Cornwall Novella #2
A former ward of the state, Jason Ferris is fiercely protective of his carefully guarded private life. When he's felled by a rogue lawn ornament at a Christmas party, Jason finds himself in the care of his first and most devastating love-- dark, dangerous, and equally damaged Lt. Robb Sharpe.
Newly returned from years away in the military, Robb's homecoming isn't exactly the stuff of fairytales. Now thrust together after a ten year hiatus, Jason and Robb discover that perhaps some things are worth waiting for.
Original Review December 2016:
Simple Gifts is another great addition to my holiday shelf. First love or first crushes can be devastating when they don't work out the way you thought they would but when given a second chance years later, they can often be even better than you ever imagined. Jason and Robb's story is a beautiful tale for anytime of the year but Christmas makes it even more amazing. A true gift for the reader's soul.
Robb clammed up the second I signed a Discharged Against Medical Advice form, so the world was white noise and white snow on the walk back to the car. There was nothing to say anyway. He drove, and I stared at the road while painkillers dulled my mind. The nausea that threatened me earlier reasserted itself every time he turned the wheel too fast, but I managed. I couldn’t afford a stay at the hospital. Not to be observed for thousands of dollars I didn’t have.
I hadn’t said much to Robb, and in my own defense, he didn’t seem to mind.
We passed Cornwall’s white clapboard church, the snow-covered cemetery lined with crooked headstones, the one-roomed Post Office, and, at the end of Main Street, Riley’s—my bar. The lights were burning, and the place looked busy. I should be there, working my tail off and earning my mortgage payment. Two stories above my business, a lonely apartment waited in darkness. I pressed my nose to the passenger window as we drove past.
I should be there.
Wishing wouldn’t make going home any more likely. That wasn’t part of the deal I agreed to when I signed the DAMA, so I buried my disappointment and let Robb drive me toward my worst nightmare—A Holiday at the Sharpe McMansion.
Colorful lights whizzed by in a blur, and the last glimmer of Cornwall faded from the rearview mirror. I made one final stab at autonomy. “I feel much better.”
“Save it.” Robb croaked and stuffed an empty coffee cup into the cup holder. He squinted through the windshield, and by the dashboard’s glow, the black stubble covering his head made him look a little like a Chia Pet. “I promised my mother and Sunny I’d keep an eye on you. This was your choice.”
“Right, but I’m only staying one night. We agreed.”
“We’ll see how you look tomorrow. The old man thinks you might sue him—he may insist you stay.”
“He should let me go home, then. I can’t sue him if I’m dead.” Christmas with the senator? Honestly? I’d rather slip into a coma.
Robb shot me a look. “Not funny. I’ve seen head injuries take a turn for the worse more times than I want to count.”
I believed him. Something dire had happened to Robb—probably recently, given the purple shadows under his eyes and the deep lines fanning from the corners of his eyes and bracketing his mouth. He’d lost a lot of weight, his cheeks looked hollow, and his voice? Absolutely ruined. That might explain his silence.
We drove through thickening snow. The Housatonic River snaked blackly on one side of Route Seven and the forested hills of Cornwall towered along the other. White houses hugged equally whitened lawns, and somewhere beyond Coltsfoot Mountain, the stars hid their pale light.
I gripped my discharge papers—which consisted of a dire list of what to watch fors—and while those papers made tonight’s sleepover at the lake necessary, they didn’t make the stay any more palatable. Sunny would be at her parents’ house, but she had her own life. And, of course, she had her new life, with Lyle.
The paper blurred, and I blinked to clear my vision. I’d become a burdensome thirteen-year-old again, trucking toward another home where I didn’t belong, nothing more than a charity case. A misfit. All I lacked was a paper sack of clothes on my lap and an overworked social worker at my side.
I smoothed the wrinkles from my discharge sheet before making the first, clean fold down the center, just like old times. Leaning into the headrest, I worked without a plan, folding and creasing from memory until the sprightly form of a reindeer revealed itself in careful paper pleats.
Voilà. Origami reindeer. If only I could make a team of them and fly myself away.
I set the piece on the dash. “Rudolph will guide the truck tonight.”
Robb gave Rudolph a flat look and shook his head. “Man. You haven’t changed at all, have you?”
I couldn’t tell whether the idea pleased him or disappointed him. Still, I cringed. “Actually, I’ve changed in more ways than you can imagine.”
“Really?” The noise he made resembled a cough more than a snort. “You fell at my feet earlier, and now you’re making origami animals. It’s like the last ten years never happened.”
Fell at my feet earlier. Well, hell. “You do remember.”
Robb gripped the wheel. His stare didn’t waiver from the road. “Of course I remember, Jason. I was eighteen. I’m not the one who got hit on the head. I remember everything.”
Everything? I envisioned Robb’s younger self, his rough hand slithering inside my jeans, his mouth hot on my neck, and his long hair brushing my cheek. Don’t think about sex, no matter how earth shattering that sex was. I cleared my throat. “You didn’t act like you knew me earlier.”
“Yeah, well, right back at you. You walked past me how many times? Not even a glance. Nothing. Not a nod, or a ‘hey, nice to see you.’”
“I didn’t recognize you. You’re…” Gaunt wouldn’t sound nice. “You look different.”
“You look exactly the same.”
When not working from her home in the rolling hills of Northwestern Connecticut, author L.B. Gregg can be spotted in coffee shops from Berlin to Singapore to Panama-- sipping lattes and writing scorchingly hot, often funny, stories about men who love men.
EMAIL: lbgregg@lbgregg.com
Simple Gifts #2
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Dudleytown #1
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Cornwall Collection
