the story that I didn't already cover in my original review? Nothing! It's still just as beautiful and engaging as originally. So I think I'll just talk about the narrators, Joel Leslie and Philip Alces. There again, what can I say that I haven't touched on in the first 4 audio versions of Haven Hart? Nothing! They bring life not only to Snow and Christopher but to all the characters, good guys and bad guys. Between Davidson King's visual storytelling style and Leslie & Alces narration, you can almost see the story unfold in front of you. I should add that although there have been bits & pieces from each entry that has carried over, I found Snow Storm to be the first one that really shows everything starting to come together to form the "big picture", so definitely read/listen to Haven Hart Universe in order.
Original ebook Review April Book of the Month 2019:
Never underestimate Snow. The mother nature kind looks light and fluffy but can be anything but, well Davidson King's Snow on the surface is light, fluffy, and a bit of pushover(at least what a certain bad guy thinks) but just like Mother Nature's white stuff, Snow Manos can be deadly. Let's be honest, there are times when its best if we get underestimated and Snow Storm is a prime example of just that. Never threaten the Manos family, Snow may not be the head of the family but he is the head's husband and that makes him even more of a danger to cross.
Not sure which factor I loved most: Snow being underestimated or that Christopher knows his husband so perfectly he knew exactly what to say to him on the phone to get the ball rolling? Talk about a perfect pair and its this knowledge and chemistry that will always put Snow and Christopher on the top of my favorite Haven Hart couples.
Snow is such an amazingly creative fun, flirty, and fabulous character which in my honest opinion defines exactly what Haven Hart is all about, both the city and the series. Don't get me wrong, Haven Hart Universe is not all rainbows and unicorns kind of rom-com happy happy. Oh no, it is anything but because there is danger always lurking and Snow Storm is the best example of that because Snow Manos brings happiness to everyone he meets but its not all he brings to the table. With this series entry you realize that he really is what brings everyone together, he is the cement that makes the bricks into a home, he is the Force that binds the Jedi together, and he is the love that makes the Manos and Black Organizations family(even if neither Christopher nor Black want to admit that is what they've become since meeting Snow😉😉).
Speaking of Christopher, he is just as dangerously yummy as always. His love for his nephew, Simon, has been blatantly obvious from the very minute Simon brought Snow home with him way back in book 1, Snow Falling, and if you hadn't already noticed that Christopher has become more than just a father figure you will clearly see he(and Snow) have become dads to the growing boy. I already mentioned how perfectly attuned Christopher is with Snow by knowing what clues to give his husband to help find them so I'll just add that they may be well established couple but their passion for each other is still off the charts that will fry your e-reader if you're not careful.
As for the secondary characters, well has there ever really been any "secondary" characters in this series? No because they all serve a purpose whether they get their own story or not, not a single one can be labeled "page filler", each one brings a needed element to the journey. It is always nice to see where other couples are once they've had their story begun, the author letting her readers know there is still life after they get their HEA.
Snow Storm once again showcases Davidson King's knack for storytelling, not just a writer but a true storyteller. She creates not only characters to read and plots to unravel but a whole community to discover and experience. If you haven't been reading Haven Hart Universe yet, I highly recommend doing so because you are certainly missing out on quite a ride.
One final note: if you are wondering if this is a series best read in order than I have to say yes. Sure each one features a new couple, well Snow Storm revisits Snow & Christopher from book 1 but each entry does have its own central plot so I suppose technically each one is a standalone but I have to recommend reading in order. The characters, the friendships, the favors Snow cashes in, these factors just flow better knowing each pairings' journey. If reading 5 books seems daunting, don't worry because the time will fly by and before you know it, you'll be kicking yourself for not savoring the moments but you just get so sucked in that you can't put them down. I should probably add that for the first time EVER, I did a re-read in less than 2 weeks after my initial read and if that doesn't express how amazing Snow Storm is then I'm not sure what does.
RATING:
Summary:
Josh has stepped back into the closet for a guy, but how long can he stay there?
Life in a college town suits Josh Cassidy. He has good friends and neighbors, and the bookshop café he runs with his family is thriving. As the winter holidays begin, Josh finds himself enamored with police officer Alex Curiel, an old friend who has recently moved back to town. The trouble is, Alex isn’t ready for the world to know he’s attracted to men.
At Alex’s request, Josh agrees to closet their relationship, though the secrecy quickly becomes a burden. When Josh realizes he is falling for Alex, his ability to hide his feelings from the world begins to slip, and he’s forced to decide if love is enough to keep him hiding behind closed doors.
A Hometown Holiday is a 21.5K sex-buddies-to-lovers MM novella. It features a bookshop owner with a fondness for jazz music, a closeted cop who could be Mr. Right if only he’d give himself a chance, and the warm, fuzzy HEA that both guys deserve.
Josh Cassidy is happy and thriving in his college town family owned bookshop cafe and he has been out and proud since high school. After reconnecting with old friend, Alex Curiel, a cop who recently returned he has potentially found love. Unfortunately, Alex is not out and asks Josh to keep their new relationship quiet. Will Josh be able to live in the relationship closet while he waits for Alex to come to terms with telling people or is there no hope this holiday?
Another absolutely lovely holiday novella that entertains. One asks themselves just how many holiday romances can one person read? I don't have an answer because I've been reading them now for a solid month and not tired of the holiday-spirit-filled pages yet. As for A Hometown Holiday by K Evan Coles? Holiday romantic yumminess from beginning to end that is an even blend of humor, drama, and romance. I wouldn't call Hometown a rom-com because most of the humor comes between Josh and his sister that adds an extra layer of holiday cheer.
Keep in mind that as a forty-five year old woman in 2018 I am speaking as an ally and friend not personal experience. Society has come a long way towards acceptance when it comes to loving who we want but there is still a ways to go and that is where Alex comes in. I think what I loved most about K Evan Coles story is that it is more about Alex's fears of his family accepting him and not that he knows where the truth will lead. When we think of holiday romances we don't often think of fear, we think of spirit, helping each other, and Tiny Tim saying "God Bless Us, Everyone" but the truth is that fear is with a person every day and for some the holiday just magnifies that. It is easy for me to say how I wanted to shake Alex and scream "Just come clean, the 'what ifs' are worse than the 'not knowings' you're not giving your loved ones enough credit" but that isn't how fear works. The "what ifs" often outweigh the "not knowings" in our own hearts.
Following Josh and Alex's holiday relationship journey is an absolute treat that makes this holiday short novella a lesson in love, acceptance, and discovering that bit of happiness we all deserve. Miss Coles is definitely well on her storytelling way and A Hometown Holiday is not only a must read this holiday season but it is a definite must for anytime of year.
Another absolutely lovely holiday novella that entertains. One asks themselves just how many holiday romances can one person read? I don't have an answer because I've been reading them now for a solid month and not tired of the holiday-spirit-filled pages yet. As for A Hometown Holiday by K Evan Coles? Holiday romantic yumminess from beginning to end that is an even blend of humor, drama, and romance. I wouldn't call Hometown a rom-com because most of the humor comes between Josh and his sister that adds an extra layer of holiday cheer.
Keep in mind that as a forty-five year old woman in 2018 I am speaking as an ally and friend not personal experience. Society has come a long way towards acceptance when it comes to loving who we want but there is still a ways to go and that is where Alex comes in. I think what I loved most about K Evan Coles story is that it is more about Alex's fears of his family accepting him and not that he knows where the truth will lead. When we think of holiday romances we don't often think of fear, we think of spirit, helping each other, and Tiny Tim saying "God Bless Us, Everyone" but the truth is that fear is with a person every day and for some the holiday just magnifies that. It is easy for me to say how I wanted to shake Alex and scream "Just come clean, the 'what ifs' are worse than the 'not knowings' you're not giving your loved ones enough credit" but that isn't how fear works. The "what ifs" often outweigh the "not knowings" in our own hearts.
Following Josh and Alex's holiday relationship journey is an absolute treat that makes this holiday short novella a lesson in love, acceptance, and discovering that bit of happiness we all deserve. Miss Coles is definitely well on her storytelling way and A Hometown Holiday is not only a must read this holiday season but it is a definite must for anytime of year.
RATING:
Summary:
Cambridge Fellows Mysteries #3
Cambridge, 1906.
On the very day Jonty Stewart proposes that he and Orlando Coppersmith move in together, Fate trips them up. Rather, it trips Orlando, sending him down a flight of stairs and leaving him with an injury that erases his memory. Instead of taking the next step in their relationship, they’re back to square one. It’s bad enough that Orlando doesn’t remember being intimate with Jonty—he doesn’t remember Jonty at all.
Back inside the introverted, sexually innocent shell he inhabited before he met Jonty, Orlando is faced with two puzzles. Not only does he need to recover the lost pieces of his past, he’s also been tasked by the Master to solve a four-hundred-year-old murder before the end of term. The college’s reputation is riding on it.
Crushed that his lover doesn’t remember him, Jonty puts aside his grief to help decode old documents for clues to the murder. But a greater mystery remains—one involving the human heart.
To solve it, Orlando must hear the truth about himself—even if it means he may not fall in love with Jonty the second time around…
On the very day Jonty Stewart proposes that he and Orlando Coppersmith move in together, Fate trips them up. Rather, it trips Orlando, sending him down a flight of stairs and leaving him with an injury that erases his memory. Instead of taking the next step in their relationship, they’re back to square one. It’s bad enough that Orlando doesn’t remember being intimate with Jonty—he doesn’t remember Jonty at all.
Back inside the introverted, sexually innocent shell he inhabited before he met Jonty, Orlando is faced with two puzzles. Not only does he need to recover the lost pieces of his past, he’s also been tasked by the Master to solve a four-hundred-year-old murder before the end of term. The college’s reputation is riding on it.
Crushed that his lover doesn’t remember him, Jonty puts aside his grief to help decode old documents for clues to the murder. But a greater mystery remains—one involving the human heart.
To solve it, Orlando must hear the truth about himself—even if it means he may not fall in love with Jonty the second time around…
Re-Read Review July 2016:
My heart still broke for Jonty and Orlando when Orlando took his fall, even knowing the hows and whys it still tore at me. I love this series even more the second time around.
Original Review from August 2014:
After reading the first chapter in this entry, my heart was breaking for both Jonty and Orlando. For Orlando, because he was missing the past year of his life, for Jonty, because he didn't know if his lover would ever be his again. My heart pounded throughout the story wondering just how that part of the tale would work itself out. As for the mystery put before the pair, I knew they would be able to come to the truth of the historic debate but when solving a centuries old caper would proof ever be able to be definitive? You'll just have to read to find out. Now I'm off to read book 4: Lessons in Power.
RATING:
Summary:
Harrisburg Railers #7
Tennant Rowe has it all, a boyfriend he adores, a loving family, and a career on the rise. He’s sure of his place in the world, and the future can only get brighter. Then one night, in a flash of skates and sticks, life changes forever. Getting back on the ice is Ten’s priority, and experts tell him that it’s just a matter of time.
Jared watches his lover fall in more ways than one, and when tragedy strikes, even the strongest of relationships are tested. Ten is strong, but Jared has to be stronger to help the man who holds his heart. Only, he has to admit that maybe it isn’t just him who can make Ten whole again.
Jared and Ten’s love is forever, but the rocky path to the romantic Christmas Jared had planned may be hard to travel.
When Tennant Rowe finds himself injured with a long road ahead to recovery and regaining his life on the ice, it is going to take everything he has to get there, including patience. Jared Madsen watches the man he loves battle towards recovery and he realizes that time and patience is needed from everyone but does he have strength to standby and let Ten do this while everyone turns to him for answers without breaking himself? Can the romantic Christmas Jared has in mind help heal both mens' minds?
Who doesn't love a holiday novella in one of their favorite series? When I heard that RJ Scott & VL Locey was going to do a Christmas novella in the Harrisburg Railers I knew it would be a winner, how can it not with them at the helm? Which means I went in with high expectations and that isn't always a good thing when it comes to art and entertainment, you don't want to start something expecting a certain level and then if it doesn't match your anticipation then suddenly you feel disappointed or let down either in the artists or yourself. WELL! I need not have worried because there wasn't an ounce of disappointment or let down in sight! Nope, Neutral Zone is all good in all ways, a definite win-win.
I won't reveal anything about the fight Ten has to come back or what put him in that position to begin with for those who are reading my review and haven't yet read Goal Line(Harrisburg Railers #6) or Ryker, the first in the authors' spin-off series, Owatonna U. I will say that Ten is still the tenacious and spirited young man we first met in Changing Lines and Jared is still the coach who loves him. They may find themselves on a path that neither saw coming but at the heart it hasn't changed them, its just made certain things a bit more clear.
One thing I do want to mention on a personal note, as someone who was at my mom's bedside everyday when she was in the hospital for the better part of 8 months back in 2007, the frustrations and inner turmoil that both Ten and Jared deal with are written pretty spot on and done so with respect that can often be overlooked or over-dramatized in fiction and for that I want to say a huge "Thank You" to RJ Scott and VL Locey.
We get to see many of the series favorites pop up here and there and in doing so if you haven't already guessed by this point you will now, the Railers are more than just a team they are a family. The fact that this is a Christmas novella only heightens the love. So much goodness from beginning to end. For those who have not read Harrisburg Railers from book one, I highly recommend starting from the beginning. Will you enjoy Neutral Zone if you just start with this holiday tale? Of course. Will you be lost? Probably not. Will you be missing huge entertaining chunks? Definitely. For the most part each entry is a "separate" tale because they are different pairings but as I said, the Railers are a family not just a team so the series is connected by more than just playing for the same hockey team.
RATING:
Trust the Connection by Brigham Vaughn
Jeremy threw up twice on the trip home: once while he was waiting for a cab, then again outside of his apartment. He wasn’t sure if it was from the pain in his thigh, the splitting headache, or the devastated look on Evan’s face. By the time his shaking hands fit his key in the lock, he was close to collapsing, and he popped a small handful of pills before he dropped onto the couch as carefully as he could, unable to make it to his bed. He lay there, head swimming, as the meds worked their way through his system. A blinding wave of pain and nausea washed over him, and he had time for one last bitter moment of regret before he passed out, the black unconsciousness a welcome relief.
He awoke late the following evening, head still pounding, his stomach empty, and puke on the floor beside the couch. He stared down at it, disgusted with himself. The pain and the pills had wiped out some of the memories of the night before, but not all of them. Not enough. He could still picture Evan’s heartbroken face, and for a moment, he regretted that he’d apparently woken up long enough to roll over and throw up. Maybe it would have been better if he’d choked on his own vomit and died. A disgusting end to a worthless life. Who knew how long it would have taken before someone came to check on him. He supposed someone from work would come by if he didn’t come in or answer calls after a few days though.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and groaned when he realized he had missed work. Hadn’t called in either, which was a major mark against him that was going in his file. Goddamn it. Angry with himself, he sat up and grabbed the nearest thing that wasn’t his phone—an empty cup—and threw it against the wall. The shatter of glass against the wall was less satisfying than he’d hoped, and it only served to make the throbbing in his skull worse. He groaned and dropped his head into his hands.
His phone buzzed, reminding him the battery needed to be charged, and his heart clenched at the text and voicemail notifications. Some were from work, but most were from Evan. To his surprise, none of them were Evan apologizing or begging him for another chance, just Evan trying to make sure he was okay with an ever-increasing amount of desperation.
Please let me know you made it home okay.
Jeremy, I’m worried; did you make it home?
I’m not asking to be friends. Just tell me you’re okay.
And the final one that simply said, Please don’t make me worry like this.
A wave of guilt hit him as he thought about his earlier death wish. What if it had been Evan who found him dead, or what if Jeremy’s body had ended up at the funeral home where Evan worked? It would have destroyed Evan, and Jeremy had no doubt he would have blamed himself. He had to be sick with worry right now, and Jeremy had promised himself he’d never hurt Evan again. He’d never been good at making promises though, had he? And even worse at following through with them.
God, I’m such an asshole, he thought bitterly.
He awoke late the following evening, head still pounding, his stomach empty, and puke on the floor beside the couch. He stared down at it, disgusted with himself. The pain and the pills had wiped out some of the memories of the night before, but not all of them. Not enough. He could still picture Evan’s heartbroken face, and for a moment, he regretted that he’d apparently woken up long enough to roll over and throw up. Maybe it would have been better if he’d choked on his own vomit and died. A disgusting end to a worthless life. Who knew how long it would have taken before someone came to check on him. He supposed someone from work would come by if he didn’t come in or answer calls after a few days though.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and groaned when he realized he had missed work. Hadn’t called in either, which was a major mark against him that was going in his file. Goddamn it. Angry with himself, he sat up and grabbed the nearest thing that wasn’t his phone—an empty cup—and threw it against the wall. The shatter of glass against the wall was less satisfying than he’d hoped, and it only served to make the throbbing in his skull worse. He groaned and dropped his head into his hands.
Please let me know you made it home okay.
Jeremy, I’m worried; did you make it home?
I’m not asking to be friends. Just tell me you’re okay.
And the final one that simply said, Please don’t make me worry like this.
A wave of guilt hit him as he thought about his earlier death wish. What if it had been Evan who found him dead, or what if Jeremy’s body had ended up at the funeral home where Evan worked? It would have destroyed Evan, and Jeremy had no doubt he would have blamed himself. He had to be sick with worry right now, and Jeremy had promised himself he’d never hurt Evan again. He’d never been good at making promises though, had he? And even worse at following through with them.
God, I’m such an asshole, he thought bitterly.
The Hike by John Inman
Chapter One
I STARED at the pile of shiny new stuff in the trunk of my car, then tore my eyes away long enough to gaze—for the umpteenth time—at the two-foot-long sales receipt in my hand.
“Ahem,” I said. “Did we really just spend $637? I mean, seriously?”
“And that’s just the beginning,” drawled Tuck, who was also standing there staring into my trunk. “We have to come back tomorrow to choose sleeping bags and pick up our two three-season tents, which they didn’t have in stock. That’s another $500 and change. Then we have to buy enough supplies to keep ourselves fed for three weeks, not to mention the loss of wages we’ll suffer heading off into the bush and trying to stay alive for damn near a month, or at least long enough to come back and brag to everybody how we bravely faced nature head-on, fighting off wolves and hopping over rattlesnakes every five feet, and at the same time trying not to fall victim to the Zika virus after being stabbed by some asshole mosquito who flew all the way up from Brazil for the sole purpose of expanding his diet by chowing down on us.”
“Lord, Tuck,” I said. “How you do blather on. And just so you know, there’s probably not a wild wolf anywhere this side of Montana.”
“Thank God for that. But what about mountain lions? They scare the poop out of me.”
I reached into the trunk and pulled out a brand-new garden trowel with a seven-dollar price tag on it. “Which is why we bought this,” I preached. “Never forget the trail hiker’s sacred motto: Leave Nothing Behind. Even poop needs to be buried. Remember?”
Tuck blessed me with a vaudevillian shudder. “Yes, I remember, and I’m still horrendously appalled by the idea.”
We stared down yet again at the mound of very expensive stuff crammed into the trunk of my car. Two CamelBaks that held three liters of drinking water each, pots and pans, a skillet, tin plates and flatware, two tiny Coleman lanterns, four walking sticks, new boots, new hiking shorts, several packs of two-ply socks to prevent blisters, sunhats, rain gear, sunblock, insect repellants, leather anklets to guard against snakebite, boxes of baby wipes for bathing, a bag of dog food, a water filtration system, a couple of throwaway cameras, a book on how not to get killed by wildlife on the trail, and a quart of scotch (which I bought in case we almost get killed by wildlife on the trail and need something to calm our nerves afterward). And we still, as Tuck said, had to come back tomorrow and purchase everything else we needed for the trip. In spite of all this, we were having the time of our lives. Go figure.
We slowly swiveled our heads around to stare at each other. Even more slowly, two grins started spreading across our faces. Tuck’s eyes crinkled merrily. My mouth fell open around a gaping smile. We grabbed hands.
“We’re going camping!” we screamed in unison.
Some butch-looking guy in biker boots and a lumberjack shirt, balancing a brand-new kayak on his head, ogled us askance as we stood there in the REI parking lot jumping up and down like a couple of Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders. All we needed were pom-poms and tits. Tucker and I ignored the guy. We’ve been stared at before, and for much more egregious offenses. This Paul Bunyan wannabe barely made a blip on our radar.
Maybe this is the point in the story where I should introduce myself. My name is Ashley James. Everybody calls me Ash. My fellow cheerleader is Tucker Lee. Everybody calls him Tuck. He’s my best friend in this cold, cruel world, and not too long ago, by some weird mixture of hormones and alcohol, he became an unexpected bedmate as well.
That sort of sneaked up on us, don’t think it didn’t. Being bedmates, I mean. There we were, toddling along since high school, best chums, each knowing the other was gay but never really acting on that knowledge until one day a few months ago when we drank too much tequila in a dive in Tijuana and woke up the next morning snuggled up naked in a bed inside a Motel 6 about fifty feet north of the US/Mexican border with our clothes strewn everywhere, my ass hurting that good kind of hurt, some very enjoyable memories swirling around inside my head, and Tuck snoring and drooling against my shoulder while one of my hands rested on his furry butt and my other hand cupped the back of his neck, holding him close.
It was a funny thing too. Tuck isn’t my type. I like tall, smooth-skinned, eel-thin guys with brooding eyes and big feet. Tuck isn’t eely at all. In fact, he’s shorter than me and frankly husky. Sort of stocky, you know? He also has a fuzzy chest. Well, no, he’s fuzzy everywhere, except on the top of his head, where with him at the ripe old age of twenty-five, his brown hair is already receding. And his shoes are a size seven and a half. Ballerina feet.
So here I am all of a sudden amorously attracted to my best friend—the last guy I should be attracted to if you judge me by past exploits. Me, the guy who rarely returns calls after one hookup, now can’t seem to be around this husky, short, small-footed, fuzzy best friend enough.
As if all this isn’t truly irksome, I’m also a bit disturbed by the fact that every time Tuck and I get together for some reason or other, which is almost daily, we expend a great deal of energy pretending that night in Tijuana never happened. Not once has Tuck mentioned it. And since he hasn’t mentioned it, neither have I. Now how do you suppose that makes me feel?
By the way, in case you’re wondering, like Tuck, I’m also twenty-five. I stand an even six feet, have reddish-blond hair, a smooth torso—which is in pretty good shape if I say so myself—and I like to surf and jog, work out at my gym, and run an occasional marathon. Tucker likes to sit on his ass and read books. I mean, what the hell kind of a guy does that?
But all that is another story altogether. Right now we’re in the REI parking lot, jumping up and down like morons, and I’m telling myself not to pull Tuck into a bone-crushing hug for the sole purpose of sticking my tongue down his throat.
Yep. I’ve got it bad. And Tuck doesn’t seem to care at all. Although he is excited about the camping trip; I’ll give him that.
He slammed the trunk shut. We were still beaming at each other. If Tuck had any inkling of the thoughts going through my head about how cute I thought he looked standing there, he didn’t let on. He merely reached up and flicked a speck of dust off my shoulder.
“Where to now, bwana? Lunch?”
“Sure,” I said. “Lunch.”
“How about Lettuce Entertain You.”
“That place that serves nothing but salad? Are you nuts? I need grease. I need cheese. I need great flat wheels of dough. I need pizza.”
He frowned but said, “Okay.”
So off we went.
At our favorite wood-fired pizza joint in downtown San Diego, Tuck prissily nibbled away at a single slice while I consumed six slices in the same span of time.
“What the heck is that all about?” I asked, pointing at his empty plate.
Tuck had the cuteness to blush. “I’m trying to lose weight. I look fat next to you.”
Boy, did I have an answer for that. I wanted to say, “Next to me, you look sexy as hell naked and hungover and humping my leg. Period. All other considerations are moot.” But I didn’t. What I said was “What brought this on?”
He blushed redder and shrugged.
I tried harder. “You weigh the same as I do, Tuck.”
“But you’re six inches taller.”
“Okay, but your dick is bigger.”
A smile, finally. “Yeah,” he said. “There is that.”
We were sitting at an outside table with the whole of downtown traipsing past. I felt the weight of his foot against mine under the table. Tuck didn’t seem to notice, but I did. Disconcerted by how much I noticed, I snagged another slice of pizza from the box between us while a crocodile of grade-schoolers marched past single file on their way to kiddy time at the San Diego Public Library, all the while casting envious glances at our pizza, or what was left of it. Don’t they ever feed those kids?
For about the gazillionth time, I opened my mouth to ask if Tuck remembered that night in TJ at all, then chickened out and kept right on eating. I stared at his strong, meaty hand resting on the table in front of me. It had a brush of dark hair sweeping across the back and also a sprinkling of hair adorning the skin between every single knuckle. How sexy is that? I seemed to remember that very hand doing things to me under the covers in that room at the Motel 6 that could get you strung up by your neck from a baobab tree and stoned to death on most of the African continent.
Again I opened my mouth to bare the elephant in the room (or the elephant in the street-front café) but chickened out a second time.
“Should we pack a snakebite kit?” Tuck asked out of the blue.
“We’ll ask the REI guy tomorrow when we pick up the tents.”
“How about one of those foghorn things to scare off the wildlife?”
“Are you expecting an errant T. rex to chase us down the trail?”
“Black bears,” he said. “And don’t tell me there aren’t any of those within a thousand miles, because I know there are.”
“The only bear I expect to see on the trail is you, Tuck.”
At that he coughed up a wry chuckle. “Am I a bear?”
“You’re hairy from the bottoms of your feet to the top of your head.” I glanced at his receding hairline and amended my statement. “Almost. So yes, that makes you a bear.”
I don’t know if it was the way I was looking at him or because he suddenly entertained an unexpected flashback concerning our one and only night of carnal explorations just north of the Mexican border, but Tuck blushed again.
He tried to cover it up by wiping a napkin over his forehead. “It’s hot out here.”
“And getting hotter by the minute,” I said before I could stop myself.
Maybe because he didn’t know what else to say, Tuck grunted, “Fuck it,” grabbed the last slice of pizza out of the box, and poked it into his mouth with one of those hairy-knuckled fingers I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off of. Seeing me watching him, he smiled. It was a good smile too. Very expansive.
“Wow,” I said, honestly startled. “You’ve got dimples.”
Tuck stopped chewing and stared at me. As soon as he could swallow the glob of pizza crust in his mouth without choking to death, he said, “I’ve always had dimples, Ash. You’ve known me for ten years and you never knew I had dimples?”
I came this close to reaching out and stroking his hand, but at the last moment I didn’t. God knows what sort of can of worms that would have opened up. I did, however, allow myself to take a teeny tiny stab at flirting. “Your dimples are nice,” I said. “Very cute.”
Tuck stared at me. His foot nudged mine beneath the table. An accident? He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then opened it again, but still no sound came out. Finally he said, “We’d better go,” and after checking the bill the waitress had left on the table, he slipped a twenty under it and scraped his chair back so he could stand.
“Let me pay the bill,” I offered.
“Too late. It’s paid.”
“Let me give you half.”
“Stop it,” Tuck said with a dour expression that came out of nowhere.
“What’s wrong?” I said, more hurt by that look on his face than I wanted to admit. “What did I say?”
Tuck shook his head, tapped his pockets to make sure he had his wallet and cell phone and everything else people lug around with them these days, then cast his eyes toward the gate in the fence that led out onto the street.
“You ready to go, Ash? I need to get home and walk Hannah.”
“I guess,” I said. Standing, I did my own pocket patting routine, then followed Tuck as he weaved his way between the tables and headed out into the throng of noontime pedestrians milling back and forth along Broadway.
Since we’d arrived in my car, we headed for the high-rise parking structure where I’d parked. By the time we got there, the awkward moment had passed, and we were joking and kidding around, getting excited all over again about our upcoming hiking trip.
“Are we really taking the dogs?” I asked.
“Hannah and Cho? Hell yes. What else are we going to do with them? They’ll love being in the desert with us.”
Cho is my beagle, named for Margaret Cho. Hannah is Tuck’s Irish setter, named for his old-maid aunt, who died of a fatal bowel blockage twelve years prior. Tuck wasn’t particularly imaginative when it came to naming his pets. Somehow they always ended up being named after a dead relative who had died in some bizarre fashion, which Tuck’s family seemed to be prone to. Poor bastards.
Once settled in the car, I cranked up the engine, but before I could pull out of the slot, Tuck’s hand shot across the space between us and landed lightly on my arm, like a bird.
“We could save money by using one tent on the trip instead of two,” he said softly.
When I turned to him, our eyes met in the way I had been wanting them to meet for a very long time. “That would save us a lot of money,” I said.
For just an instant, his warm fingers brushed through the hair on my forearm, as if he was testing the way it felt. He was still staring at my face, our eyes remaining pretty much locked together.
With the flash of one tiny dimple, he said, “Plus, I’m a city boy. I’ll feel safer having you close.”
My voice wasn’t much more than a squeak. “Really? You’ll feel safer?”
His other dimple made a brief appearance. “Yeah, Ash. I will.”
“Uh, just so you know, I’m a city boy too. I’ll probably be worthless in the wild.”
“I’ll feel safer anyway.”
“Oh, well good, then, Tuck. I want you to feel safe.” I gave him a smile and that was that.
After a tick, he removed his hand from my arm and turned to stare through the windshield while dragging his seat belt over his chest and clipping it snug across his lap. For some reason, he was whistling.
I put the car in gear and started steering it through the confusing tangle of ramps and switchbacks, seeking the exit to the parking structure, shooting off this way and that like a lab mouse working his way out of a maze. Tucker tuned my radio to a country music station, which he knew I hated, and left us to be blatted with an old Merle Haggard hit that set my teeth on edge.
Not that I much minded at the moment.
“I’ll feel safer having you close,” Tuck had said.
“I want you to feel safe,” I’d answered back.
All the way home, I chewed on my lower lip, wondering what the two of us really meant by that little exchange, and what it would be like for the two of us to sleep in the same tent on the trail. Would we be too tired to do anything? Did he even want to do anything? Tough questions, but like I said, all I could do was wonder.
And all the time I was wondering, Tuck kept right on whistling.
Snow Storm by Davidson King
Christopher
“You settled that perfectly.” His voice was like a purr, and suddenly, I realized I was going to be very late for my meeting. “It’s like you’re some boss or something, making the hard calls.” He said the word hard with a moan and I knew if I turned around, he’d be stripping off his clothes.
“Snow…” I tried for a warning tone, but it was Snow. He couldn’t be deterred.
“You’re already going to be late.” His hands pressed against my back. “And you’re already going to be naked in a second.” He reached around my waist and began pulling my belt buckle.
“What’s a little more lateness, hmm?”
Resistance was futile, so I turned in his arms and smiled at the cheeky, adorable man I loved more than the air I breathed.
“You argue a good case, Mr. Manos, so make me later.”
He chuckled as he pushed me onto the bed, straddling me in all his flour and sugar-covered glory.
I relished in the feel of his mouth over my heated skin, his tongue gliding along my flesh like a paint brush. With my shirt open and my cock freed from the confines of my pants, I moaned as he made me later.
“You settled that perfectly.” His voice was like a purr, and suddenly, I realized I was going to be very late for my meeting. “It’s like you’re some boss or something, making the hard calls.” He said the word hard with a moan and I knew if I turned around, he’d be stripping off his clothes.
“Snow…” I tried for a warning tone, but it was Snow. He couldn’t be deterred.
“You’re already going to be late.” His hands pressed against my back. “And you’re already going to be naked in a second.” He reached around my waist and began pulling my belt buckle.
Resistance was futile, so I turned in his arms and smiled at the cheeky, adorable man I loved more than the air I breathed.
“You argue a good case, Mr. Manos, so make me later.”
He chuckled as he pushed me onto the bed, straddling me in all his flour and sugar-covered glory.
I relished in the feel of his mouth over my heated skin, his tongue gliding along my flesh like a paint brush. With my shirt open and my cock freed from the confines of my pants, I moaned as he made me later.
A Hometown Holiday by K Evan Coles
After work, Josh walked four blocks down Pleasant Street to Jamison’s Pub. He smiled as he imagined his sister’s knowing look, especially after he found Alex at the bar talking with Matt, who was pouring drinks for the after-work and -school crowd. Alex glanced up at Josh’s approach and his smile seemed to light the room.
“Hey, Josh.” Matt set his hands on the bar top. “Alex was just telling me that you’ve been making him listen to your old man music.”
Alex grimaced. “I never called it old man music.”
“No, I did,” Matt countered.
“And I said that I didn’t mind listening to it,” Alex said. “A roommate of mine in college liked jazz.”
“Then your roommate had crap taste in music, too.” Matt moved to pour a pint of Josh’s favorite ale. “Listen, man. Josh and I met on the first day of kindergarten. He’s always been a scrawny, ginger-headed fuckface who listens to oldies and worships the Rat Pack.”
Josh shrugged out of his coat and pulled up a stool. “Now you’re just making shit up. I didn’t start listening to jazz until middle school and I’ve never worshipped the Rat Pack. I’m not even scrawny anymore. It’s not my fault you can’t see past Coldplay and Radiohead. Both bands I like, by the way,” he said to Alex.
Matt made an exasperated sound. “And you wonder why you’re still single.”
“Some people like a little variety.” Josh accepted the pint Matt handed him with a smile. “And one of these days, the right man is going to figure out that I know what I’m talking about when it comes to the old man music. Now shut up and give me a menu, please, because I feel the urge to eat myself into a food coma.”
Matt slapped some menus down before he moved away to take another order, and Alex eyed Josh with a grin.
“The right man, huh?”
Josh smiled. “It could happen. Sorry I was late.”
“I should hope so. Matt started harassing me the minute I set foot in the door, and I’m so hungry I could eat my own hand.”
“Oh, shit.” Josh laughed. “Well, that’s easy enough to fix. How about we split an order of poutine? Would that make you happy?”
“Yes, it would.” Alex’s eyes gleamed. He loved the decadent combination of French fried potatoes, brown gravy, and cheese curds. “But I thought you weren’t a fan?”
“It’s growing on me. Besides, the look on your face every time you eat it makes up for the weird, funky cheese.”
“Okay then, poutine to start.” Alex laughed and ran a hand over his chin. “I sort of dig your music, you know, no matter what Matt says. It’s wild and beautiful.” He dropped the hand to his beer glass and brushed his knuckles against Josh’s. “Like you. You’re beautiful,” he murmured.
For a moment, Josh forgot where they were. He forgot that he and Alex were keeping a secret, and were far more than friends behind closed doors. His cheeks flushed, his heart beat a little faster, and he simply admired Alex’s handsome face.
“You’re the beautiful one,” he said, voice quiet.
They continued like that while they ate—flirting while pretending they were not, almost touching but never quite daring—and Josh’s desire burned hotter with every minute. After dinner, the short drive from the pub to Josh’s house seemed to take forever, and the front door had hardly closed behind them before they pounced on each other.
“Hey, Josh.” Matt set his hands on the bar top. “Alex was just telling me that you’ve been making him listen to your old man music.”
Alex grimaced. “I never called it old man music.”
“No, I did,” Matt countered.
“And I said that I didn’t mind listening to it,” Alex said. “A roommate of mine in college liked jazz.”
“Then your roommate had crap taste in music, too.” Matt moved to pour a pint of Josh’s favorite ale. “Listen, man. Josh and I met on the first day of kindergarten. He’s always been a scrawny, ginger-headed fuckface who listens to oldies and worships the Rat Pack.”
Josh shrugged out of his coat and pulled up a stool. “Now you’re just making shit up. I didn’t start listening to jazz until middle school and I’ve never worshipped the Rat Pack. I’m not even scrawny anymore. It’s not my fault you can’t see past Coldplay and Radiohead. Both bands I like, by the way,” he said to Alex.
Matt made an exasperated sound. “And you wonder why you’re still single.”
“Some people like a little variety.” Josh accepted the pint Matt handed him with a smile. “And one of these days, the right man is going to figure out that I know what I’m talking about when it comes to the old man music. Now shut up and give me a menu, please, because I feel the urge to eat myself into a food coma.”
Matt slapped some menus down before he moved away to take another order, and Alex eyed Josh with a grin.
“The right man, huh?”
Josh smiled. “It could happen. Sorry I was late.”
“I should hope so. Matt started harassing me the minute I set foot in the door, and I’m so hungry I could eat my own hand.”
“Oh, shit.” Josh laughed. “Well, that’s easy enough to fix. How about we split an order of poutine? Would that make you happy?”
“Yes, it would.” Alex’s eyes gleamed. He loved the decadent combination of French fried potatoes, brown gravy, and cheese curds. “But I thought you weren’t a fan?”
“It’s growing on me. Besides, the look on your face every time you eat it makes up for the weird, funky cheese.”
“Okay then, poutine to start.” Alex laughed and ran a hand over his chin. “I sort of dig your music, you know, no matter what Matt says. It’s wild and beautiful.” He dropped the hand to his beer glass and brushed his knuckles against Josh’s. “Like you. You’re beautiful,” he murmured.
For a moment, Josh forgot where they were. He forgot that he and Alex were keeping a secret, and were far more than friends behind closed doors. His cheeks flushed, his heart beat a little faster, and he simply admired Alex’s handsome face.
“You’re the beautiful one,” he said, voice quiet.
They continued like that while they ate—flirting while pretending they were not, almost touching but never quite daring—and Josh’s desire burned hotter with every minute. After dinner, the short drive from the pub to Josh’s house seemed to take forever, and the front door had hardly closed behind them before they pounced on each other.
Lessons in Discovery by Charlie Cochrane
St. Bride’s College, Cambridge, November 1906
Champagne. A dressed Cromer crab. Strawberries.
How Jonty Stewart could have got hold of strawberries on the fifteenth of November only the angels could say, but there they were on the table along with a jug of cream and a bowl of sugar to indisputably prove their existence. Orlando Coppersmith reached across to take one of the little ruby-like fruits but a sharp slap to his hand stopped him.
“No pudding until firsts are done with, you know that.” Jonty grinned like a schoolboy and heaped crab upon their plates.
“Why all this opulence? I’ve not seen such a lunch in ages.” The bright noontime sun slanted in through the latticed windows of Jonty’s study, the mellow gold stone of St. Bride’s college shining with a warm lustre.
“Do you really not know, or are you teasing me again, in revenge for all the times I’ve teased you?” The blank look on Orlando’s face seemed to show that he really had no recognition of the significance of the date. “It’s exactly a year to the day that I came back to St. Bride’s and so underhandedly stole your chair in the Senior Common Room. Don’t you remember?”
Orlando smiled. “The day is forever etched into my memory. That afternoon was the last time I enjoyed any peace and quiet, for one thing.” A crab claw came flying through the air but he swerved neatly to avoid it. “This champagne is truly extraordinary.”
“Mother sent it, she always has champagne on her wedding anniversaries.” Jonty admired the sunlight-kissed bubbles then took a deep draught. “Do you know, the man who invented this compared it to tasting stars. He was absolutely right.”
Orlando looked at his glass with a degree of suspicion. “Just why did your mother send us champagne?”
“For our anniversary, of course. Do I need to spell it out to you like I spell out As You Like It to my dunderheads of students? She wanted us to have something special today, as she and Papa do.”
The answer didn’t mollify Orlando. He knew that Helena Stewart was aware of exactly what went on between him and her son, but this gift seemed a touch too blatant. He drank it nonetheless, enjoying the food, which he guessed Jonty’s mama had also had a hand in providing.
“Seems appropriate, really—” Jonty had finished his seafood and was ready for more chatter, “—as I often feel like we are a married couple in all but name. Oh, I say, let me slap your back.”
The food and drink had conspired to attempt an attack on Orlando’s lungs and he began to choke. A whack from Jonty’s strong hand dislodged the offending items, enabling him to take several breaths, and another glass of bubbly, to recover. “You feel like we’re married?”
“Of course I do, don’t you?”
“I’ve never thought of it. Still, I guess that marriage of any kind has never really entered my head.” Orlando frowned, having to mull over that common thing, a revolutionary thought from Jonty.
“Consider this. We spend as much time as we can together, we often share a bed, we take holidays with each other, we are absolutely faithful—well I am, I have my suspicions about you and that chap from the college next door—so many things that any respectable married couple would do. It’s only the matter of getting children that makes us different and neither of us have the anatomical requirement to oblige on that score.”
“And we can’t take the vows, Jonty, the marriage vows. No respectability for us.” Orlando knew it galled his lover, not being able to walk hand in hand together along the river, never to be able to dance together or show any untoward display of affection. Perhaps one day the world would be a more understanding place, but not now.
“Bit of a shame, if you think about it, because we live by them. ‘For better or worse, cleaving only to one another’ and all that. Think we might do a rather better job of it than some of my father’s friends.” Jonty sighed, refilled their glasses and ushered his guest from the table to the deep armchairs before the fireplace. “Such a shame that I can’t show everyone how much you mean to me.”
Orlando’s chest swelled with pride. He knew exactly how much they loved each other, and couldn’t help but bask in the glow every time Jonty said something like this. He reached for Jonty’s hand. “You mean the world to me, too.”
Jonty looked at him as if he was making absolutely sure of what he was about to say, which wasn’t a usual Stewart trait. “The university is modernising. These are new times. We don’t need to live in college anymore, you know. We could take a nice property up on the Madingley Road and set up house together. As long as we had a housekeeper who wouldn’t be too fussy about how many beds had been slept in. Miss Peters could probably find us a suitable one.”
“A house?” Dining out of college had been shock enough, going on holiday a jolt to the system, but to live outside of St. Bride’s, that was unheard of. “And why Miss Peters? You don’t think that she suspects about us?” Ariadne Peters was the sister of the Master of St. Bride’s, and the only woman apart from the nurse permitted to live in the college’s hallowed grounds.
“I think it quite likely that she does, she being possibly the most perceptive person in St. Bride’s. In any case, she’d be far too discreet to say anything as this college has seen enough scandal. Nonetheless think on the idea of a house. I don’t propose it idly.”
“I will think on it, but you must let me recover from my surprise at the suggestion before I can make a rational decision.”
Jonty nodded and they refilled their bowls with the last of the fruit. When there wasn’t even the merest hint of the existence of a strawberry left, Orlando wiped his hands with great precision then reached into his pocket. He drew out a small red box, which he handed to his friend. “Thought you might like this, as a memento of the last year.”
“So you did remember, you cunning old fox.” Jonty opened the lid and immediately shut it. “I can’t accept this, it must have cost you a small fortune. Take it back, get the money and put it in your savings.” He flushed red and couldn’t even look his lover in the eye.
“I will not take it back and you will accept it. You were the one who spoke of marriage, so perhaps this is an appropriate gift.” Orlando opened the box himself, taking out an exquisite signet ring—Welsh gold, of an amazing hue—that had been made specially to his order, great subterfuge and a piece of string having been used to gauge the size of Jonty’s little finger as he slept. “Please put it on for me.” He admired the golden circlet as it twinkled in the late-autumn light. Jonty could walk around Cambridge wearing his ring and it would always be symbolic of their union.
Jonty slid the band over his finger, pronounced amazement at the accuracy of fit, and grinned. “I’m ashamed to say I have no equivalent gift for you.”
“No need, strawberries in November are priceless. And you’ve given me the best year of my life.”
“Truly? Even including murder most foul, an unwanted suitor and our lives endangered?”
“Absolutely. Never been so happy.”
“And is that you talking or the champagne?” Jonty put his head to one side, like a bird.
“Oh, definitely me. The drink would make me say much naughtier things.”
Jonty smiled, indulgence lighting his face. “Let’s take a walk up to the lock and enjoy this unseasonably mild weather.” Through the latticed window the piercing blue of the sky, found only in England in spring and autumn, mirrored Jonty’s eyes. “Then we can come back here and read the sonnets together. Even number eighteen.”
Jonty liked the early sonnets, although Orlando had been terribly shocked to find out that the intended recipient had been a man. When he’d discovered number twenty-nine it had brought tears to his eyes, speaking to him so clearly of his own situation—the death of his father, the years of brooding and then the arrival of Jonty.
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate…
Orlando always read it every time he felt low, which was less and less often, now.
*****
It was such a fine afternoon, they ventured far beyond the lock to a stretch of river where a few rowing eights were practicing, their red-faced coaches cycling along the towpath, scattering ducks and little old ladies as they went.
“Did you ever attempt rowing, Dr. Coppersmith?” They’d been content to use Christian names when they were in public on holiday, but back in their own city they’d gone back to their usual formality.
“I did, with no great success. Every time I took to a boat I seemed to have acquired an extra pair of knees and all four of the bony things kept trying to smack me in the ear.”
Orlando laughed and Jonty laughed with him. Orlando’s attitudes had changed beyond all recognition this past year. Before Jonty had come and stolen his chair, he’d been sullen, unsmiling, someone who viewed intercourse as akin to the preparation of Egyptian mummies—he knew the procedures existed, but the mechanisms were a puzzle and the process itself of no interest. Neither love nor easy laughter would have been possible before Jonty came along. Anything was possible now, even intimacy. Now they made love for all sorts of reasons, not just for gratification but in friendship, for consolation, because they were happy or because they were sad.
Jonty smiled indulgently as they walked along, even while he was sniggering just a little at the sight of a seven-foot oarsman suffering a tongue-lashing from a cox who was all of four foot eleven. He could see this idyllic life stretching long into the future, God willing, with his true love by his side and a bank balance full of his grandmother’s money to support them in whatever they decided to do. To buy a little house, with an apple tree in the garden and a flowering cherry outside the bedroom window, that would be ideal. Some of the furniture held in store for him up in London or down in Sussex could grace it, although it might seem rather grand for a little villa up the Madingley Road. If Orlando would ever agree to their buying one.
The two men tired of watching the rowing, turned and began to amble back to the college, a slight anticipation starting to bubble up in Jonty’s stomach. There was every chance that he could get Orlando into a bed this afternoon, and that would be an absolute delight. Even if the mattress wasn’t visited there would still be at least a hug or two on the sofa which was always very pleasant. They’d reached a stage where the last favours were not the be-all and end-all, wonderful as they were. Jonty cast a glance across at his lover and caught him, unquestionably, in the same act of anticipation.
Orlando blushed, something that hadn’t happened for a long time. I know what you’re contemplating, Jonty mused. Great minds definitely do think alike.
Their pace quickened and by the time they reached the Bishop’s Cope they were no longer just ambling but striding along with great purpose. Their tempo was brisk by the time they passed the porters’ lodge and they positively sped up Jonty’s staircase, eager to find themselves alone and safe to express their affection.
Orlando was taking the steps two at a time, as usual, in his desire to be in the room as soon as possible. He misjudged the edge of a particularly worn stair, which had endured hundreds of years’ worth of treading and wasn’t inclined to be kind anymore, then slipped. Perhaps nine times out of ten a man might have done that and suffered no worse than bruised knees or a scraped hand. Orlando suffered the ignominies of the tenth, and went clattering halfway down the flight.
It was ironic. Orlando normally led the way, making the joke that Jonty should be behind him in case he slipped, so that there would be adequate padding to break his fall. But this day Jonty was ahead, even more eager to reach the room than his friend was. He heard the tumble, turned—dismayed—and rushed back.
“Orlando!” Their rule about names was immediately broken. This was a moment of crisis, as the minute Jonty looked down he could see that his friend wasn’t moving. “Can you hear me? Are you all right?” He reached the crumpled body, was relieved to see the chest rising and falling and to hear that the breathing sounded clear.
But there was no response, not even a moan, and blood had begun to trickle from the back of Orlando’s head.
Jonty leapt up, his heart racing and a nauseous feeling filling his stomach. He knocked at the nearest door, demanding that the occupant go to the lodge to make the porters fetch a doctor. The inhabitant of the next room was sent for Nurse Hatfield. He returned to keep an eye on Orlando, making sure that he was comfortable and not about to do anything dramatic like swallow his tongue. It was all he could do, apart from worry himself sick.
*****
Nurse Cecily Hatfield steamed up the stairs like a great ocean liner, cleaving a path through the knot of ghoulish students who’d formed to observe the scene and who’d ignored Jonty’s instructions to “bugger off”. They didn’t dare ignore the nurse’s rather more politely worded invitation to do the same.
“Don’t know why they do it,” she complained, kneeling down and efficiently checking Orlando over for breaks or bleeding. “Nothing interesting in another person’s distress, is there? Well, there are no bones broken as I far as I can see and I think—” she gingerly felt around Orlando’s head, “—the skull’s intact too. Bit of bleeding, but his breathing’s nice and steady. Not been sick, has he?”
Jonty shook his head, afraid to speak in case his voice betrayed him. He was petrified that the words No, he’s just lain there would actually come out as Please don’t let him die, I love him so much.
The doctor arrived promptly, the same man whom Jonty had first met over the dead body of a murdered man, years ago it seemed now. He made his own examination, confirming Nurse Hatfield’s initial diagnosis and advising that the man could be moved on a stretcher to the sick bay.
Jonty sped off to the porters’ lodge to organise the people and equipment to do this, glad to have something to do that was helpful and practical. Something which took his mind off the poor bloodied head lying on his staircase.
Time became distorted and things passed in a daze. It seemed to take forever to get Orlando onto the stretcher, then only a matter of seconds before he was being put onto a bed in the sick bay and the nurse was thrusting a piece of paper into Jonty’s hand. It was a list of things the patient might need, carefully written down,
“Because I’m not sure you’ll remember otherwise, Dr. Stewart. Not in your present state.” She’d no doubt recognised his need to be busy, filling him up with heavily sugared tea to give him the resources to do it. “I don’t want another young man falling down those stairs, this time because of fainting or delayed shock.”
While Jonty was away fetching Orlando’s nightclothes and wash bag, Orlando recovered consciousness and the extent of his injuries became clear. Or so Dr. Peters informed him as they met outside the door to the sickroom, his firm grip stopping Jonty barging straight in to greet his now-awakened friend.
“Dr. Coppersmith’s just with the doctor at present.” Peters saw Stewart’s worried look and smiled kindly. “He is in no danger, our medical friend seems quite confident about that. But there is something you should know before I let you in there. He’s lost some of his memory.”
“I don’t understand. Is this usual with a head injury?” Jonty was full of renewed concern. He’d heard Orlando go flying and seen the way his skull had struck the step; it worried him enormously.
“The doctor assures me that it is not abnormal. He may regain all that he has forgotten, eventually. He can remember the students coming back for the start of Michaelmas term…”
“Poor Orlando. He’s been hard at work on a treatise these last few weeks and now I suppose he’ll have to rethink it.” Jonty smiled tentatively.
“No, Dr. Stewart, I have expressed myself poorly. It is the Michaelmas term of last year he remembers, nothing since. I think it’s even possible that he will not recognise you.”
Neutral Zone by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Ten
Karma. It’s a real bitch. Just ask anyone.
I’d left my man and my team behind in Harrisburg and flown to—get this—fucking Tucson, Arizona, to begin treatment for my traumatic head injury.
The same city the Raptors played in.
I could open the blinds in my room here in the Draper Neurological Rehabilitation and Performance Center and see the glistening mirrored sides of the Santa Catalina Arena. Funny shit right there. Four blocks over, the Raptors were on the ice for morning skate, and I was here, trying to get my brain healed enough so I could maybe play my game again someday.
Shit, right now I’d be happy to be able to speak or read normally.
“Ho, ho, ho,” I growled, closing the drapes, then pulling my sunglasses off and tossing them to the bed. Living behind sunglasses and blinds sucked. Headaches sucked. Slurred speech sucked. Seeing the pity in the eyes of my boyfriend and family and teammates sucked. Christmas with sand and cactus sucked. I wanted to cry. I wanted to be back home with Mads, decorating our tree and shaking my presents. I wanted to be shopping for gifts for my boyfriend, my mother and father, for my brothers, and for Stan and Adler and all the Railers. I wanted things to be the way they had been before that night. Tears threatened, but I held them in. Crying only made my head hurt worse.
So, I padded out of my room and made my way to breakfast and the first of several rounds of rehab I’d be facing today. I’d been here one day and had come to realize that my brain was now as well-known with the neurologists here as my face was back in Harrisburg. This was the place for athletes to come when they were battling CTE-related brain issues. Most of the men here were older, retired players, lots of football players. I mean lots of them. I’d met three other hockey players so far, all retired, all fighting to keep a step ahead of the disease taking over their brains. Sometimes, late at night, when I was lying in bed, I’d get scared for myself and all the other guys on my team. I worried about Mads. God knows how many concussions he’d had when he was playing. Add that to his heart shit and… well, I worried about stuff now. Lots more stuff than I had before the night my head met the ice, sans helmet.
The facility held a hundred and fifty people, and not all of us were athletes. Lots of patients had come here after car accidents or other catastrophic injuries. There were head injuries and spinal cord injuries being healed. The staff seemed nice, confident in their ability to nurse me back to my old self or as close as we could get. The halls were bright and airy, the food excellent, and the medical staff top-notch. And yes, it was expensive and elite and the cream of the crop. Which was why Mads had stubbornly pushed me into coming here after my initial rehab had been completed. Two weeks at the facility, a couple of weeks back home for the holidays, then back for another four weeks. Then maybe we’d talk about hockey.
“Hey, you’re Tennant Rowe, right?”
I skidded to a halt outside one of a dozen sun-rooms. As though people in Arizona didn’t get enough sun just stepping outside? They needed to make rooms for sun? A tall, burly black man about my age ran at me, hand out. I smiled up at him, trying to pull some information about him from my cloudy memory banks.
“I’m Declan Fidler, cornerback for the Temple Owls.”
“Ah, cool, hey man.” We shook hands. God, he was cute. Short hair and a flashy smile, big wide shoulders and inkwork all over his arms. “Sorry to see you here though, dude.”
“Yeah, I know that.” He ran a hand over his hair. “First game of the season too.”
“That sucks,” I said, then released his hand. “I was on my way to the dining hall.”
“I could eat if you want some company.”
“Totally. Be nice to have someone to talk to who’s under forty.”
“I feel that.”
He joined me on the walk to the dining hall, which looked nothing like the hospital cafeteria I’d been expecting when I first saw it yesterday. This place was upmarket. Round tables with cloth covers, thick royal-blue carpeting, windows that ran floor to ceiling, flowering plants in the corners, and a wait staff.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this place,” I murmured as I followed Declan to a table by the windows.
“I feel the same way,” he said as we took our seats. “I mean, I grew up wealthy, my father’s the chief justice of the Pennsylvania Supreme Court, and I was still blown away.”
“That’s impressive. Did he…?” My brain went totally blank, and I scrambled to find the proper word. “Push. Yeah, did he push to get you in here?” I winced at the slip.
Fuck this shit. Really. Push? How fucking hard it is to recall a word like push?
An older woman in a tidy uniform filled our water glasses, then asked if she could have our room numbers. All the meals here were prepared by nutritionists with an eye to the patients’—athletes in my case—unique needs.
“Big-time. He was adamant about me coming here after the initial rehab. Said that this place would do things to counter the damage that no regular rehab could do. You here for CRT?”
“I uhm…” and that skip again. Fuck. “Dude, sorry, I’m like…” I tapped my temple.
He reached over the table to take my hand. “Ten, man, do not sweat it. You should have seen me when I got here. Barely able to string four words together. Sometimes I still trip up, just like that. But it’s all good. We’re tough motherfuckers. We’ll train our brains.”
“Yeah, train the brains. Cool.”
He gave my hand a squeeze and then released it. “So CRT?”
Our food was served, my platter loaded with scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, a bowl of oatmeal, and chocolate milk. My meds also sat on my tray. Declan’s food was similar, as were the meds in tiny cups lined up for him.
“Cognitive rehab therapy,” he said before shaking out his napkin and laying it over his lap. I did the same and tossed down the pills. I had no idea what they were pumping into me, and I truly didn’t care. As long as they got me back on the ice, they could be dumping Soylent green into my body via the milk. Man, that old movie rocked. What I wouldn’t give to be curled up on the couch with Mads watching it again. “Speech, occupation, and physical therapy. You don’t have any big physical issues, do you?”
“Some weakness on the left side, my arm, but it’s getting better. I hardly drop anything now.”
“That’s good. Once the swelling goes down, things tend to get better.” He took a bite from a slice of whole wheat toast. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here eating with you. Cup winner, LGBT crusader. Thanks for doing that, coming out, being proud and gay. I know how hard that is. My family and team have been amazing about my being queer.”
“Excellent. Glad they’re… fuck, I just. Give me a sec. Yeah, uhm, glad it’s good for you. I’m sorry. Sometimes I can go, like, whole days and barely fuck up, and then I’ll hit this patch where my brain glitches out and… shit. Fuck. Okay, I’m going to shut up for a minute and let my neurons… fire or something.”
“It’s fine. I understand.” And he did. I could see it in his eyes. He totally got it because he was living it too.
I wished everyone else in my life could get it as Declan did. We ate in amiable silence, not that heavy, cloaking pity blanket of quietude that my family draped over me every time I fumbled.
Therapy followed that pleasant breakfast, hours of it. Doctors and nurses, therapists, reading and tests and poking and prodding. Weights and treadmills and medicine balls. Shoving tiny pegs into tinier holes, pet therapy which was actually cool because who didn’t love a dog kiss? Speech therapy was last, and I tanked at it. Totally blew it to shit with my inability to recall one simple phrase. It made me so mad I flipped the table, sending papers and pencils flying. Then, because I had no clue where that outburst had come from, I felt even shittier.
“Tennant, it’s okay,” the woman, who was some fancy kind of advanced speech therapist, said as we picked up the mess I’d made. “Temper flare-ups are common. It’s frustrating not to be able to express yourself. We see that frequently in stroke victims.”
“That was uncool. Just so uncool. I didn’t… it wasn’t… shit.” I dropped to my ass, hands full of work sheets that looked as if a four-year-old had scribbled them down, buried my face in the papers, and wept.
Julie. Yes! That was her name. Julie sat down beside me, rubbed my back, and told me all kinds of reassuring things.
“I’m kind of done for the day,” I told her, and she let me go. I walked the halls, feeling discouraged and sickened with myself. Once I got back to my room, I called home, needing to hear Jared’s voice. As soon as he picked up, I kind of began babbling. A lot of it wasn’t sensible, and it was garbled because I’d have to stop, think, and then restart. But through all of that, Jared listened and never interrupted. When I was done, I fell back onto the bed, exhausted, battling a headache, and sick to death of myself and my stupid brain.
“Sounds like a rough first day,” Jared said. I rolled to my side, tucking my knees up, my gaze on that shiny arena where the Raptors were playing hockey right now. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come out? I can get a hotel room.”
“No, you need to work. The team needs you.”
“You need me as well, Tennant.”
“No, I got this. You can’t do this for me, Mads. Neither can Ryker or Brady or Jamie or my mother. It’s just…” I exhaled through pursed lips. “It’s so much harder than I thought it would be. I mean, I knew it would be hard but fuck sake, I couldn’t recall simple words. How will I ever be able to play if I can’t…” I stopped and calmed myself down. “I hate that this happened. I hate Aarni so much for doing this to me, Jared. I never thought I could ever hate anyone.”
“I know, babe. I wish you’d reconsider and let me come out there.”
He sounded as sick at heart as I was. And truthfully, in that moment, I was close to telling him to fly out. I so needed his arms around me.
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.” He drew in a shaky breath. “Do you want me to come out? Just say the word.”
I sat up slowly to avoid a head-rush and the pain that went along with those. “No, I’m good.” I pushed to my feet and went to the window. The sun was setting now, the mirrored sides of the Santa Catalina Arena glowing scarlet and pink. “I’m a tough camper. My Mom said that to me the first time I went to hockey camp.”
“Yeah? How old were you? Five months old or so?”
That made me chuckle. “Nah man, I was like six. And this camp was in Buffalo. I wanted to go so bad. I mean, I can be kind of stubborn when I want something.”
“I’m well aware of that fact,” he replied. Was he sitting down or pacing? Probably pacing because he was tension-riddled over me. “You were persistent about us.”
“Damn right I was. I knew we’d be good.” I touched the pane of glass as a smile of remembrance played on my lips. “I went to that camp, and as soon as my folks dropped me off, I wanted to come home. But Mom wouldn’t let me. She said I had to be a tough camper and that once the homesickness wore off, I’d be glad I stayed.”
“Were you?”
“Yeah, I loved it. Scored my first goal against Tommy Wayfarer. He got mad and cried.” The lights of Tucson began to flicker to life. Someone walked by my door humming Santa Claus is Coming to Town. “I’ll be okay. I just have to score my first goal here.”
“You will.”
“Yeah, I will. So, tell me about morning skate. How did the lines look?”
We talked about the Railers and about Ryker and Declan, my new therapy buddy. We talked about old movies and new songs. We talked for hours. Darkness had blanketed the city when I dozed off on him. I woke up a second later, phone still to my ear, my boyfriend chuckling.
“Wow, you snored yourself awake,” Mads said, then groaned, rising to his feet I assumed.
“Shit, yeah, I fell asleep.” A yawn rolled out of me. I flopped to my side on the bed, my sight on the desert sky over Tucson.
“I need to turn in too,” he said around a yawn.
“Yeah, you’re a couple of hours ahead of us. I’ll call you tomorrow at the same time. I love you, Mads.”
“I love you too, Ten. And your mother was right; you are a tough camper. You’ll begin to see improvement, I know you. You won’t stop until you do.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“Wiseass.”
“I miss our goodnight kisses.” My eyes were so heavy I could barely keep them open.
“You’ll get plenty when you get home.”
“Mm, loving sounds good.”
“Yes, it does. Get some rest. Heal. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Night,” I mumbled, ended the call, and then fell into an exhausted but fitful sleep. The bed was too hard, too narrow, and far too lacking in Jared Madsen’s big, broad body.
Brigham Vaughn
Brigham Vaughn is on the adventure of a lifetime as a full-time writer. She devours books at an alarming rate and hasn’t let her short arms and long torso stop her from doing yoga. She makes a killer key lime pie, hates green peppers, and loves wine tasting tours. A collector of vintage Nancy Drew books and green glassware, she enjoys poking around in antique shops and refinishing thrift store furniture. An avid photographer, she dreams of traveling the world and she can’t wait to discover everything else life has to offer her.Her books range from short stories to novellas. They explore gay, lesbian, and polyamorous romance in contemporary settings.
To stay up to date on her latest releases, sign up for the Coles & Vaughn Newsletter.
John has been writing fiction for as long as he can remember. Born on a small farm in Indiana, he now resides in San Diego, California where he spends his time gardening, pampering his pets, hiking and biking the trails and canyons of San Diego, and of course, writing. He and his partner share a passion for theater, books, film, and the continuing fight for marriage equality. If you would like to know more about John, check out his website.
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.
When she's not writing you can find her blogging away on Diverse Reader, her review and promotional site. She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.
If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she'd tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you're afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.
K. Evan Coles is a mother and tech pirate by day and a writer by night. She is a dreamer who, with a little hard work and a lot of good coffee, coaxes words out of her head and onto paper.
K. lives in the northeast United States, where she complains bitterly about the winters, but truly loves the region and its diverse, tenacious and deceptively compassionate people. You’ll usually find K. nerding out over books, movies and television with friends and family. She’s especially proud to be raising her son as part of a new generation of unabashed geeks.
K.’s books explore LGBTQ+ romance in contemporary settings.
As Charlie Cochrane couldn't be trusted to do any of her jobs of choice - like managing a rugby team - she writes. Her favourite genre is gay fiction, predominantly historical romances/mysteries, but she's making an increasing number of forays into the modern day. She's even been known to write about gay werewolves - albeit highly respectable ones.
Her Cambridge Fellows series of Edwardian romantic mysteries were instrumental in seeing her named Speak Its Name Author of the Year 2009. She’s a member of both the Romantic Novelists’ Association and International Thriller Writers Inc.
RJ Scott
RJ Scott is a USA TODAY bestselling author of over 140 romance and suspense novels. From bodyguards to hockey stars, princes to millionaires, cowboys to military heroes to every-day heroes, she believes that love is love and every man deserves a happy ending.
USA Today Bestselling Author V.L. Locey – Penning LGBT hockey romance that skates into sinful pleasures.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, Torchwood and Dr. Who, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a pair of geese, far too many chickens, and two steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in one hand and a steamy romance novel in the other.
Brigham Vaughn
SMASHWORDS / PINTEREST / SCRIBd / B&N
EMAIL: brighamvaughn@gmail.com
John Inman
iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY / AMAZON
EMAIL: John492@att.net
Davidson King
EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com
K Evan Coles
GOOGLE PLAY / BOOKBUB / B&N
EMAIL: coles.k.evan@gmail.com
Charlie Cochrane
EMAIL: cochrane.charlie2@googlemail.com
Trust the Connection by Brigham Vaughn
The Hike by John Inman
Snow Storm by Davidson King
A Hometown Holiday by K Evan Coles
Lessons in Discovery by Charlie Cochrane
Neutral Zone by RJ Scott & VL Locey
No comments:
Post a Comment