Friday, November 22, 2024

๐Ÿ’œ๐Ÿ“˜๐ŸŽฅFriday's Film Adaptation๐ŸŽฅ๐Ÿ“˜๐Ÿ’œ: The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks



Summary:

The Notebook#1
Experience the unforgettable, heartbreaking love story set in post-World War II North Carolina about a young socialite and the boy who once stole her heart -- one of PBS's "Great American Reads".

Every so often a love story so captures our hearts that it becomes more than a story-it becomes an experience to remember forever. The Notebook is such a book. It is a celebration of how passion can be ageless and timeless, a tale that moves us to laughter and tears and makes us believe in true love all over again...

At thirty-one, Noah Calhoun, back in coastal North Carolina after World War II, is haunted by images of the girl he lost more than a decade earlier. At twenty-nine, socialite Allie Nelson is about to marry a wealthy lawyer, but she cannot stop thinking about the boy who long ago stole her heart. Thus begins the story of a love so enduring and deep it can turn tragedy into triumph, and may even have the power to create a miracle...



Chapter One
Miracles
Who am I? And how, I wonder, will this story end?

The sun has come up and I am sitting by a window that is foggy with the breath of a life gone by. I'm a sight this morning: two shirts, heavy pants, a scarf wrapped twice around my neck and tucked into a thick sweater knitted by my daughter thirty birthdays ago. The thermostat in my room is set as high as it will go, and a smaller space heater sits directly behind me. It clicks and groans and spews hot air like a fairytale dragon, and still my body shivers with a cold that will never go away, a cold that has been eighty years in the making. Eighty years, I think sometimes, and despite my own acceptance of my age, it still amazes me that I haven't been warm since George Bush was president. I wonder if this is how it is for everyone my age.

My life? It isn't easy to explain. It has not been the rip-roaring spectacular I fancied it would be, but neither have I burrowed around with the gophers. I suppose it has most resembled a bluechip stock: fairly stable, more ups than downs, and gradually trending upward over time. A good buy, a lucky buy, and I've learned that not everyone can say this about his life. But do not be misled. I am nothing special; of this I am sure. I am a common man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I've loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me, this has always been enough.

The romantics would call this a love story, the cynics would call it a tragedy. In my mind it's a little bit of both, and no matter how you choose to view it in the end, it does not change the fact that it involves a great deal of my life and the path I've chosen to follow. I have no complaints about my path and the places it has taken me; enough complaints to fill a circus tent about other things, maybe, but the path I've chosen has always been the right one, and I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Time, unfortunately, doesn't make it easy to stay on course. The path is straight as ever, but now it is strewn with the rocks and gravel that accumulate over a lifetime. Until three years ago it would have been easy to ignore, but it's impossible now. There is a sickness rolling through my body; I'm neither strong nor healthy, and my days are spent like an old party balloon: listless, spongy, and growing softer over time.

I cough, and through squinted eyes I check my watch. I realize it is time to go. I stand from my seat by the window and shuffle across the room, stopping at the desk to pick up the notebook I have read a hundred times. I do not glance through it. Instead I slip it beneath my arm and continue on my way to the place I must go.

I walk on tiled floors, white in color and speckled with gray. Like my hair and the hair of most people here, though I'm the only one in the hallway this morning. They are in their rooms, alone except for television, but they, like me, are used to it. A person can get used to anything, if given enough time.

I hear the muffled sounds of crying in the distance and know exactly who is making those sounds. Then the nurses see me and we smile at each other and exchange greetings. They are my friends and we talk often, but I am sure they wonder about me and the things that I go through every day. I listen as they begin to whisper among themselves as I pass. "There he goes again," I hear, "I hope it turns out well." But they say nothing directly to me about it. I'm sure they think it would hurt me to talk about it so early in the morning, and knowing myself as I do, I think they're probably right.

A minute later, I reach the room. The door has been propped open for me, as it usually is. There are two others in the room, and they too smile at me as I enter. "Good morning," they say with cheery voices, and I take a moment to ask about the kids and the schools and upcoming vacations. We talk above the crying for a minute or so. They do not seem to notice; they have become numb to it, but then again, so have I.

Afterward I sit in the chair that has come to be shaped like me. They are finishing up now; her clothes are on, but still she is crying. It will become quieter after they leave, I know. The excitement of the morning always upsets her, and today is no exception. Finally the shade is opened and the nurses walk out. Both of them touch me and smile as they walk by. I wonder what this means.

I sit for just a second and stare at her, but she doesn't return the look. I understand, for she doesn't know who I am. I'm a stranger to her. Then, turning away, I bow my head and pray silently for the strength I know I will need. I have always been a firm believer in God and the power of prayer, though to be honest, my faith has made for a list of questions I definitely want answered after I'm gone.

Ready now. On go the glasses, out of my pocket comes a magnifier. I put it on the table for a moment while I open the notebook. It takes two licks on my gnarled finger to get the wellworn cover open to the first page. Then I put the magnifier in place.

There is always a moment right before I begin to read the story when my mind churns, and I wonder, Will it happen today? I don't know, for I never know beforehand, and deep down it really doesn't matter. It's the possibility that keeps me going, not the guarantee, a sort of wager on my part. And though you may call me a dreamer or fool or any other thing, I believe that anything is possible.

I realize the odds, and science, are against me. But science is not the total answer; this I know, this I have learned in my lifetime. And that leaves me with the belief that miracles, no matter how inexplicable or unbelievable, are real and can occur without regard to the natural order of things. So once again, just as I do every day, I begin to read the notebook aloud, so that she can hear it, in the hope that the miracle that has come to dominate my life will once again prevail.

And maybe, just maybe, it will.


Ghosts
It was early October 1946, and Noah Calhoun watched the fading sun sink lower from the wraparound porch of his plantation-style home. He liked to sit here in the evenings, especially after working hard all day, and let his thoughts wander without conscious direction. It was how he relaxed, a routine he'd learned from his father.

He especially liked to look at the trees and their reflections in the river. North Carolina trees are beautiful in deep autumn: greens, yellows, reds, oranges, every shade in between. Their dazzling colors glow with the sun, and for the hundredth time, Noah Calhoun wondered if the original owners of the house had spent their evenings thinking the same things.

The house was built in 1772, making it one of the oldest, as well as largest, homes in New Bern. Originally it was the main house on a working plantation, and he had bought it right after the war ended and had spent the last eleven months and a small fortune repairing it. The reporter from the Raleigh paper had done an article on it a few weeks ago and said it was one of the finest restorations he'd ever seen. At least the house was. The remaining property was another story, and that was where he'd spent most of the day. The home sat on twelve acres adjacent to Brices Creek, and he'd worked on the wooden fence that lined the other three sides of the property, checking for dry rot or termites, replacing posts when he had to. He still had more work to do on it, especially on the west side, and as he'd put the tools away earlier he'd made a mental note to call and have some more lumber delivered. He'd gone into the house, drunk a glass of sweet tea, then showered. He always showered at the end of the day, the water washing away both dirt and fatigue.

Afterward he'd combed his hair back, put on some faded jeans and a long-sleeved blue shirt, poured himself another glass of sweet tea, and gone to the porch, where he now sat, where he sat every day at this time.

He stretched his arms above his head, then out to the sides, rolling his shoulders as he completed the routine. He felt good and clean now, fresh. His muscles were tired and he knew he'd be a little sore tomorrow, but he was pleased that he had accomplished most of what he had wanted to do.

Noah reached for his guitar, remembering his father as he did so, thinking how much he missed him. He strummed once, adjusted the tension on two strings, then strummed again. This time it sounded about right, and he began to play. Soft music, quiet music. He hummed for a little while at first, then began to sing as night came down around him. He played and sang until the sun was gone and the sky was black.

It was a little after seven when he quit, and he settled back into his chair and began to rock. By habit, he looked upward and saw Orion and the Big Dipper, Gemini and the Pole Star, twinkling in the autumn sky.

He started to run the numbers in his head, then stopped. He knew he'd spent almost his entire savings on the house and would have to find a job again soon, but he pushed the thought away and decided to enjoy the remaining months of restoration without worrying about it. It would work out for him, he knew; it always did. Besides, thinking about money usually bored him. Early on, he'd learned to enjoy simple things, things that couldn't be bought, and he had a hard time understanding people who felt otherwise. It was another trait he got from his father.

Clem, his hound dog, came up to him then and nuzzled his hand before lying down at his feet. "Hey, girl, how're you doing?" he asked as he patted her head, and she whined softly, her soft round eyes peering upward. A car accident had taken her leg, but she still moved well enough and kept him company on quiet nights like these.

He was thirty-one now, not too old, but old enough to be lonely. He hadn't dated since he'd been back here, hadn't met anyone who remotely interested him. It was his own fault, he knew. There was something that kept a distance between him and any woman who started to get close, something he wasn't sure he could change even if he tried. And sometimes in the moments right before sleep came, he wondered if he was destined to be alone forever.

The evening passed, staying warm, nice. Noah listened to the crickets and the rustling leaves, thinking that the sound of nature was more real and aroused more emotion than things like cars and planes. Natural things gave back more than they took, and their sounds always brought him back to the way man was supposed to be. There were times during the war, especially after a major engagement, when he had often thought about these simple sounds. "It'll keep you from going crazy," his father had told him the day he'd shipped out. "It's God's music and it'll take you home."

He finished his tea, went inside, found a book, then turned on the porch light on his way back out. After sitting down again, he looked at the book. It was old, the cover was torn, and the pages were stained with mud and water. It was Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, and he had carried it with him throughout the war. It had even taken a bullet for him once.

He rubbed the cover, dusting it off just a little. Then he let the book open randomly and read the words in front of him:

This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless, Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best, Night, sleep, death and the stars.

He smiled to himself. For some reason Whitman always reminded him of New Bern, and he was glad he'd come back. Though he'd been away for fourteen years, this was home and he knew a lot of people here, most of them from his youth. It wasn't surprising. Like so many southern towns, the people who lived here never changed, they just grew a bit older.


An epic love story centered around an older man who reads aloud to an older, invalid woman whom he regularly visits. From a faded notebook, the old man's words bring to life the story about a couple who is separated by World War II, and is then passionately reunited, seven years later, after they have taken different paths.

Release Date: June 25, 2004
Release Time: 124 minutes

Director: Nick Cassavetes

Cast:
Ryan Gosling as Noah Calhoun
James Garner as old Noah / Duke
Rachel McAdams as Allison "Allie" Calhoun (nรฉe Hamilton)
Gena Rowlands as old Allie
Sam Shepard as Frank Calhoun
Joan Allen as Anne Hamilton
James Marsden as Lon Hammond Jr.
Kevin Connolly as Fin
David Thornton as John Hamilton
Jamie Brown as Martha Shaw
Heather Wahlquist as Sara Tuffington
Ed Grady as Harry
Obba Babatunde as Bandleader
Starletta DuPois as Nurse Esther
Paul Johansson as Anne Hamilton's ex-boyfriend
Chubbs as Abner, a domesticated pig





Nicholas Sparks
Nicholas Sparks is one of the world’s most beloved storytellers. All of his books have been New York Times bestsellers, with over 130 million copies sold worldwide, in more than 50 languages, including over 92 million copies in the United States alone.

Eleven of Nicholas Sparks's novels—The Choice, The Longest Ride, The Best of Me, Safe Haven, The Lucky One, The Last Song, Dear John, Nights in Rodanthe, The Notebook, A Walk to Remember, and Message in a Bottle—have been adapted into major motion pictures. The Notebook has also been adapted into a Broadway musical, featuring music and lyrics by Ingrid Michaelson.


KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  AUDIBLEB  /  B&N
WIKI  /  AUDIOBOOKS  /  CHIRP
PINTEREST  /  BOOKSHOP  /  IMDB
BOOKBU  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS



AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N

Film
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N
ALL MOVIE  /  WIKI  /  IMDB  /  TCM





Thursday, November 21, 2024

๐Ÿ’œ⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine⏳๐Ÿ’œ: The Gardener and the Marine by RJ Scott



Summary:
Ellery Mountain #9
Harrison is alone and hurting with his memories gone, but Toby shows him that love can heal even the most broken of hearts.

After losing his entire team in a roadside bomb, Harrison is left with a traumatic brain injury, a broken body, and scars on his heart that might never heal. Staying at the Ellery Mountain Veterans Center is the first step in healing, but short-term memories evade him, and the only thing he trusts is the love of Barney, his support dog.

Until he meets Toby.

Toby lands the chance of a lifetime, using his horticultural skills to aid in working with veterans during their physical and mental recovery. Meeting Harrison on his first day goes badly, but there is something between them that could be more than just friendship.

With time, it could even become love.

**Triggers for PTSD and past suicide ideation**

*Can be read as a standalone - some mention of previous characters, but not enough to cause an issue*

**This story was previously available in weekly instalments in my newsletter.  The file has been edited and a few scenes added.**


Original Review August 2021:
I've loved RJ Scott's Ellery Mountain series ever since I first discovered it 6 years ago, so to find there was going to be new entries, needless to say I was ecstatic.  The Gardener and the Marine was first available as weekly installments with the author's newsletter, however I didn't take the opportunity to read it that way.  At first, time just got away from me and then I decided that RJ Scott's works are often a can't-put-it-down read for me so I decided to wait until completed.

However you chose to read it, Toby and Harrison's journey is brilliant!

I won't go into many details, not that this is a mystery or anything like that and we all know her stories are HEA but the mens' journey is so heartwarming, there are moments some might call heartbreaking but I would use the term "heart-hurting", I just don't want to spoil even the tiniest moments.  Harrison is at the heart of the story with his learning to live life with brain injury and loss, I couldn't help but want to wrap him up in Mama Bear Hugs to protect him but he has Barney for that.  I've read stories before with therapy animals but there was just something about the way the author brought Barney's presence to the the table you felt like he was right there next to you, helping you through the story as well.

I grew up a farmer's daughter and when my mother became ill my parents shifted from a grain & feed crops to a vegetable/fruit farm.  My mom was to ill to work the farm but she did the business side as we sold fruit and veggies to local stores.  I mention this because I could see first hand how farmlife and gardening helped all three of us accept her health situation.  So seeing Toby realize how the family business of gardening helps his brother live with autism and turn it into therapy for the Ellery Mountain Veterans Center really spoke to me.  The connection the garden creates between Toby and Harrison is beautifully written as well as giving Harrison an opportunity to strengthen his mind and body made this story even stronger.

The Gardener and the Marine, simply put, is a truly wonderful, touching, heartfelt gem from beginning to end.

A last note, if you haven't read Ellery Mountain before, it's not a series you have to read from the beginning as each entry focuses on a different couple.  Personally, I can't imagine not reading it in order just because I'm a series-read-in-order kind of gal but it's not necessary, you won't be lost, yes previous characters make appearances but again knowing their story or not doesn't effect the story you choose to read.  However you choose to read this series, I highly recommend definitely doing so.

RATING:




Chapter One
Toby
The last time I’d been this nervous, I was five and about to step out as sheep number one in the Ellery Elementary Christmas Nativity play. Of course, it didn’t help that sheep number two, my nemesis Clare, had yanked at my fake ears, and that my new baby sister was out in the audience with Mom and Dad, and I heard her crying.

The one thing I hated as a kid was when Kate cried, but that was because I was the big brother, and it was my job to look after her. So, with her crying, plus Clare, plus the fact I had a very important baaaaah to deliver as we walked on, it was understandable that I lost my breakfast all over Clare.

Me 1, nemesis 0.

But I’d been five, and eighteen years later, I shouldn’t have been nervous about this meeting. I knew my stuff, had prepared folders of information for Daniel Skylar, his husband Luke, and Jason I’m-a-famous-actor McInnery. I’d even practiced my speech on Mom twice this morning. I knew the three men by sight. Luke had been my homeroom teacher in high school, and he was a good guy. I’d met Jason before—it was hard not to when he lived right in Ellery— and despite being Mr. Hollywood, he was kind, and spent time talking to my star-struck mom whenever he came to the garden center we owned.

It was Daniel I was worried about because he was the most mysterious of them all. The former soldier had created a place for veterans right here in town, and he fought a hundred battles every year—singlehandedly combatting local prejudice and fear, raising funds, and being all kinds of badass. Daniel had my life in his hands, and I know that sounded dramatic, but this project was everything I wanted, and getting the nod meant that college, plus years helping at the nursery, would pay off with the best thing that could happen to me.

I could’ve taken the easy way out—worked for my parents, taken over the nursery when they retired—but I wanted something different, and I was willing to fight for it.

“Hi, Toby, you want to come in now?” Luke asked from the doorway.

I stood so fast I got a head rush and nearly dropped all the files. Three months I’d waited for this meeting, and now I was there, the last thing I wanted to do was come off as someone who wasn’t prepared.

“Thank you.” I kept in mind my dad’s warning that I tended to run my mouth at the drop of a hat, and aimed for polite and concise, following Luke in and shaking everyone’s hands. Then I took the seat opposite them, and my chest tightened as they all stared at me. Jason was smiling, Luke seemed encouraging, and Daniel thoughtful. They’ll laugh me out of here. I have no money for this, it’s just a—stop it!

“So, we have your proposal letter.” Daniel indicated a file in front of him and I nodded, then pulled myself together and handed over the three information packs.

Jason immediately opened it and nodded as he glanced at the summary. That was a good thing. Nodding meant he liked what he saw. Or is he just being polite?” Could you tell us a bit more about your proposal?”

I cleared my throat. “My name is Toby Geffner, and my parents run the Geffner Nursery out on Ridge Road, you already all know that, but I want you to understand that I’ve worked around gardens since I was old enough to hold a shovel.” They all blinked at me. “I started with a very small shovel.” I added the joke to lighten the tension, and Luke and Jason both smiled. Daniel remained stoic, but the Veteran Center was his baby, and it was him I needed to convince.

“My brother has autism. He’s an exceptional person, and growing up he found a sense of great peace in the garden. Maybe it’s the family genes or his need for routine and freedom, but he’s happiest when he’s pottering around the yard.”

“I remember seeing him any time I went to the nursery,” Luke encouraged me, and I genuinely felt as if I had someone in my corner.

“You would have. It became vital for him to connect to nature, and to learn that he had a choice between active and passive involvement, depending on his moods or medical demands. So, when it came to college, it was a slam dunk that I study at Walters State and get my degree in horticulture to work for the family business. But I took extra courses in therapy and specialized in supporting clinical care workers. They routinely offered horticulture-based therapy to anyone with anxiety or depression, young adults with special needs, and—even more interesting to me—veterans, as a potential part of a care plan on admission. When I came home, I just thought, why not do that here at the Center?”

I waited for a response, or at least for questions that I could answer to guide me to what they wanted to hear next. Instead, Daniel leaned forward in his chair and tapped the file I’d handed to him.

“Yes,” he said.

“Yes?” I repeated.

“I researched after receiving your letter. I think it would be of benefit to the veterans we have here. You have the two years’ initial funding you asked for. We need a formal plan in place, and you’ll be working with me on that. So, when can you start?”

I know my mouth must have fallen open, and the words to say anything at all escaped me. He’d just said “yes?” I hadn’t expected that at all, and I had a hundred other arguments in line that I clearly didn’t need to use.

“Today, tomorrow, when do you want me to start?”

“How about you stay for lunch now? Check out the land. Then start on Monday. Come in with plans and concepts and we’ll dive into it.”

By the time I left the office, I’d received carte blanche to begin creating a garden, with half an acre of land butting up against the park and the assurance of Daniel’s complete support. I think I was in shock as I left the building and headed down to the tree at the bottom of the hill, where the land I was now responsible for started. I could already envision pathways and herbs, vegetables and flowers, and the peace that I could create. I turned to face the tree and stared back at the Center, which had grown in the past six years.

And that was when I spotted him.

He was staring right at me. Dark hair, brown eyes, and a scar that ran from his forehead down the left-hand side of his face. His hands were in fists in his lap, and there was tension in every line of him. A black Labrador sat across his feet.

“Hi,” I said.

His stare didn’t falter, and I could see his scars, some of them running down and under his thin jacket.

“I’m Toby, and I’m here to work with you,” I blurted out and took a step closer, but I wish I hadn’t moved. He flinched, then stood shakily, whistled for the dog, and pulled himself tall an inch at a time. Then, shoulders back as much as he could, he stumbled up to the main building.

Despite all my training and the fancy words I’d used in my proposal about how I knew what I was doing, I’d failed my first test.

*****

Harrison
If I could’ve walked any faster, I would’ve. Barney slowed down to stay with me and kept his nose forward, determination in every paw-step. He wouldn’t leave my side; he would go as fast or slow as I needed.

He was my everything, and one battered human with their assistance dog barreled into the reception area with a clatter of paws and limping steps. If there was a god and he was kind, then the reception would be empty. But any god had deserted me a long time ago because whomever was up there in charge of my life had decided that there would be three men right behind the door. One of them I knew was the man in charge, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember his damn name. Something beginning with a D. Dan… Daniel.

I think.

I didn’t look at them, let alone talk to them, and even though I sensed Daniel wanted to ask me if I was okay, I ignored him and was quickly halfway up the stairs, my hand on Barney’s collar, hoping like hell for my leg not to buckle. He didn’t call up after me. No one shouted in this place, because it was an oasis of peace and a secure shelter for all those damaged vets who’d been chewed up and spit out by war.

When my recollection of why I was here hit me front and center, I counted myself as one of the lucky ones to find a place to hide. I wasn’t a danger to anyone else, but I was a danger to myself. The night terrors, the panic attacks, the stupid fucking inability to be a goddamned man—that was why I was here. The hospital staff healed my body to the best of their ability, the shrinks attempted to fix my head, but I didn’t have peace, and Barney was the only thing I cared about.

Caring got you hurt, and I was too raw to extend any affection or understanding to anyone but Barney.

I slumped onto my bed, then flopped backward, hands extended to each edge, Barney jumping up and curling himself right into my side. My heart raced, my head hurt, but once I matched my breathing to Barney’s and allowed his presence to soothe me, I began to calm.

“Danno, Brat, Diaz, Spook, and me,” I whispered into the room. “Danno, Brat, Diaz, Spook, and me.” The names of the fallen were a reminder of what I’d seen and lost, and were a way to connect with the world around me. Other people grieved Danno’s and Brat’s loss—they’d only been kids, both of them with big families. Diaz had a girlfriend who blamed me for her beloved dying on my watch. Spook had been married no more than a month and had left a pregnant wife behind.

I had my mom, but I’d pushed her away when I was in the hospital. I know that because it’s written in my book.

Why didn’t the explosion take me?

The ceiling fan above me was slow on the warm, fall day, and I focused on the rotations until they blurred. Only then did I close my eyes and reason out what had happened.

Someone had said hello to me—a man.

I didn’t even remember who he was, I couldn’t have picked him out of a lineup because my head was too full of noise, and my eyesight was for shit, but I’d stared at him. And then I’d run.

Or stumbled.

I was hot with embarrassment and shame, and tears forced themselves out and down my cheeks. I turned my face into Barney’s fur and cried until I was a snotty mess.

I’m a fucking marine, what the hell am I doing? What is happening to me?

There was a knock. “Food’s up, Harrison,” Daniel called, and I acknowledged him with my best and clearest okay that didn’t give away that I’d lost my shit.

It was a good thirty minutes before I made my way down the stairs, Barney a step or two behind so I could use him to steady myself. When we reached the bottom, I took a few moments to settle and swallowed the rising fear of what I’d have to face—sincere questions about my health, mental or otherwise—and lots of staring.

What I didn’t expect was a stranger in the vast room where the dining table sat. No one had said we had a new guest, but he didn’t seem military. His hair was long and brushed his collar, and he had this air of complete innocence. Like knew like, and this man hadn’t seen action. He was deep in conversation with a woman.

She had short blonde hair and a world of pain in her expression that I recognized at twenty paces. I probably knew her name, only I didn’t recall it then.

The stranger talking to her also seemed familiar, and I blinked to make sense of what I saw.

“Hey,” I said loud enough so that everyone could stare at me, and I’d get the concerned glances out of the way. The man with the familiar face leaned around the woman and immediately flushed scarlet. I could see the color rise in his cheeks, and he wouldn’t quite meet my gaze.

“Hi Harrison, I’m Lissy,” the woman said, and her name came back to me in a flash. Lissy. Army.

The man next to her extended a hand to me, and after a short delay, I shook firmly, then nodded.

“I’m Toby,” he said.

I stared into bright blue eyes. His hair was dark and threaded with red, and he had freckles across his nose. He was cute and sexy all rolled into one, and when his glance slipped to the left of my face, I had this irrational stab of need for him to check me out and not my scars.

“Corp—Harrison Miller.” I needed to stop using my freaking rank when I was a civilian now. Once a marine, always a marine meant little when I was so destroyed.

“I’m sorry about earlier.” Toby released my hand. He was staring at his feet, and I could have said I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I’d gotten used to hiding my issues.

He carried on talking as if I needed to know what he wanted to say.

“When I saw you under the tree and talked to you, I thought…” The rest was lost in the noise. No wonder he was recognizable if he was the man who spoke to me.

I remember a man talking to me. I was scared.

“Okay,” I said abruptly, not caring if I was interrupting him, just desperate to leave. I grabbed a sandwich and some chips, and then headed back to my room.

I was safe there from men with pretty eyes, a sexy smile, and an adorable splash of freckles.

Safe with Barney.



Ellery Mountain—a series of books set in the town of Ellery in the Smoky Mountains focusing on heroes as they navigate the barren landscape of being gay in a small town. Read stories of men like Finn the cop, Daniel the ex-marine, Kieran the carpenter, Marines, SEALs, teachers, soldiers, and a town that embraces them with love.

Saturday's Series Spotlight

RJ Scott
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards

USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.

She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.


EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk



The Gardener and the Marine #9



Tuesday, November 19, 2024

๐Ÿ’œNational Family Caregivers 2024 Part 3๐Ÿ’œ




๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’™๐Ÿ’š๐Ÿ’›๐Ÿ’œ๐Ÿ’—๐Ÿ’œ๐Ÿ’›๐Ÿ’š๐Ÿ’™๐Ÿ’–

As my mother's 24/7 caregiver, November being National Family Caregivers Month has always been important to me.  Not because I want personal recognition for what I do but to help show people that caregiving is more than just medical assistance, it can also be emotional, physical, psychological, that it effects every aspects of a person's life, it can be temporary, short term, long term, chronic,.  I would give anything to make it so my mother did not need the assistance but that isn't possible so I do this so she can have the best quality of life and still live in her own home.  So I realized that there are stories out there that have caregivers and whether it's a big or small part of the plot doesn't matter, they help show people what caregivers provide all within very entertaining romances and reading experiences. 

๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’™๐Ÿ’š๐Ÿ’›๐Ÿ’œ๐Ÿ’—๐Ÿ’œ๐Ÿ’›๐Ÿ’š๐Ÿ’™๐Ÿ’–


Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3  /  Part 4




Hurt Me Not by Davidson King
Summary:

As a lieutenant at the Fool’s Pass Fire Department and a single father, Easton Kooper’s life revolves around his children. When he receives an urgent call from his son’s doctor, it upends Easton’s world. Suddenly, barreling into a burning building sounds like a piece of cake. With no idea of what to do or where to turn, he’s never felt more lost. And then in walks the answer he didn’t know he needed: a gorgeous fae with an angelic smile, bearing grand promises to turn the Kooper family’s life right side up again.

Finch knows the rules: don’t fall in love with a human. That’s always been simple enough to follow—at least until the Kooper family. Despite his best efforts, Finch grows attached to Easton and his children…attached enough that he’s tempted to turn his back on the fae and their laws completely.

Before long, the pair must brace themselves as both their worlds seek to destroy them. When the darkness crashes down, it’ll take every ounce of defiance and magic Finch has to keep the Koopers safe. Faced with immovable magic and unspeakable danger, is there really any way Finch and Easton’s love can prevail?

Fighting it is hopeless, but embracing it could mean ruin for them all.

Hurt Me Not is a standalone MM urban fantasy. Guaranteed HEA. No cliffhanger.

Original Review April Book of the Month 2024:
HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!! Davidson King has done it again!!!  Hurt Me Not is a highly personal journey for the author, perhaps not the paranormal element but all the emotions the characters feel stem from personal experience.  I'm not a parent but I have spent too much time at my mom's bedside, hospital and home, feeling the very same things: fear, worry, need to breakdown but not being able to, wanting to take their pain away but can't.  It can really weigh on a person and seeing the author take those experiences and channel them into an amazing storytelling journey, well it's just very uplifting and gives one hope on a variety of levels.

So let's talk Hurt Me Not.

Easton is facing what no parent wants: a phone call from his son's doctor who has low lab numbers and more tests are needed.  When the team has issues getting an IV placed for young Milo, Finch is called in as he has an unbelievable yet welcoming calming ability about him.  My mom is a hard stick when it comes to IVs and have seen nurses of all kinds try and fail, unintentionally cause pain and be so gentle you didn't even know you got poked, so I understand Milo's fears and the relief Finch provides.  

Speaking of Milo, he and his sibling, Tru(or Tru-Bug as daddy Easton says) are an absolute delight.  Hurt Me Not may be Easton and Finch's journey but seeing the kids navigate the illness and all the emotions that go with it warms the heart.  In fiction I find kids can be hard to balance between sugary sweet and spoiled brat but Davidson King does it beautifully.

You could say Hurt Me Not is a story told in two parts: the contemporary tale of Milo's illness and effects on family and the paranormal tale of Finch, his family, and the Fae.  On the surface it seems like an odd pairing to mix but King balances both with an equal mix of realism and fantasy until they are two sides of the same coin. My heart bleeds and cheers for everyone, well not everyone, Finch has a few family members that are on the dark side of life๐Ÿ˜‰.  Not a single character is filler, they all have a purpose.

It's hard for me write this review without putting loads of personal emotions and experiences in so I'll just stop here and say that Hurt Me Not is brilliant. I can see why it was one of the hardest stories to date for the author to tell but I can also see why it was most likely the most rewarding and therapeutic.  The Fae brings a fantasy element that only heightens the story.  Put together Davidson King's storytelling expertise is chuck full of tears, cheers, and heat that guts you to the core and then heals the soul leaving an entertaining gem in it's wake.

RATING:





A Long Way Back by Barbara Elsborg
Summary:
Unfinished Business #2
A serious accident may have left Tay’s body broken, but he’s determined to live an independent life at any cost. Except he’s barely coping. Alone and isolated in London, his only solace comes from the pain numbing drugs he’s become addicted to.

Ink’s on the run. He keeps his head low, but London streets don’t feel safe. The only way to stay under the radar is to keep moving and not let anyone or anything get close. But the stray mutt that’s latched onto Ink has other ideas.

A chance encounter and Ink’s bungled attempt to free himself from his four-legged companion leads to the offer of a job as a live-in helper. Tay’s moody and difficult, but he’s also scared and vulnerable, and Ink finds himself saying yes when he should be saying no.

Can Tay and Ink find a clear path on the road towards true love? Or will their broken lives prove to be one roadblock too many?

This is the second book in the Unfinished Business series but can be read as a standalone.

This story has dark elements and possible triggers for some—bullying, death of a minor, violence, terrorism and drug addiction.



Hurt Me Not by Davidson King
CHAPTER ONE 
Easton Kooper 
“Dad, I know you’re like a million years old, but⁠—” 

“I’m thirty-six, Tru, thirty-six. Your estimation is way off. I worry about what they’re teaching you in school.” 

“Whatever, Dad. As I was saying. Can we listen to music that was created after the turn of the century?” 

I looked in the rearview mirror, where my ten-year-old son, Milo, was playing one of his games, his eyes fixed on his tablet. The smirk on his face and the little glances he made at me was all I needed to know he was listening. 

“I’m sorry, Tru, I can’t hear you…speak into my good ear.” I cupped my right ear, and she snorted…Milo giggled. 

“Lame.” Tru’s eye rolls were legendary, and I couldn’t hold back my laughter.

At thirteen years old she was the spitting image of her mother, except she had green eyes. Milo and Tru both got those from me. But other than that, she was all her mom. She was tough as nails, stubborn, and brilliant like her too. 

Milo was more like me. Same brown hair, identical smile, and loved more of a hands-on approach to life. Unless it was an update on one of his games. 

Laura Kooper, my wife and the world’s best mother, died three years ago, throwing all our lives into a tailspin. The four of us became the three of us, and in one fell swoop I was drowning. 

Fighting fires was what I knew. I was a good dad, but I hadn’t realized how many pies Laura had put her fingers in until she was gone and I was raising my children alone. 

The first year had been a mess of tears, anger, and chaos. Slowly but surely, we’d found our way—a new way, but not a day went by that I didn’t miss Laura so much it hurt just to breathe. 

“Oh thank God, school!” Tru unbuckled her belt, and I chuckled. 

“I never thought I’d hear you utter those words. So what you’re saying is, all I need to do to get you not to give me a hard time about going to school is to throw on some amazing music?” 

“It’s not amazing.” She opened the door, but I grabbed her arm. 

“You’re amazing, Tru-bug.” 

Another eye roll but I wrangled a grin too. “Love you, Dad.” 

“Love you too.”

Once she was racing off, I looked at Milo. “Almost win the level?” 

“Yeah!” 

“Well, you’re the next drop-off. You have ten minutes.” 

“The pressure!” he shouted, and I hit the gas. 


At thirty-six I was one of the youngest lieutenants this firehouse had ever had. I’d worked my ass off to get here and loved every part of it. I’d operated both engine and ladder, but I was currently in charge of Ladder Truck 121. 

Before Laura’s death, my shifts were twenty-four hours on followed by forty-eight hours off. It had meshed with Laura’s schedule. After she passed, I was able to change to ten-to-twelve-hour shifts for three or sometimes four days. I had my weekends, but holidays were tricky. 

Fool’s Pass Fire Department, where we lived, was the main hub but a little less than half of the house fell into Red Root territory, so we often found ourselves helping in both places. It got busy some days, but that was fine. I had a lot of time with my kids this way. 

A slap on my shoulder pulled me out of writing my report about a house fire on Gretchen Avenue where we’d rescued a fifty-three-year-old woman and her four cats.

“Why are Trish and I doing the book drive this weekend, East?” Jim Hastings was my closest friend on the job, but he also worked for me. 

“Well, Jim.” I spun in my chair and smiled at the burly man who was more jolly than scary. “I specifically remember you and Trish saying to me around Christmas, ‘Please, if you let me and Trish out of being Santa and Mrs. Claus this year, we will be at your mercy.’ ” 

“Well, shit.” Jim sighed and leaned against the wall in my office. 

“I’m sure the two of you will have fun.” I waggled my brows and returned my attention to my report. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Without looking up, I answered. “It means I’m tired of you flirting with her horribly and getting nowhere. This way, you and she will be at that book drive all Saturday afternoon. Maybe you get to know her a little.” 

“And here I thought dating within the same house was wrong.” 

I shrugged. “I have no issue with it as long as it doesn’t interfere with your job, and Captain feels the same way.” 

He was silent for a beat too long, so I peered over my shoulder. He was glaring at me. 

“You think she’ll never go out with me, so you feel safe saying that.” 

I burst out laughing, tossed my pen onto the papers, and faced him again. “Prove me wrong, Hastings.”

He opened his mouth to say something when my cell phone went off. A quick peek showed the pediatrician’s office. 

“I gotta take this.” 

“Later.” 

“Hello?” I answered. 

“Mr. Kooper?” 

“Speaking.” 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Kooper. This is Dr. Perry, Jennifer, calling from Fool’s Pass Pediatrics.” 

“Hi, Dr. Perry, is everything okay? I didn’t receive a call from the school saying either of my kids were hurt.” Dr. Jennifer Perry was a friend of Laura’s and while we didn’t talk a lot anymore, she was good to the kids. 

“Oh, heavens no, I’m sorry. I was calling about some blood test results that came back for Milo.” 

He’d had his yearly physical two days ago and because he’d turned ten, they’d wanted to do a complete blood workup on him. 

“Okay, what’s going on?” 

“Well, Easton, I was a little concerned by some of the counts for his platelets and white blood cells. Have you noticed or has Milo mentioned unexplained bruising, a rash that looks like small reddish pinpricks known as petechiae, or anything else abnormal?” 

“No, nothing.”

“I’m hoping this is a lab error but in case it’s not, it’s best you take Milo to the emergency room. If it’s an error he will be sent home; if it’s not, he’ll be where he needs to be.” 

“Jennifer.” I swallowed as my pulse thundered in my ears and sweat began to bead on my forehead. 

“Yes, Easton?” 

“What were the counts? How bad is it?” 

“I really don’t want to⁠—” 

“I’m asking you to tell me.” 

“Very well.” She sighed, but I didn’t believe it was out of frustration with me. I knew from being a first responder that you never wanted to say anything unless you were sure you were one hundred percent correct. 

“Milo’s a ten-year-old boy, and for a healthy child of his age we’d see a platelet count between three hundred thousand and four hundred and eighty thousand. His count came back at twelve hundred.” 

“Oh, my God.” 

“Normal white blood cell counts are between five thousand and ten thousand. Milo’s are at six hundred.” 

“Shit.” 

“Easton. I know your brain is spiraling, and you’re scared. But like I said, let’s not put the cart before the horse. Errors happen. Can you get him to the emergency room?”

“Yeah, I’ll get him there.” 

“I will be there, but I’ll call ahead and let them know that you’re on your way. Breathe, East. You’re worried; Milo will be confused and terrified.” 

She was right. I knew she was. 

“I’ll see you in a bit, Doctor.” 

All I could think as I drove to get Milo from the library where he went after school was that I couldn’t lose my son. If the universe took another piece of my soul, I didn’t think I’d survive it. 

“Please, don’t take my boy,” I whispered to whoever and whatever was out there, and hit the gas.





A Long Way Back by Barbara Elsborg
Prologue
HOW COULD EVERY PART OF your body hurt? Why was everything hurting? Tay tried to move and, crucified by pain, went under again.

When awareness returned, so did pain, a sharp-toothed animal living inside him. One thought filtered through the agony before he slid into blissful oblivion. Where the hell am I?

*****

Was he sleeping now, caught up in a pain-free dream? Maybe the greedy animal inside him was resting or perhaps bewilderment had temporarily become the stronger foe. What the fuck is happening to me? Something wasn’t right, but he didn’t know what. Then pain came back, chomping at his body, eating him from the inside out, sparking every nerve ending, and he sank back to the bottom of the sea.

*****

“Please,” Jonty pleaded.

“I think my dad still uses it.”

“But it’s rusty.”

Tay looked at the wheelbarrow, then at Jonty’s eager twelve-year-old face, and sighed. “Fine.”

They spent the rest of the first day of the summer holiday in the garage, taking apart his father’s wheelbarrow and Tay’s old bike. Or rather Tay did, while Jonty sat, making him laugh and drawing sketches of how he wanted the kite buggy to look. Tay had rolled his eyes when Jonty showed him a picture of a sparkly-blue buggy with giant wheels, a padded seat and dragon wings. Not something that would emerge from the pieces of metal Tay had in front of him.

In the end, Tay’s dad helped, welding the parts together, finding a seat from work and attaching it. Jonty had sprayed it—and the garage wall and his mother’s freezer and his dad’s golf shoes—with silver and blue paint, then they’d had to wait until the buggy was dry before they tried it out.

They hauled it to the beach first thing the next morning.

“You want to go first?” Tay asked as he got the kite airborne.

“No. You show me how to do it.”

Moments later, Tay was racing the buggy along the stretch of sand, steering with his feet, working the kite back and forth to give him more power and speed. He could hear Jonty whooping behind him. Tay whooped himself when he managed to turn without tipping over or letting the kite drop out of the sky, and he headed back towards Jonty. Once the kite was overhead, the buggy slowed and Tay came to a stop at Jonty’s side.

“Oh my God. That looks so much fun.”

“Swap places.”

Tay fastened Jonty to the kite and explained what to do. But before he’d told him how to stop, Jonty was off, zooming down the beach. Had he even registered how to turn? As Jonty continued past the point that Tay had changed direction, Tay decided he hadn’t, and ran after him.

Shit, how fast is he going? Tay’s heart leapt into his mouth as the buggy flew into the air and Jonty fell out. He was dragged for a little way over the sand before the kite fell, and when Tay realised Jonty wasn’t moving, he ran faster.

By the time he reached him, he was frantic. No helmet. Tay’s mother would be furious. Jonty didn’t have a mother to care and his dad probably wouldn’t give a shit but… Please let him be all right.

Tay threw himself onto the sand, his chest heaving. But as he leaned over, Jonty opened his eyes and grinned. “That was awesome.”

“You dick. I thought you were dead.”

“Did you see me fly? Better get a harness and a helmet. I don’t want anything happening to you. No one else will be my friend.”

Tay rolled onto his back, and laughed.

*****

Tay became aware of things being done to him. Intrusive, painful and embarrassing things. He wanted to tell people to stop touching him, turning him, messing around with him, but no words came from his mouth. He dreamed he’d been abducted by aliens, taken aboard their spacecraft, and was being experimented on. He tried to lift a hand, to reach out for help, to open his mouth and yell that he was there, that he was trapped. All he could do was cry and howl and moan. Pain and fear had many voices.

Moments of consciousness became longer and his dread of the dark, shapeless animal inside him grew, because now he could sense its approach, hear its slithering steps, and knew its bite was coming.

Yet the intensity of the pain was diminishing. He was winning that battle, and still losing the other. He kept falling into endless black and there was nothing he could do to stop it happening. All he could do was reach for memories of Jonty.

*****

Tay wondered how he’d let Jonty talk him into making a birthday cake for his mum. Well, he knew why. Because Jonty didn’t have a mum, not at home anyway, and Tay would do almost anything to make Jonty smile. Jonty smiled a lot, though it wasn’t always genuine. But he was happy now, even in the mess of Tay’s mother’s kitchen. Tay had tried not to react as Jonty had used almost every implement in the drawer.

“It’s going to be great,” Jonty said.

The cake was in the oven and Jonty was scraping out the mixing bowl and licking the spatula. He offered Tay a mouthful. It tasted…slightly unusual. Jonty didn’t seem to be bothered.

“Actually, I don’t know why we didn’t just put a bowl of cake mixture on the table and give everyone spoons,” Jonty said.

“Where would you have put the candles?”

“That’s true.”

Tay wasn’t sure how his mother would react to the blazing inferno she’d soon be faced with, but Jonty had used his precious money to buy forty candles and there was no way they weren’t going on the cake.

They cleaned the kitchen together while the cake was cooking. Tay took a peek in the oven and winced.

“What?” Jonty asked.

“You did follow the recipe exactly?”

Jonty couldn’t afford to buy Tay’s mum a present. He’d wanted to make the cake on his own so Tay’s only involvement had been to tell Jonty where stuff was in the kitchen.

“Yep. Well…”

Tay didn’t ask, but whatever Jonty had done probably explained what was happening in the oven.

“It has another fifteen minutes to go,” Jonty said.

“I’d check it. It’s escaping from the tin.”

Jonty took it out of the oven and groaned. “It looks like a chocolate brain’s exploded. Maybe it tastes nice.”

“I’m sure it will.” Hopefully.

After his mother had managed to blow out all the candles, she and his dad, Tay and Jonty had a slice. Jonty had disguised the brain-look of it with a lot of pink icing, but the cake tasted wrong.

They all ate it, because Jonty had made it. Tay’s mum said it was delicious. It wasn’t.

*****

One day, Tay remembered that he’d fallen, but nothing more. So here had to be a hospital, not an alien spacecraft. He was almost disappointed. But that explained why people were doing…things to him. Nurses, doctors… Gradually words began to make sense, voices became familiar, but touch remained scary. He was still spending longer under the surface than above it.

His family came to see him. And Jonty. My best friend. Tay tried so hard to open his eyes and speak. He wanted to tell Jonty not to cry, wanted to tell him more than that, things he should have said and never had because he’d been scared. There was a lesson to be learnt in this, but would he ever get the chance to show he’d learned it? When he got better—if he got better, he’d tell Jonty how much he loved him.

In the fog of his life, Tay understood the fall had done something to his brains as well as his body. For the time being, he was having trouble communicating, but that had to be temporary—right? He wasn’t paralysed. He could move a little, though not, it seemed, when he told himself to. He lay in his nest. A broken-winged bird waiting to see if he’d ever fly again.

*****

When Tay found out at school that Jonty had been taken to hospital, he pleaded with his dad to drive him there. Don’t want to remember this. Tay had been horrified when he’d seen him. His sweet face all battered and bruised. A split lip. Broken arm. Black eyes. Jonty’s dad had been sitting next to him and Tay’s dad had persuaded him to go for a coffee while Tay stayed with Jonty. The moment the men left, Jonty opened his eyes. They filled with tears.

Tay caught hold of his hand and squeezed gently. “Well, your looks were going to go eventually.”

Jonty laughed, then gasped in pain.

“Who did it?”

“You can’t tell anyone. Swear.”

Tay nodded.

“I told my dad I liked boys.”

Rage consumed Tay.

“No,” Jonty said. “You promised. Obviously, I’m not gay anymore.”

Tay released a strangled laugh. He wanted to tell Jonty how he felt about him, but the words wouldn’t come out. He might put Jonty in more danger.

Tay didn’t tell his parents that it was Jonty’s dad who’d put him in the hospital, because even if he begged them not to, they’d tell the police.

That night, he’d dreamt he and Jonty were in each other’s arms. First kiss. First touch. Am I gay too?

*****

Tay sensed he’d woken in a different place. The air smelled different. The sounds were different. Home. Far from being pleased, he wanted to rail at his parents. He wasn’t better yet. Why weren’t the doctors making him well?

Because there’s nothing they can do.

This is all you get.

What do you wish for? This life or death?

The black snake of depression overpowered everything. Was there really nothing more that could be done? This was his life? Unable to move independently, unable to communicate? A living death? He swung between acceptance and rejection, flailing his arms or legs to show he could, though never with the power he’d hoped for. His attempts to speak came out as groans and grunts.

I want to die.

I want to live.

But not like this.

His family hadn’t given up. His mother’s voice was constantly encouraging him to talk, move, squeeze her hand. More importantly, Jonty hadn’t given up. He still believed Tay would get better, so Tay kept breathing. As if I have a choice. He longed for Jonty’s visits. Jonty chattered as if Tay was responding to him. He talked and talked and said things that made Tay want to laugh and he hoped he had. I’m here.

*****

Jonty never gave up. That thought repeated in Tay’s head. Jonty had put up with such a lot and he stayed upbeat. Even when his father broke Jonty’s arm, a couple of ribs, and a bone in his back, Jonty had struggled into school and was taken to hospital for the second time. On that occasion, Tay didn’t stay quiet. He went to see the headmaster. Social services were involved and Jonty never went home again.

Tay wasn’t sorry he’d spoken out. He felt guilty for not having done it before. But Jonty didn’t know Tay was the reason he ended up being taken away from his father. Tay wanted to care for Jonty forever, but now Jonty was the one having to care for him and Tay hated that he was so helpless. Their relationship had changed, and not in the way Tay wanted.

*****

It wasn’t hard to detest his life. All the times he’d ever thought he was unhappy paled into insignificance compared to this. Every complaint, every whine, none of it mattered. When he was better, he’d make the most of every second of his life.

But what if he didn’t come out of this? What if this was all he’d ever have? He wouldn’t even be able to communicate that he wanted to die. He wished he hadn’t survived the fall. He was ruining the lives of his parents, stifling Jonty’s. Not his girlfriend’s. She’d not come to see him, he didn’t think, and he was glad. The relationship had been a lie anyway. He’d tried to feel something, but Jonty had his heart, had always had his heart and now he’d never have the chance to tell him.

*****

Tay and Jonty sat on their boards off Bamburgh beach, enjoying the view and the sunshine, chatting while they waited for the perfect wave. Sometimes it was as much about chatting as it was about surfing. Tay talked about university, Jonty about his job at McAllister’s.

That day, a rare day, they were without wetsuits. Ten days of continuous sunshine hadn’t made much difference to the sea temperature, but since they spent most of the time sitting on their boards, it was too hot to be covered up. Tay snuck looks at Jonty’s slender body whenever he could.

“Have you stopped with the piercings now?” Tay asked as Jonty twisted the one in his eyebrow. “Aren’t you worried you’ll spring a leak?”

“I was thinking about getting my cock done.”

Tay almost fell off his board.

“A line of piercings all the way down. What do you think?”

“That I’d break my teeth.”

Jonty laughed. “Okay. Won’t do it then.”

Tay wished Jonty had taken him seriously.

*****

Tay’s periods of awareness gradually increased in number and length, though they rarely coincided with him being able to open his eyes. That required too much effort. But he listened more carefully to what his mother was saying, explaining what was the matter with him. He’d been in a coma, and then in a minimally conscious state, following a traumatic head injury. She was sure he’d get better, kept telling him he would.

Jonty’s visits were precious glimpses of both his best friend and a life beyond the room he was in. Jonty told him about guests at the hotel, then one day he told him about Mr Difficult, who’d tried to check into McAllister’s at nine in the morning. As Jonty explained how they’d had to be rescued, Tay had heard something in his friend’s voice. This guy was different. Jonty liked him. Jealousy was another type of pain. An additional creature inside him, this one clawing at his heart. Sadly, with insufficient violence to kill him.

When Jonty kissed him on the lips and asked, “Going to thump me for that?” Tay’s heart cracked. He moaned and opened his eyes long enough to see Jonty, long enough to secure his image in his head before he slid under again.

Then Jonty came back with Mr Difficult, whose name was Devan. Tay opened his eyes again and looked at Jonty, then turned his head a little to look at Devan before he closed them—wanting to, this time, his heart broken. Devan was tall, dark, handsome, and about ten years older than Jonty. The strong, stable figure that Jonty needed. Even if Tay ever emerged from this, Jonty was lost. He hovered between being glad Jonty had someone better than Brad Greene, who’d never been good for him, and sorrow that Jonty would never know how much Tay loved him.

*****

When Tay finally remembered everything, from somewhere came the absolute certainty that he would get better. Though he suspected the journey back would be a long one and he might never make it all the way. Now that he’d remembered Brad Greene’s role in his fall, something changed in his head. He’d told Jonty that Brad Greene was dangerous. He’d warned him, and look what had happened! This was Jonty’s fault as much as Brad Greene’s. Anger joined pain and frustration, and anger was gaining control.

Gradually Tay emerged from the darkness. He could nod or shake his head in response to questions. They removed the feeding tube. He tried to reach for things. He could keep his eyes focused on people when they crossed the room. The day he was taken outside was a milestone. In a special wheelchair with him fastened in place like a crash test dummy, but to be out of that room was enough to bring tears to his eyes. The sun on his face warmed more than his skin. The sight of the sea inspired him.

I will get better. I will.

He could watch TV and at least indicate whether he wanted a different channel. He could pretend to sleep when Jonty came.

Tay mouthed words, then whispered them, and gradually regained his voice. His first clear word was “Jonty.”

“Shall I call him?” his mother asked.

“Never…wan…see…him…gain.”

*****

Tay continued on an intensive therapy programme. Two hours of occupational therapy, three hours of physiotherapy, and two hours of speech therapy a week, supplemented by his mother and father. He resisted all their efforts to persuade him to see Jonty. Even when Jonty came to the house, Tay said no. Why torture himself?

He could walk with crutches, but not safely. He looked like a newly born giraffe, legs all over the place. He needed the wheelchair if he wanted to go any distance.

He’d regained his speech, though his voice was slow and deliberate. His determination to get back the life he’d lost never wavered. He refused to accept it wouldn’t happen. If he just tried harder, worked at it longer, he’d succeed. Headaches plagued him, but he didn’t give in to them. Pills helped. His parents expected him to stay at home, but that wasn’t going to happen.

He was just at the beginning of his journey.



Davidson King
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.

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.





Barbara Elsborg
Barbara Elsborg lives in Kent in the south of England. She always wanted to be a spy, but having confessed to everyone without them even resorting to torture, she decided it was not for her. Volcanology scorched her feet. A morbid fear of sharks put paid to marine biology. So instead, she spent several years successfully selling cyanide.

After dragging up two rotten, ungrateful children and frustrating her sexy, devoted, wonderful husband (who can now stop twisting her arm) she finally has time to conduct an affair with an electrifying plugged-in male, her laptop.

Her earlier books feature quirky heroines and bad boys, now she concentrates on the bad boys, and hopes her books are as much fun to read as they are to write.



Davidson King
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Barbara Elsborg
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EMAIL: bjelsborg@gmail.com



Hurt Me Not by Davidson King

A Long Way Back by Barbara Elsborg