Sunday, June 16, 2024
🌈🌻🌼Father's Day 2024🌼🌻🌈
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In honor of Father's Day here in the US, I wanted to showcase stories with strong, influential father figures. Some aren't necessarily a lengthy factor in the story, perhaps it's even just one chapter, or a flashback, a memory, etc. The father figure has however, left a lasting impression on the characters, the story, and the reader. For Father's Day 2024, I chose 5 stories where the fatherly figure helped to shape the characters, made them stronger and in doing so made the story even more brilliant and left me smiling. If you have any recommendations for great father figures in the LGBTQIA genre, be sure and comment below or on the social media post that may have brought you here. The purchase links below are current as of the original posting but if they don't work be sure to check the authors' websites for up-to-date information.
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Hat Trick by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Summary:Harrisburg Railers #8
Stan Lyamin has seen many of his dreams come true. He’s found his soulmate, loves Noah like his own, hoisted the Cup, and has his Mama living with him in his new country. But his fantasies of a loud, loving, madcap home overflowing with childish laughter linger. When a distant family member passes, Stan and Erik immediately agree to take in the two orphaned children, but that means a trip back to Russia for Stan, an idea that both exhilarates and terrifies him.
Erik’s world tilts on its axis when a phone call wakes him and Stan in the middle of the night. Abruptly, Stan is returning to Russia, making deals, working with people who know people, and fully intending to bring two orphaned children home. The red tape is overwhelming, and Erik is alone in Harrisburg with the nearly impossible task of finding a nanny who can speak fluent Russian. Being on his own is one thing, but add in fears about Stan’s safety and team issues, and Erik is finding everything hard to balance; not least of which is spending quality time with Noah.
When their family expands from three to five, the journey won’t be easy, but love can always find a way.
Original Review February 2019:
Stan Lyamin and Erik Gunnarsson have so much to be thankful for with their love, their championship, their friends, Stan's mama, and baby Noah when a phone call with news of a cousin's death shakes things up as Stan is named guardian of two orphaned children in Russia. There is no question of Stan accepting what's asked of him but when their household increases suddenly by two, will their life become more hectic or more loved?
OHMYGOD!OHMYGOD!OHMYGOD!OHMYGOD!OHMYGOD!OHMYGOD!OHMYGOD!
Okay, now that I got that out of the way let's begin😉. Hat Trick is absolutely adorable from beginning to end. How can it not be with Stan front and center? It's no secret that Ten and Jared are my favorite couple in Harrisburg Railers series but Stan and Erik are a very close second, truth is Ten & Jared probably only inch ahead because they were first and I've made no secret of the fact that 99.999% of the time the first pairings in a multi-couple series is always my fave. But come on! This is Stan we're talking about and he is impossible not to love. I have to be honest, I don't know which author, Scott or Locey, is mainly in charge of Stan but he is one of about three or four characters that I actually read in my head with the accent and broken English that he's written as, generally the accents just fall to the wayside but not with Stan, oh no his broken English is sounded out in every adorable syllable.
I've made no secret of the fact that I find men who care for children to be an incredible turn on and Stan and Erik are no different. Seeing them with baby Noah is just breathtaking but now that Eva and Pavel enter the picture, I have no words to describe how much I love how they accept them into their home without question, especially Erik because with him he has the added language barrier to break through.
Talking of Eva and Pavel, one of the things that really caught my attention was how even though Stan "knows people" to cut out some of the red tape, the authors still manage to let the reader know just what some of the hurdles are as well as letting us see why Stan is so thankful to be here as being a gay man is not an easy life in Russia right now. But what I loved the best was that these elements factor into the story but they are not the forefront of the journey. Hat Trick is all about Stan, Erik, Noah, Eva, and Pavel getting to know each other and settling into their knew life.
And I can't forget Mama Lyamin because she is feisty, fun, and no nonsense all in one. Too often older foreign parents are written as meek and just so thankful to be here that they just accept everything and yes, she is grateful to be here but she doesn't just let everything roll by her which I absolutely love about her.
Hat Trick may be a novella in Scott & Locey's Harrisburg Railers but it is packed to the brim of everything we have come to know and love about the series, add in a little setup for Save the Date coming this summer and this entry is nothing short of sublime. You will laugh, cry, laugh some more, and have a smile on your face so huge that will make people question your sanity(if you're reading it in a public place). What more can you ask for?
RATING:
Erik’s world tilts on its axis when a phone call wakes him and Stan in the middle of the night. Abruptly, Stan is returning to Russia, making deals, working with people who know people, and fully intending to bring two orphaned children home. The red tape is overwhelming, and Erik is alone in Harrisburg with the nearly impossible task of finding a nanny who can speak fluent Russian. Being on his own is one thing, but add in fears about Stan’s safety and team issues, and Erik is finding everything hard to balance; not least of which is spending quality time with Noah.
When their family expands from three to five, the journey won’t be easy, but love can always find a way.
Stan Lyamin and Erik Gunnarsson have so much to be thankful for with their love, their championship, their friends, Stan's mama, and baby Noah when a phone call with news of a cousin's death shakes things up as Stan is named guardian of two orphaned children in Russia. There is no question of Stan accepting what's asked of him but when their household increases suddenly by two, will their life become more hectic or more loved?
OHMYGOD!OHMYGOD!OHMYGOD!OHMYGOD!OHMYGOD!OHMYGOD!OHMYGOD!
Okay, now that I got that out of the way let's begin😉. Hat Trick is absolutely adorable from beginning to end. How can it not be with Stan front and center? It's no secret that Ten and Jared are my favorite couple in Harrisburg Railers series but Stan and Erik are a very close second, truth is Ten & Jared probably only inch ahead because they were first and I've made no secret of the fact that 99.999% of the time the first pairings in a multi-couple series is always my fave. But come on! This is Stan we're talking about and he is impossible not to love. I have to be honest, I don't know which author, Scott or Locey, is mainly in charge of Stan but he is one of about three or four characters that I actually read in my head with the accent and broken English that he's written as, generally the accents just fall to the wayside but not with Stan, oh no his broken English is sounded out in every adorable syllable.
I've made no secret of the fact that I find men who care for children to be an incredible turn on and Stan and Erik are no different. Seeing them with baby Noah is just breathtaking but now that Eva and Pavel enter the picture, I have no words to describe how much I love how they accept them into their home without question, especially Erik because with him he has the added language barrier to break through.
Talking of Eva and Pavel, one of the things that really caught my attention was how even though Stan "knows people" to cut out some of the red tape, the authors still manage to let the reader know just what some of the hurdles are as well as letting us see why Stan is so thankful to be here as being a gay man is not an easy life in Russia right now. But what I loved the best was that these elements factor into the story but they are not the forefront of the journey. Hat Trick is all about Stan, Erik, Noah, Eva, and Pavel getting to know each other and settling into their knew life.
And I can't forget Mama Lyamin because she is feisty, fun, and no nonsense all in one. Too often older foreign parents are written as meek and just so thankful to be here that they just accept everything and yes, she is grateful to be here but she doesn't just let everything roll by her which I absolutely love about her.
Hat Trick may be a novella in Scott & Locey's Harrisburg Railers but it is packed to the brim of everything we have come to know and love about the series, add in a little setup for Save the Date coming this summer and this entry is nothing short of sublime. You will laugh, cry, laugh some more, and have a smile on your face so huge that will make people question your sanity(if you're reading it in a public place). What more can you ask for?
RATING:
Summary:
The Guy #1
Nice guy Anthony has a sudden “friends with benefits” relationship with a hot military man.
Anthony’s sex life is better than ever. It would be perfect—if only he didn’t crave more. The chemistry between them is on fire, but Anthony is uncertain of asserting what he wants, at least beyond the bedroom.
Ex-military and new to the small town of Glamour, Dean doesn’t do relationships, though he is supposed to become his niece’s guardian. Soon, however, his niece is melting Dean’s guarded heart, along with her guidance counselor, Anthony. Out of place in the town and among Anthony’s warmhearted family, Dean struggles with the idea of permanence.
Can a no-strings sexual arrangement spark something more real?
NOTE: The new edition has been reformatted, with new front and back matter, but the overall story is the same.
This has been on my Kindle for over a year but I just got round to reading it now. Not sure why it kept getting overlooked because it is an amazing read. Dean is the epitome of a career serviceman when he's thrown a curveball with the death of his sister and orphaned niece. Love the way he is immediately sucked into the Carrino family not to mention his connection to Anthony. The way the author tackled his fear of what he could possibly have to offer his 13 year old niece is believable and heartwarming.
RATING:
Summary:
Love at Blind Date #4
Sometimes it’s not the clothes that need stitching together.
Omega Keith Jenson is starting to see his years of hard work pay off as the small tailor shop he runs with his best friend and boss flourishes. Everything is going to plan—until he gets a phone call that turns his life upside down. His grandfather had an accident and needs him. Keith doesn’t think twice about dropping everything for the person who once did the same for him. What's a couple of months for the man who gave him everything?
Alpha Ethan Russo is taking a year’s leave from his job teaching at the university to write the novel that has always been a someday plan. It is finally time to just jump in with both feet and do it. The time away will also give him time to help his grandmother build the patio she’s been hinting at since pretty much ever. She is also not so subtly hinting at setting him up with her neighbor’s grandson, but Ethan’s gone on a date she arranged once before and it did not go well. No. He was just going to write his book, build her patio, and leave her matchmaking skills for somebody else.
Ethan is drawn to Keith at first sight, but the omega keeps him at arm's length, even with his meddling grandmother being her persuasive self. And then one night something changes and Keith lets him in. Ethan sees what they could have together for the first time and he loves it...if only they didn’t have an expiration date.
Blind Date for Father’s Day is a super sweet with knotty heat M/M Mpreg romance featuring an omega who’s focused on his grandfather’s health and is not looking for love—or so he tries to convince himself, an alpha who follows his dreams and discovers so much more, a persistent grandmother, a parrot with, shall we say, a unique vocabulary, an addictive shifter soap opera, and an adorable baby. If you love your alphas hawt, your omegas determined, and your mpreg with heart, you will love this new addition to the popular Love at Blind Date series by the cowriting team, Lorelei M. Hart and Colbie Dunbar.
Another lovely entry in this delightful series. Keith and Ethan are so perfect for each other on multiple levels but their timing seems to be against them. Will they manage to navigate the course of true love? For that you'll have to read for yourself, I guarantee you won't disappointed in their journey and the familial interference . . .I mean familial help😉😉.
Having both characters aiding and caring for a grandparent is a huge plus for me. I've read some amazing grandparents before but to see both MCs so close to their's is an extra bonus. Back in 1991 I became my grandmother's caregiver after she had a massive heart attack so to see that kind of generational connection in a book is always something I tend to aim towards a higher levle of standards and Hart & Dunbar have captured that role and emotions perfectly. A special kudos to the authors on that point.
Blind Date for Father's Day is a true gem, it will make you laugh, smile, and for those who's grandparents are no longer here you will find yourself reliving many happy memories. I look forward to reading the other two entries in Lorelei M Hart & Colbie Dunbar's Love at Blind Dates series.
Summary:
Haven Hart #1
Haven Hart #1
After running from a past destined to kill him, Snow has been hiding on the streets.
Tell nobody your name.
Tell nobody your secrets.
Trust nobody!
These are the rules of the streets.
His entire life changes when he saves an eight-year-old boy from a violent end.
Christopher Manos is one of the most powerful crime bosses in the country.
Don’t ask anyone to do something you aren’t willing to do yourself.
Secrets can get you killed.
Trust nobody!
These are the rules he lives by.
When his eight-year-old nephew disappears, he never expects the boy’s savior to end up being his own.
A man with a dangerous past and a man with a dangerous future find love amidst murder and mayhem. But with Snow's life being threatened at every turn, will Christopher's best be enough to prevent Snow Falling?
Original ebook Review December 2017:
When Snow comes upon a little boy in trouble and comes to his aid, he has no plans for it to lead to a new beginning he was just doing what he felt was right. Christopher may be the head of a family that has some questionable tactics but he is an honorable man so when his nephew is saved by a young man in an alley, he offers the man a job. Will either man let the future take root and grow or will their secrets get in the way?
Snow Falling is a masterpiece! That is the best way to explain what I read, nothing more, nothing less. It is a true masterpiece, a gem to be savored. When you factor in that this is a debut novel by the author, well frankly its hard to believe because its just so great. Now, I would be lying if I said I am unfamiliar with the author because I consider her a friend and kindred spirit and I have been cheering her on for several years. I knew her book would be good but even I was overwhelmed at how stunning and heartwarming Snow Falling is.
The characters, from Snow and Christopher to Roy and Bill to Lisa and Maggie, they all bring something to the story and not a single one is "window dressing" or "filler", they all have a part to play in the journey that is found within the covers of Snow Falling. I mention that because that is a rare thing, in my experience there is usually at least one character that could have been removed from the pages and the reader would not miss them but not here. Every character is intriguing in their own way and makes the story better.
As you know, I don't do spoilers so all I'll say in regards to the plot is WOW because I was hooked and had everyday life not got in the way I would have easily read this in one sitting. Talk about an easy read, and don't think I mean "easy" as in simple and short. No, I mean "easy" as in it grabs you from the first page and before you know it half the book is gone and then suddenly you find yourself at the epilogue. I started this review by saying Snow Falling is a masterpiece and I'll end with saying it has heart, no better way to say it: Snow Falling will break your heart, but it will also warm your heart.
Tell nobody your name.
Tell nobody your secrets.
Trust nobody!
These are the rules of the streets.
His entire life changes when he saves an eight-year-old boy from a violent end.
Christopher Manos is one of the most powerful crime bosses in the country.
Don’t ask anyone to do something you aren’t willing to do yourself.
Secrets can get you killed.
Trust nobody!
These are the rules he lives by.
When his eight-year-old nephew disappears, he never expects the boy’s savior to end up being his own.
A man with a dangerous past and a man with a dangerous future find love amidst murder and mayhem. But with Snow's life being threatened at every turn, will Christopher's best be enough to prevent Snow Falling?
When Snow comes upon a little boy in trouble and comes to his aid, he has no plans for it to lead to a new beginning he was just doing what he felt was right. Christopher may be the head of a family that has some questionable tactics but he is an honorable man so when his nephew is saved by a young man in an alley, he offers the man a job. Will either man let the future take root and grow or will their secrets get in the way?
Snow Falling is a masterpiece! That is the best way to explain what I read, nothing more, nothing less. It is a true masterpiece, a gem to be savored. When you factor in that this is a debut novel by the author, well frankly its hard to believe because its just so great. Now, I would be lying if I said I am unfamiliar with the author because I consider her a friend and kindred spirit and I have been cheering her on for several years. I knew her book would be good but even I was overwhelmed at how stunning and heartwarming Snow Falling is.
The characters, from Snow and Christopher to Roy and Bill to Lisa and Maggie, they all bring something to the story and not a single one is "window dressing" or "filler", they all have a part to play in the journey that is found within the covers of Snow Falling. I mention that because that is a rare thing, in my experience there is usually at least one character that could have been removed from the pages and the reader would not miss them but not here. Every character is intriguing in their own way and makes the story better.
As you know, I don't do spoilers so all I'll say in regards to the plot is WOW because I was hooked and had everyday life not got in the way I would have easily read this in one sitting. Talk about an easy read, and don't think I mean "easy" as in simple and short. No, I mean "easy" as in it grabs you from the first page and before you know it half the book is gone and then suddenly you find yourself at the epilogue. I started this review by saying Snow Falling is a masterpiece and I'll end with saying it has heart, no better way to say it: Snow Falling will break your heart, but it will also warm your heart.
Original Audiobook Listen November 2019:
With the holidays, I actually reviewed book 4(From These Ashes) first but I did listen to the series in order. Snow still completely blows me away, Christopher is an awesome blending of hard ass and soft hugs. I guess that's what makes Snow and Christopher work so well, they compliment each other, they keep the other in check(or they try their hardest to do so😉).
As for the narration, well like I said in book 4, I've never listened to a book with dual narrators before but they worked perfectly. When I first started listening I thought Snow came across as jumpier, a little out of sync but the more I listened the more I realized that it was the perfect way to bring Snow's upbeat and snarky character to life. Could other narrators pull it off? Sure, but after hearing Joel Leslie and Philip Alces, I can't imagine anyone else bringing Haven Hart alive.
RATING:
With the holidays, I actually reviewed book 4(From These Ashes) first but I did listen to the series in order. Snow still completely blows me away, Christopher is an awesome blending of hard ass and soft hugs. I guess that's what makes Snow and Christopher work so well, they compliment each other, they keep the other in check(or they try their hardest to do so😉).
As for the narration, well like I said in book 4, I've never listened to a book with dual narrators before but they worked perfectly. When I first started listening I thought Snow came across as jumpier, a little out of sync but the more I listened the more I realized that it was the perfect way to bring Snow's upbeat and snarky character to life. Could other narrators pull it off? Sure, but after hearing Joel Leslie and Philip Alces, I can't imagine anyone else bringing Haven Hart alive.
Checking it Twice by VL Locey
Summary:Snowed Inn
Will confessing his deepest secret to his best friend ruin their friendship?
Sutter Thompson has spent a goodly part of his life living a lie.
That lie led him to marry a woman he didn’t love as he should while he struggled to be all that his family wanted him to be. Finally, after the birth of his son Zachary, Sutter came to see that he needed to live a life of truth. Not just for himself, but for Zach as well. The truth included coming out at forty, getting divorced while his son was an infant, and trying to readjust to being who he was born to be.
Throughout all the turmoil, Sutter’s best friend, Watley McCutcheon, stood by his side. Watley understood how difficult breaking free could be. He had done it many years ago when they were still on the same college hockey team. Sutter always admired Wat’s bravery. He also admired his best friend for many other things…his smile, his laugh, his adoration of his son, Adam, and his caring heart. Now that Watley is single again, Sutter is hoping he can unlock the final secret he’s been carrying in his heart…he has and always will love Watley.
He’d not planned to do so at the youth hockey awards, but then again, he hadn’t expected an avalanche to strand him, Watley, their sons, and several of the boys’ teammates in a cozy Colorado inn either. Maybe it’s the romantic atmosphere or the sudden realization that life is too short to harbor such strong feelings forever, but he’s ready to declare his feelings to Watley. Can they step out of the friend zone and into a romance, or will Sutter’s heartfelt admission destroy years of brotherly affection?
Checking it Twice (A Snowed Inn Novella) is a friends-to-lovers gay romance with plenty of snow, a heaping helping of romance, snowball fights, terrible dad jokes, pop culture references out the wazoo, and a joyous happy ending.
Original Review December 2022:
I know forced proximity tropes aren't for everyone, especially since Covid but I've always enjoyed a well written one or what I like to call "tale of necessity" or "fate at work". There is always a cloud of "will it last once the necessity is gone" hanging over the heads of those involved but lets face it, there are "what ifs" hovering over everyone's head at some point or another. I enjoy this trope because it can make some who might never get a chance to say two words to each other really get to know the other. Be honest, communication and seeing one deal with the unexpected, can be key to lasting love.
Now that I've said that, Checking it Twice, though forced proximity gives Sutter and Watley the opportunity to face what is in the room, is actually more of a friends to lovers trope as they've been best buds since college. Just because they probably know all the nitty gritty of each other's psyche doesn't mean they've been completely open about everything and the avalanche near The Retreat forces them to face a few truths. Kids and fellow-trapped hockey parents play a hand in it as well.
I don't want to spoil anything but we know VL Locey and the whole holiday tale genre is all about the HEA so it's no secret where the men will end up but the how they get there is where all the fun lies. I refuse to spoil your fun. I will say that one thing I loved the most is how the kids act and react. I have found too many kids in entertainment(book, tv shows, movies) fall into one of two categories: super sickly sweet or spoiled obnoxious brats so when I come across kids in my readings(or viewings) that are simply "normal"(I hate that word because what is "normal" but I can't think of a better one right now) with some sweetness and a hint of bratty potential but mostly "I just want to see you happy, dad. When can we eat?", I not only remember them but need to shine a spotlight on them. So kudos to VL Locey for the "normal" little boy behavior😉.
So to reiterate in much more brevity: Checking it Twice is brilliant holiday fun that will make you smile and leave said smile on your face for hours afterwards. Oh and, men caring for kids? Yummy to the Nth degree!
One last series note: Snowed Inn is a multi-author series of standalones with the only real follow thru being the avalanche that traps the main characters at The Retreat. The entries can be read in any order although if I'm completely honest I'm glad I read RJ Scott's Stop the Wedding first simply because there are the occasional wedding(or non-wedding) comments, none of which really effect or play a role in any of the other entries but I was glad I knew what they meant having read Wedding first. But that's more a personal preference of mine than an actually need to know scenario. I still have a couple of entries to read but so far they are all topnotch.
Hat Trick by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Stan
Watching snowflakes flutter by the window, I was struck by how beautiful snow was and yet how deadly it could be. Like now, it was soft and fluffy and would blow off the wings as soon as the 747 I was seated in took off. But there were snows that could cripple an airplane, sticking and freezing on the wings. Such was how many things were. Such was how my homeland could be. Russia was a beautiful country, rich with history and stunning cathedrals. The people were proud and vibrant and loving. But there was a dangerous side to Russia, one that might make my return risky. It was not a good time for gay men in Russia. The government called us terrible names, jailed us, or worse… simply for loving someone of the same gender.
I glanced at the flight attendant helping the other first-class passengers find their seats and stow their carry-on bags. He’d told me his name was Howard. He was older, distinguished, slim, with salt-and-pepper hair. His accent was British, very pretty, and he fussed over his passengers like a mother goose does her goslings. He’d assured me that, once we were in the air, he would come with the drink cart. Generally, I did not drink much. On New Year’s Eve of course, but other than special occasions, athletes skipped alcohol. Erik was not much on boozing it up. We were happy homebodies.
I looked back out at the snowy airfield. Erik. I missed my beloved already, and the plane was still sitting at Harrisburg International Airport taking on passengers. I shifted in my seat, glad for the leg room that first class gave me. Also, the seat was plush, the blanket thick and warm, and the food and drinks would be above par. Sadly, I would be enjoying all of this luxury alone. Erik had to stay home with Noah. There were hockey games to play, a nanny to find, and paperwork to have in order when I returned with our new children. The team wasn’t happy to lose me for the time required to make this trip, but they had given me leave to go. My stomach flipped in excitement and apprehension yet again. Ever since the call had come during the night two weeks ago, all of us had been bouncing between terror, anxiety, and joy.
Funny how a man’s life can change with just one phone call.
I’d been sleeping soundly the night the news had come, Erik in my arms, our bodies tacky with sweat and semen. My eyes had felt as if they had just closed when Elvis started singing Hound Dog over and over. I had found a new ringtone app called ”Elvis Ringtones” and picked a new song every week. Elvis had released many, many songs, so I could have a new ringtone whenever I wished. That night, it was Hound Dog, and it played repeatedly. Erik had slid over me, mumbling, and grabbed my phone off my nightstand.
“It’s for you. Someone saying something in Russian,” he’d grumbled.
I slung an arm over his back to keep his belly pressed to mine. He let his head drop to my shoulder and his leg shimmy between my thighs. Perfection, I remember thinking before I put the cell to my ear and everything went upside down and inside and out. Is there an ”and” in that saying? I shook my head. No, I didn’t think so. Inside out. Yes, inside out is right. So yes, the call had come through, the line raspy with static as the service in the small town I had grown up in wasn’t good.
It was bad news. My fourth cousin on my father’s side, Anatoli, had been killed in a terrible accident involving a truck and him on a motorcycle. The two children he had looked after, children of another cousin, had been left alone upon his death, as their parents had died several years earlier. Their father from cancer and their mother from alcohol poisoning. She had been just a young woman, but her drinking was bad, as it is for many in the backwoods of Russia. When I was a child, I would look at the people of my small village and see only gray faces filled with great hardships and bleak futures. Which was why I had worked so hard to get out and make sure my sister and mother did as well. I did not want my mother to die before her time, her life dreary and sad.
The children, it seemed, had now been left to me, or maybe the better explanation was that I had been named as their next-in-line guardian. The poor children had been passed from pillar to post and had never known a stable family. The message was clear— could I come now to Leskovo and fetch them before they went into the government system. It seemed no one in the family could afford two more mouths to feed. I had sat up, stunned and shaken, unable to think of the proper words to say back to one of my uncles. I’d had no knowledge of my cousin naming me as a second guardian of his children if anything should happen to Anatoli, and I had told Erik that, after I’d blurted out some reply to Uncle Maxim about giving me time to make plans and to not allow the little ones to go to the government.
“I do not know how the government treats little ones with no parents, but if they treat them as bad as they do gay people,” I mumbled as Erik hurried to dress and find me something to pull on. “I go now.”
“Stan,” he said a moment later as I pulled a pair of jeans over my ass, “I’m sure they’ll be fine for a few days until we sort through all of this. You can’t just fly to Russia and toss the kids into a plane headed for America.”
“Why not? I am chosen next guardian by father. I go now. Bring home. We adopt. Make them ours. We want more children; you say so too. Now we will have three!”
I padded to the closet to find a suitcase. Erik slid between the closet door and me. “Stan, you can’t go off halfcocked. This is going to be a tangled-up bureaucratic mess to wade through. We’ll need a lawyer, probably an adoption representative, maybe state and federal permission. Things between the US and Russia aren’t exactly stable right now. And there’s the fact that the Russian government knows you’re in a relationship with a man here in the States.”
“Pah. I do not care. The Kremlin can suck my fat cock.”
Erik rolled his pretty eyes. “Stan, the point is you can’t just run over to Russia and expect to come home with two kids the next day. There’s protocol that we’re going to have to follow. And two kids? I mean, at once? Who don’t speak a lick of English? What are their names? How old are they? What sex are they? Are they healthy? Are they immunized? I don’t want any kids around Noah who haven’t been immunized. What if they’re mean to other kids or pets? What if you get over there and the government is waiting, and they lock you up to make a show of you, or they take you to the top of some high fucking office building in Moscow and throw you off just because you’re—”
“Hush now, hush.” I pulled him into my arms and held him for a long, long time. He clung to me, fingers digging into the skin on my lower back, his nose buried in my throat. I kissed his golden curls as he sucked in a long breath, then slowly let it out. “Nothing bad happens to us. We are strong family. Much love. This will be good.” I ran a hand up and down his back. “We will make this good, you see. Big family means much more love and strength.”
The soft rumbling of the plane rolling out to taxi jarred me from the memory. I fastened my seatbelt and turned off my phone. Howard checked on me, smiling and patting my shoulder, and then went on to make sure the others were obeying the rules. The flight was long, over eleven hours, and would afford me plenty of time to dwell upon things. Such as my mother’s reaction the following day when she had learned of our fourth cousin’s death. She said she’d never liked him, but she had wept softly for the children, holding Noah on her lap. Then I’d had to tell her about me being the chosen adult to take them.
It made sense to me and to Erik once we’d returned to bed the next night and talked things out as best we could. I was the most successful one in our big family. My cousins all knew I played professional hockey, and that I was now studying to be an American citizen. They had seen the images of my house, my car, my family here in Pennsylvania. I’d not pushed my wealth under their noses, but even just sharing pictures on social media, my family back in Leskovo would comment on the luxuries they saw. So, me being listed to take Anatoli’s children if there was no one else made sense. Also, who didn’t want to immigrate to America? This was the country of opportunity! The Statue of Liberty said so. She called to the weak and frail of other countries to come to her shores. I loved her so much, Lady Liberty. Every time we played in New York City I went to see her, and I thanked her for taking me and my family into her country.
So, me being picked seemed reasonable. I had been chosen, and I would fulfill my obligation to my family and those children. Mama had broken down when I’d told her I was returning to Russia as soon as we could arrange the legal things. Erik had been tasked with the paperwork. He was well spoken, his English smooth, and his bearing that of a prince. I was big and scary, and while my English was wonderfully better, it was still bumpy sometimes.
I’d hushed her as I had Erik the night before, assuring her that I would be welcomed back to Russia with open arms. She’d not thought so, but she had quieted when I reminded her of those two children— a girl and a boy, we had learned— who had no one to love them.
“They will need much love. They never really knew their parents, and now they have lost a guardian. They need more even than Erik and I can give them,” I’d whispered to her in Russian as I’d knelt beside the rocking chair in Noah’s room and held her. “They will need a sweet gam to tuck them in when their pappa's are not to home and bake pryaniki for them.”
She’d patted my cheeks and sniffled, her chin coming up a bit. “I will do whatever they need, but you must promise to come home to me, Stanislav.” She’d stared at me with eyes the same stormy color as mine. “You bring the babies home. Safe. All three of you. I will work hard with Erik to make the house ready for them.”
“You are a good woman.” I’d pulled her to my chest and kissed her damp cheek.
“And you, my son, are a good man.”
The plane began to roll down the runway. I felt the pressure against my chest as we lifted off. Turning my head to the left, I looked out of the window and watched Harrisburg slowly get smaller and smaller.
“I will be back soon,” I whispered to Erik, then pulled the shade down and patted my passport and the packet of legal papers riding in the interior pocket of my winter coat. Never had mere paper felt so heavy.
The Guy from Glamour by Skylar M Cates
Chapter One
“PERSONAL MATTER, Captain Pierce. The colonel said to call him right away.”
“Personal matter?” Dean Pierce paused in the middle of lifting a giant weight over his head. He had no personal matters, and he never got phone calls. Ever. Scowling, he racked his brain to come up with a plausible explanation and found none.
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said, backing away a few steps.
The sergeant had found Dean in the PE tent doing some cross-training exercises that mostly consisted of jumping up and down. It sucked that he couldn’t exercise outside, but despite the Night Stalkers’ secured location, they never knew where a sniper might be hiding. The exercise room was small, with little equipment, and, like most of the men, Dean usually did sets of pushups or jumping jacks there, but today he’d picked up the only available set of twenty-pound dumbbells and had been cranking out a few sets of overhead extensions. He wiped some sweat on the side of his T-shirt as perspiration dripped down his chest to his lower abdomen. Unlike most of the other guys, Dean preferred to skip the usual card games to pass the time, and he liked to push his body to its limits.
Needing to find out what this was all about, Dean ignored the sergeant, put the PE area back into perfect order, and then stomped over to command to take his phone call. He was in a rotten mood already. It had been a long time since he’d seen any action.
Dean really needed to fly, but they’d been holed up all week on a remote mountainside in Afghanistan, awaiting orders for an assault mission. It was where the Night Stalkers spent most of their time between jobs—in one kind of shithole or another—and Dean itched to get on a real assignment already. Major Thompson was busy with two other soldiers when Dean entered the command tent, but he waved Dean over to the SATCOM phone. It looked like a big cell phone, but it was hooked up to a satellite, and it was only used in emergencies. Dean hesitated for only a split second and then took the call.
Five minutes later, managing only a curt “Yes, sir,” Dean hung up and sat there, his mouth drawn tight.
Major Thompson glanced at him. “Bad news?”
“Yes, sir. My sister’s dead,” Dean said in a clipped, hard voice, his face impassive.
He stood up and waited for the grief to come with saying the words out loud, but all he’d felt was pissed off. He couldn’t begin to tap into his feelings about Jenna. All Dean could focus on was that he had to leave his unit, head to America, and desert his men. But there was no question that he’d need to go on at least a two-week emergency leave and figure out what to do. After hearing from the Red Cross about his sister, Colonel Matthews immediately called him. He had pretty much ordered him to go, and when Dean had an order he followed it, plain and simple. He was needed in the States. His sister was gone, and she’d left behind a kid.
“Jesus! I’m sorry to hear that, Pierce.”
Dean didn’t answer. His stomach had twisted into knots.
OVER THE next few hours, in some kind of trance, Dean packed his things and made flight arrangements. Or, more accurately, Lieutenant Aaron Weiss, his bunkmate and only friend, had packed for him. Dean had mostly sat there. Weiss was good at taking care of things like that. He was often in charge of getting the choppers ready, and a pretty good pilot besides.
“Do you want to talk?” Weiss asked.
A muscle ticked in Dean’s jaw.
“Right. Of course you don’t,” Weiss answered for him. “Stupid question. Do me a favor, Pierce? When you’re around civilians, try to use actual words. Grunting doesn’t work so well out there. Try to communicate.”
“I’m the flight lead. I tell the men what to do all the time. I communicate.”
“I meant on the actual ground.” Weiss’s eyes lit with humor. He was small and wiry, and Dean towered over him, but Weiss gave as good as he got.
Dean spoke haltingly, “This is a mistake. I’m not some fucking babysitter. I don’t even know why I’m going.”
“But you’re going anyway. Aren’t you?”
Dean said nothing.
Weiss came over and sat beside him. “Try to have a little faith.”
“Not me. I leave all that to the religious types like you.” Although, truth be told, Dean would have liked God on his side, especially in some hot landing zone where he flew in a Little Bird on a direct action mission and the enemy was pounding them.
Or right now.
“Better a rabbi than a redneck.” Weiss gave a sly grin. He was aware of the nickname—the Rabbi—that the other Stalkers had given him, partly because Weiss was the only Jewish guy in the group and partly because he wore his convictions like a compass and never let the teasing bother him. Dean didn’t have a nickname, and he was painfully aware that the other Stalkers didn’t feel comfortable enough to give him one. “And before you tell me how Arizona is cowboys and not rednecks, let me add that there really is only one place to be in America for true civilization, and it has bagels and Broadway and—you’d better stop me before I burst into a Billy Joel song. God, I miss New York. Don’t you miss your home too? Even a little?”
“Got nothing to miss.”
“Oh. Shit, Pierce, that’s depressing. If it makes you feel any better, you’re too good a pilot for the army not to drag you back here. You might even be back in time for the next assignment.”
“I’ll be back before that.” Dean gave Weiss a sharp look. “Count on it.” He grabbed his bag, slapped Weiss’s back in farewell, and left the tent.
Once he got outside, though, Dean slowed down his pace. He closed his eyes a moment, listening to the sound of choppers as they lifted up into the sky, the helo maneuvering right above him. What the hell would he do without that sound every day?
ONE JEEP ride and two long flights later, Dean was finally headed Stateside. The plane took off, roaring to life, a thousand-pounds-plus of bird flying into the air with a bit of lift. Dean always loved takeoff, but not this time. He couldn’t believe he was going to be in Phoenix soon, an area he’d vowed never to return to. Despite his efforts to move forward, always forward, the place had lingered inside of him. Dean stared out his window. Phoenix like the mythical creature, rising out of the ash. That was his life all right. Returning him to something he’d long ago buried.
The plane hit a patch of rough air, and the woman near him gripped her armrest. It was only turbulence, but Dean could see that a logical explanation might not make any difference to her. He would have smiled at her reassuringly, but her eyes were squeezed closed. A more experienced pilot would have avoided the difficult air. These airline types depended on their computers too much anyhow. Chopper pilots know how to really fly. On a clear day, maybe at dawn, there was nothing better than a sturdy Chinook flaring up, ready to go, its massive spinning rotors zooming through the clouds.
Dean managed a few hours of sleep on the plane but still didn’t feel rested when they landed with a jolt. The line moved slowly, and he was nearly the last one off the plane. At the airport shop, he grabbed a bite to eat, including a pack of licorice and some M&M’s. There were no ATMs where the Stalkers had been in Afghanistan, and it felt odd to use one and to actually buy junk food. Dean bought a book too, a thriller, another luxury, since most of the guys just passed around the few books they had. Then Dean checked the address where his niece was staying. He’d left so quickly that he knew none of the details beyond it. He felt stupid about that now, and it didn’t help his mood any to walk a freaking mile to the tiny shuttle that took him to the car rental agency.
The man in the Hertz office was middle-aged and had stringy brown hair. He pushed a bunch of forms at Dean, explaining that while he understood Dean’s need for legroom—and with that he’d glanced up at Dean’s large frame—he still couldn’t help him. All he had left were smaller cars. He took a sip of his dark coffee and shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”
Dean would’ve liked to have left it, instead of shelling out his hard-earned money to drive some damn compact, foreign piece of junk, but since a dozen other people were waiting for cars, he took it. As he passed the others, he was torn between feeling lucky to escape and imagining he was going to a worse place. Although he could have tried another car rental agency in the airport, Dean was too tired from the long flight to want to wait in another huge line with no guarantee of a better car. Besides, he needed to get all this over with as soon as possible.
Weiss was wrong. Dean already regretted being there. What could he do to help some kid? Nobody had ever helped him, and he’d done all right. Dean ducked his head, still nearly banging it on the roof of the car, and left the airport. Even with his foot sitting heavily on the pedal, the car barely reached seventy on the highway. Junk. He should have held out for something with some guts. Giving up on the useless car going any faster, Dean chewed some candy, put on some soft rock, and tried to relax. The GPS told him in firm, female tones where to go, and he followed the directions out of Phoenix and onto the highway. Even though he’d grown up in the city, Dean had never really made it to too many places outside of it. He hadn’t seen anything, really, until he’d left for the army, and he’d never even heard of Glamour, the town where his niece was staying, but according to the GPS, it was only a forty-five-minute drive.
As he drove, his shoulder felt a bit stiff, and he rubbed it. For a moment, he contemplated stopping to pick up some ibuprofen, but Dean hated taking any drugs. He’d exercise it later. That usually did the trick. He worried about what his regiment was doing. They weren’t supposed to mobilize for at least ten days, but in Afghanistan, anything could change at any time. Night Stalkers flew. Determined or hungry or terrified, they flew. Dean didn’t want to know if they’d suddenly left on a job without him. Even if they hadn’t gone out yet, they were doing important training. The Night Stalkers were in the middle of testing low-flying capabilities with extra men—each equipped with over seventy pounds of gear—and delivering them safely into the enemy’s backyard. For the Rangers and SEALs depending on the Night Stalkers to transport or rescue them, this training was crucial, and Dean was missing it.
He glanced out his window at the scenery as he turned off the highway. Welcome to Glamour, Arizona! Dean looked around. The sign lied. There didn’t seem to be anything glamorous about Glamour. It was a tiny, dusty-looking town with only a few sparse cacti dotting the streets. It looked more like a place for gunslingers than beauty.
Dean eyed Main Street. There weren’t any fast-food restaurants or discount stores in sight, he’d give it that much, although there had been plenty of them on the road outside the town. Maybe it had a certain charm, Dean thought grudgingly as he went past the post office and Wells Fargo Bank. Most of the other buildings were cutesy little shops of some kind or another, none of them looking as if they were part of any larger chains.
He sped down the main street in less than five minutes. The GPS guided him right past the town and into a more rural area. The houses here were well kept at least, and there was even some life. Dean saw a few kids playing and two women outside watching them. He drove past a slightly curved road and onto the street where his niece was staying. He could see mountains in the distance now, and even with the air conditioner on full blast, he could feel the hot whip of the desert sun.
Turning his car into a small, circular driveway, Dean parked and then sat for a long moment. He was used to pressure. Just last month, he’d been on a recon mission, trying to make it out of the enemy terrain with all his guys intact. Flying the birds with the barest amount of infrared light, bullets zinging off his blades—that was rough. That was pressure. So why was he shaking in his combat boots at the thought of facing his thirteen-year-old niece? Why was he was quaking like a damn baby?
With a shaky breath, he forced himself to get out of the car.
The house was painted a cheery yellow. There were a number of desert plants in the front and a nice-sized porch. Dean stretched, pulling his left arm over his head, and then his right one. He walked toward the front door.
“Crap! Oh damn.” There was a sudden thump. Curious, Dean turned toward the noise and headed to the back of the house. It was a fairly big yard with some well-loved lawn furniture circling a fire pit filled with lava rocks. There was also a lush garden blooming with desert marigolds, sunflowers, and aloe plants. A tiny grotto stood in the center of the garden with a pretty statue of the Blessed Mother there. Dean wasn’t religious at all, but there was something inviting about all the bursts of colorful flowers surrounding the statue. What really drew his attention, however, was the man standing on his tiptoes while facing a shed near the left of the garden, trying to put a cardboard box on an extremely high shelf. The shelf was already jam-packed, and Dean watched him shoving at the box to try to make it fit.
“Crap,” the man cried again as the box started to tumble down at him. Dean moved quickly and grabbed the guy with one hand, catching the wayward box with his other. There was no way that box would fit on that shelf. Why he didn’t simply empty the entire shed out and do it correctly, lining everything inside it up in neat sections, was beyond Dean.
“You should stack these better and they wouldn’t fall,” Dean said, his voice a bit raspy from the long flight and hours of not speaking.
“Um, yeah. Thanks. I’ll do that next time. Haven’t opened up this shed in forever, and I forgot what a family of pack rats we are.”
Dean didn’t comment. He let go of the guy, who immediately rubbed his arm. Dean could see where his fingers had left a red mark.
“Didn’t mean to be rough. Wanted to grab you before that box hit your head.”
“No, that’s fine. I was just caught off guard.” The other man was staring at him, and Dean pulled a little at his collar. He forgot how oddly civilians sometimes viewed the military. He hoped he wasn’t going to get lectured about politics or anything. He had enough on his mind with the kid. Dean put the box down on the grass.
“You must be Nicki’s uncle?”
At Dean’s nod, his gaze swept over Dean’s uniform. Nope, it wasn’t judgment in his face; it was admiration. Dean breathed a little easier. He could handle a lot of questions about the Night Stalkers. This guy would probably go on about all the reasons he’d wanted to join the military but never did. Dean got that a lot.
“I’m Anthony Carrino.”
“Captain Dean Pierce.”
“I’m really glad you decided to be here for Nicki. She’s at the movies with my dad right now, and nobody else is home, but you’re welcome to come in. I’d like to talk with you, actually, before you meet her. She’s a bit fragile. Even before Jenna’s accident, Nicki had trouble in school and—”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“What? Nicki’s trouble?”
“No. The accident.”
“You don’t know the details?”
“No.”
Anthony hesitated. He ran his hand through his thick brown hair that curled just at the nape of his neck. Dean braced himself for what he’d say.
“It was a car accident. The truck driver had been driving here from Texas and fell asleep at the wheel. He T-boned Jenna’s car as she was coming home from work—Oh God, I’m sorry. This is coming out horribly.”
“It’s all right. I asked you.”
“Still, I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine if one of my sisters—” He bit down on his lip.
“It’s fine.”
But Dean could picture it now: the glass shattering, metal twisting, the acrid smell of gasoline, Jenna’s second of pure terror. He was used to death. He’d seen plenty of good men and women blown up or shot at in combat, but this was his sister, and even if they’d lost touch, it still ripped at his guts.
“You know,” Anthony said, giving him a speculative glance, “we didn’t even know about you for some time. Jenna never mentioned having a brother.”
“We fell out of contact. You said the kid was having trouble in school, even before Jenna was…?” He couldn’t get himself to say the words Jenna and killed together. Instead, Dean began to take some of the boxes out of the shed and reorganize them.
He could feel Anthony’s gaze on him again, and he tried to ignore the sizzle of awareness that shot through him. He needed to focus on why he was there and not on this guy’s handsome, almost pretty face and his hard, lean body. Jesus, nothing about this situation seemed real. He wasn’t used to chaos and mess, emotionally, physically, or otherwise. Dean gripped one box tightly until his knuckles turned white, then forced himself to let it go. He lifted it a second time and slid it into place. He sorted through a few more boxes, organizing them too.
“We can take this one step at a time, okay? I’ll tell you what. Let me show you the house and her room, and then I’ll be happy to share with you all about Nicki. Mr. Haines, her social worker, and my father, who is Nicki’s temporary foster parent, must be involved in all this too. We can all sit down together and talk.”
“I thought you were her foster parent.”
“Me? No. I’m her guidance counselor at school, and I’ve come to care about Nicki, so when this happened, I asked my dad for a favor.”
“Why?”
“He and my mom have taken in a few kids over the years, and they’ve known Mr. Haines for a long time. Only my mom’s out of town right now and couldn’t help. She’s with my sister, Stacey, who is having a difficult pregnancy. Mom insisted on flying off to New Jersey to look after Stacey’s girls. Stacey told her that she could manage, but nothing stops Mom when she insists on something. Luckily, Dad agreed to take in Nicki for me. Mom will help out too, of course, when she comes back. And God, I’m rambling on about my family. Sorry. I do that sometimes.”
Anthony paused. He looked at Dean expectantly.
“Anyway,” Anthony continued when Dean didn’t speak, “it’s temporary. Mom and Dad stopped taking in kids on a long-term basis a while ago, so we’ll still need to work out a more permanent foster home for Nicki.”
Dean jammed his hands into his pockets. The word “foster home” left a vile taste at the back of his throat.
Anthony motioned for Dean to follow him. “Come into the house. We might as well get to know each other a little more.”
Reluctantly, Dean followed.
He could do this. It would be a week, two at the most. He’d treat it like a job. Go in, do the mission, get out. Then he’d be back in Afghanistan where he belonged.
The minute Anthony opened the back door, a golden retriever puppy bounded right at him, nearly tripping him.
“Oh, hiya, Moose. You crazy dog.” He laughed. “This is the true baby of the house, Nicki’s puppy, Moose.”
“Her puppy?”
“Yeah.” Anthony cocked his head. “Do you like dogs?”
Dean looked at the puppy. Moose had his head cocked too, just like Anthony.
“They’re okay.”
“Oh. Let me put him into his crate. I’m really supposed to be keeping him there most of the day to train him, but he cries so much. The other night, I went down and slept beside him.”
Dean said nothing, and after an awkward moment, Anthony caged the puppy.
It was a pretty nice house, better than most Dean had been inside of, anyhow. The kitchen was big and roomy. It had a big pantry that was half-open and filled to the brim with cereals and chips and pastas. The appliances were stainless steel and very modern-looking. At the end of the hallway was a great room with a damn nice plasma-screen television front and center. But it wasn’t luxurious or cold. The sofa was well used, and the glass table had a small nick in the corner. Somebody had collected or made doilies too. There were intricate patterns crocheted and on display in several places, some tucked under lamps or vases and others hanging in the china cabinet. Dean wondered offhand who sewed them. He had an urge to run his finger down one. He rarely saw anything so delicate. The house was neat but not immaculate. There were magazines spread out on the coffee table and a pair of sneakers by the front door. Still taking it all in, Dean followed Anthony up the stairs. They climbed up to the second floor, which was dimly lit but smelled nice, like roses. Maybe Anthony’s family went in for that potpourri stuff, or maybe it was cleaner. Whatever it was, Dean took another appreciative sniff. Army barracks, even the good ones, didn’t smell like flowers.
“This is where Nicki is staying for right now. It isn’t perfect, but I think she’s comfortable.”
He led Dean down the hallway and opened a door for him to walk through. Funny thing, the way his stomach tightened up. The kid wasn’t even in there, yet Dean had to tell himself to breathe. He strode past Anthony and into the room.
Dean looked around. The walls were a bright blue, and there was a decent bed loaded with pillows. There was also a wall of books. Most of them were about cars or about the lives of various basketball players like Michael Jordan and Larry Bird.
“Is this your room?”
“Yeah. Well, when I was a kid. Up until a few months back, I was living in my own place in Mesa and commuting to work here in Glamour. But my mom never bothered to change it too much.” He looked around absently, gliding his hand over one of the books. “I never imagined I’d end up back here.”
Not knowing what to say to that, Dean turned and inspected the rest of the room. On the desk was a backpack, half-open, crammed with papers and notebooks. It was purple and had some pop singer on the front of it. Pink maybe? Dean wasn’t sure. A bunch of nail polish sat next to it, as though the kid had painted her nails instead of doing her homework, and next to that was a Wii game. At least Dean wasn’t so out of touch that he didn’t recognize Mario.
Dean started to say as much to Anthony when he noticed a tangle of blankets in the closet. He walked closer, seeing an old air mattress in there too. Was his niece sleeping in here and not on the bed? Why? Dean slowly shifted his weight from side to side. Anthony seemed like a good guy, but Dean had lived long enough, had survived enough shit, to know that people were often not what they seemed, and all kinds of things happened behind closed doors. He and Jenna had both learned that the hard way.
“Why is the kid sleeping in there?” His voice came out low and gravelly.
“What?”
“Don’t deny it.”
“I wasn’t going to.” Anthony gave him a puzzled look. “We offered her the twins’ old room, but she liked mine. Since I was already set up in our guest room, I was fine with that. She has the bed, of course. But we kept finding Nicki curled up in the closet in the morning. So I blew up that air mattress for her and gave her some blankets. Believe me, I’d rather she sleeps in a bed too, but I guess she needs a small space. I think it feels good to her, safe or something. She’s starting with a therapist soon, and I was going to bring it up. For now, I talked with the social workers, and we all agreed to let Nicki dictate her needs. As long as she’s not hurting herself. I can see this upsets you, but it’s what she seems to want.”
Dean stared hard into Anthony’s hazel eyes, flecked with gold and brown, and he saw nothing but warmth. Unsettled, Dean watched Anthony move a step closer to him.
“I promise you”—Anthony smiled, his lips curving upward—“the only one living in the closet in this house was me, and I came out swinging.” He made a motion as if he had a bat in his hand.
Dean didn’t answer. He’d never really mastered joking with people. His tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth. Dean pushed past Anthony and strode into the hallway. He scuffed his shoe at the edge of Anthony’s stairs, feeling pretty ridiculous, and worse, like an ungrateful ass. He shouldn’t have returned to Phoenix. He just didn’t belong there, not in this house, in this town, or with this girl. Dean didn’t belong with regular people. He’d seen too much blood and war. He didn’t know how to be normal; maybe he never had known.
He sensed Anthony coming up behind him and tensed. “She’s all right, Dean. Really.” His voice was soft. “I mean considering what she’s going through, Nicki craving a small space to hide away seemed logical.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? With her sleeping there? With everything? What?”
When Dean didn’t answer, Anthony made an impatient sound. “So why are you so quiet? Or are you upset about what I said before?”
“Before?” Dean turned around.
“About me and the closet? My impulsive, slightly corny joke? You don’t have a problem with my being gay, do you?” Anthony asked, folding his arms at his chest. “Because I’m out at school and here at home, and I plan to stay that way.”
“No. I….” Dean stared at him. He swallowed. “No.”
“Oh, okay.” Anthony’s stance lost some of its hardness. “Good. That reminds me. I forgot to ask you before if you’re involved with anybody. Girlfriend? Wife? I’m asking because of Nicki and how this might fit into things for her.”
“Nobody.”
“Nobody?”
“I’m a Night Stalker. Do you even know what that means?”
“I think that you—”
“We’re Special Forces,” Dean interrupted. “We’re the most elite helicopter force in the whole damn world. We fly into enemy territory and navigate our way through it to complete search-and-rescue missions or perform high-risk air assaults. I don’t have time for anything else.” He’d had enough of this bullshit. Dean started quickly down the stairs, taking them two at a time, Anthony at his heels.
As he reached the front door, Dean turned back, and Anthony nearly collided into him. They looked at each other a moment.
“Do you have a hotel yet? You could stay here or I could suggest one. Glamour only has one motel, but there’s a four-star hotel about fifteen minutes from here.”
“No. I don’t need some fancy hotel. A motel close by is fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Anthony held up one hand at Dean’s curt nod. “Wait here a second. Let me at least give you a few things.”
Anthony dashed away before Dean could protest. He heard Anthony moving in the house. He heard the puppy whimper. He was tempted to get into his car and leave, but Anthony came back. He thrust a plastic bag into Dean’s hands.
“What’s this?”
“Oh, you know, just some things to make your stay more comfortable.”
Dean glanced into the bag. There were soaps, shampoos, a sleep mask, pillowcases, detergent, and a bunch of quarters.
“The motel has a coin laundry,” Anthony said. “Or you could bring your laundry here. And my sisters can spare all the other stuff. Beauty is their business.” He smiled widely at Dean. “We aim to make our guests comfortable here in Glamour.”
Dean didn’t smile back. After a moment, he managed a fast “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He opened the front door. “Well, I’ll show you where the motel is. You can follow me there.”
“I’ll MapQuest it.”
“Right. Okay.”
Dean took out his phone and Anthony typed in the address.
“It’s not much to look at, but it’s clean. You won’t find a carpet that turns your socks black or anything here. And they give you free coffee and a newspaper in the lobby.”
“It’s fine. I don’t need much.”
Anthony looked as though he expected to say more. Dean had nothing to say. Outside of army talk, he rarely knew what to say to people. God, he was failing at all this already, failing to joke, failing to respond to small talk. He should have stayed with the Stalkers. He needed to get out of there, away from Anthony, and think.
“Do you need anything else?”
“No.”
“I could show you that hotel?”
“No.”
“And you will come back tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Are you deliberately trying to be difficult?”
“What do you mean?” Dean was painfully aware of his shortcomings.
“Nothing.” Anthony shook his head, smiling slightly, studying him. “You’re just not what I’m used to I guess.”
Dean stared back.
“Look,” he said. “Maybe this isn’t fully my place to ask, but I need to know. What exactly is your plan here?”
“Plan?”
“For Nicki?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Oh.” Anthony paused. He smiled ruefully. “Now I’m the one talking in monosyllables.”
“I’m not good at this,” Dean said. He could feel heat rising to his face. “I don’t belong here. I have no plan for the kid. I came to see her and maybe, I don’t know, get to know her because of my sister or whatever, but… I’ll just fuck her up more.” He heard a note of raw panic in his own voice and fought to control it.
“No, you won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re worried about it. If you would thoughtlessly hurt Nicki, you wouldn’t be worried. Besides, I’m hoping that in the long run meeting you will help her. Everybody needs family, needs somebody, even if they can’t give you everything you want.”
Dean grunted at Anthony’s naïveté, but didn’t try to argue. Spoken like a guy who came from a decent family. Some family was scum, not worth knowing, not worth having.
“I’ll talk to Nicki. All right? If she agrees, then you can come around eleven?”
“Fine,” Dean grunted. Then, realizing he’d only given Anthony a one-word answer again, he added, “Lunch.”
AFTER HE arrived at the motel, Dean unpacked and went to the pool. The only good part about growing up in Arizona had been that almost every crappy place he’d stayed with Jenna came with a crappy pool, and Dean had been a great swimmer from an early age. Dean’s workout usually involved long, intense swimming with his fins on and then a long run, but he made do with what he had. His swim alternated between high bursts of speed and longer, endurance-building laps. He tried not to dwell too much on the long day, Anthony Carrino, or the girl, Nicki. Fuck. He tried to just swim, pushing his body until his muscles burned and his lungs screamed. Water splashed over the edges of the pool as he increased his turning speed, pounding out lap after brutal lap. It didn’t help, not the way it usually did. His body was fatigued, but his nerves were still all fired up.
He made his way to his room and cleaned up in the shower, letting the water hit his back and still-sore shoulder, and then he wrapped himself up in a thin towel at his waist and flopped down on the bed. He had to admit, Anthony’s soap had smelled nice. Kind of like fresh oranges.
He turned the television on and watched a few cheesy sitcoms, but he couldn’t concentrate on them. Dean shut off the TV and tried to sleep. His long legs hung off the bed, and the mattress was way too soft. He was used to hard bunks or even the bare ground. He’d rather be jumping out of a plane than looking into his niece’s face tomorrow. But he’d try. He would go to lunch, attempt to talk with her, find her a decent place to end up. Dean could see his sister’s sad, pretty face right in front of him. It was the least he could do for Jenna.
The very least, Jenna would’ve said.
“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered hoarsely into the darkness. He stretched his hand out to the flat pillow, his sister’s face only a blurred memory. He tried to see her features in his mind more clearly and failed. And now… Jenna was dead. They’d never get a chance to put things right. Dean knew he’d screwed up forever, so he dropped his hand to his side, turned away from the pillow, and struggled to sleep. He had a bad feeling about all of this.
“PERSONAL MATTER, Captain Pierce. The colonel said to call him right away.”
“Personal matter?” Dean Pierce paused in the middle of lifting a giant weight over his head. He had no personal matters, and he never got phone calls. Ever. Scowling, he racked his brain to come up with a plausible explanation and found none.
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said, backing away a few steps.
The sergeant had found Dean in the PE tent doing some cross-training exercises that mostly consisted of jumping up and down. It sucked that he couldn’t exercise outside, but despite the Night Stalkers’ secured location, they never knew where a sniper might be hiding. The exercise room was small, with little equipment, and, like most of the men, Dean usually did sets of pushups or jumping jacks there, but today he’d picked up the only available set of twenty-pound dumbbells and had been cranking out a few sets of overhead extensions. He wiped some sweat on the side of his T-shirt as perspiration dripped down his chest to his lower abdomen. Unlike most of the other guys, Dean preferred to skip the usual card games to pass the time, and he liked to push his body to its limits.
Needing to find out what this was all about, Dean ignored the sergeant, put the PE area back into perfect order, and then stomped over to command to take his phone call. He was in a rotten mood already. It had been a long time since he’d seen any action.
Dean really needed to fly, but they’d been holed up all week on a remote mountainside in Afghanistan, awaiting orders for an assault mission. It was where the Night Stalkers spent most of their time between jobs—in one kind of shithole or another—and Dean itched to get on a real assignment already. Major Thompson was busy with two other soldiers when Dean entered the command tent, but he waved Dean over to the SATCOM phone. It looked like a big cell phone, but it was hooked up to a satellite, and it was only used in emergencies. Dean hesitated for only a split second and then took the call.
Five minutes later, managing only a curt “Yes, sir,” Dean hung up and sat there, his mouth drawn tight.
Major Thompson glanced at him. “Bad news?”
“Yes, sir. My sister’s dead,” Dean said in a clipped, hard voice, his face impassive.
He stood up and waited for the grief to come with saying the words out loud, but all he’d felt was pissed off. He couldn’t begin to tap into his feelings about Jenna. All Dean could focus on was that he had to leave his unit, head to America, and desert his men. But there was no question that he’d need to go on at least a two-week emergency leave and figure out what to do. After hearing from the Red Cross about his sister, Colonel Matthews immediately called him. He had pretty much ordered him to go, and when Dean had an order he followed it, plain and simple. He was needed in the States. His sister was gone, and she’d left behind a kid.
“Jesus! I’m sorry to hear that, Pierce.”
Dean didn’t answer. His stomach had twisted into knots.
OVER THE next few hours, in some kind of trance, Dean packed his things and made flight arrangements. Or, more accurately, Lieutenant Aaron Weiss, his bunkmate and only friend, had packed for him. Dean had mostly sat there. Weiss was good at taking care of things like that. He was often in charge of getting the choppers ready, and a pretty good pilot besides.
“Do you want to talk?” Weiss asked.
A muscle ticked in Dean’s jaw.
“Right. Of course you don’t,” Weiss answered for him. “Stupid question. Do me a favor, Pierce? When you’re around civilians, try to use actual words. Grunting doesn’t work so well out there. Try to communicate.”
“I’m the flight lead. I tell the men what to do all the time. I communicate.”
“I meant on the actual ground.” Weiss’s eyes lit with humor. He was small and wiry, and Dean towered over him, but Weiss gave as good as he got.
Dean spoke haltingly, “This is a mistake. I’m not some fucking babysitter. I don’t even know why I’m going.”
“But you’re going anyway. Aren’t you?”
Dean said nothing.
Weiss came over and sat beside him. “Try to have a little faith.”
“Not me. I leave all that to the religious types like you.” Although, truth be told, Dean would have liked God on his side, especially in some hot landing zone where he flew in a Little Bird on a direct action mission and the enemy was pounding them.
Or right now.
“Better a rabbi than a redneck.” Weiss gave a sly grin. He was aware of the nickname—the Rabbi—that the other Stalkers had given him, partly because Weiss was the only Jewish guy in the group and partly because he wore his convictions like a compass and never let the teasing bother him. Dean didn’t have a nickname, and he was painfully aware that the other Stalkers didn’t feel comfortable enough to give him one. “And before you tell me how Arizona is cowboys and not rednecks, let me add that there really is only one place to be in America for true civilization, and it has bagels and Broadway and—you’d better stop me before I burst into a Billy Joel song. God, I miss New York. Don’t you miss your home too? Even a little?”
“Got nothing to miss.”
“Oh. Shit, Pierce, that’s depressing. If it makes you feel any better, you’re too good a pilot for the army not to drag you back here. You might even be back in time for the next assignment.”
“I’ll be back before that.” Dean gave Weiss a sharp look. “Count on it.” He grabbed his bag, slapped Weiss’s back in farewell, and left the tent.
Once he got outside, though, Dean slowed down his pace. He closed his eyes a moment, listening to the sound of choppers as they lifted up into the sky, the helo maneuvering right above him. What the hell would he do without that sound every day?
ONE JEEP ride and two long flights later, Dean was finally headed Stateside. The plane took off, roaring to life, a thousand-pounds-plus of bird flying into the air with a bit of lift. Dean always loved takeoff, but not this time. He couldn’t believe he was going to be in Phoenix soon, an area he’d vowed never to return to. Despite his efforts to move forward, always forward, the place had lingered inside of him. Dean stared out his window. Phoenix like the mythical creature, rising out of the ash. That was his life all right. Returning him to something he’d long ago buried.
The plane hit a patch of rough air, and the woman near him gripped her armrest. It was only turbulence, but Dean could see that a logical explanation might not make any difference to her. He would have smiled at her reassuringly, but her eyes were squeezed closed. A more experienced pilot would have avoided the difficult air. These airline types depended on their computers too much anyhow. Chopper pilots know how to really fly. On a clear day, maybe at dawn, there was nothing better than a sturdy Chinook flaring up, ready to go, its massive spinning rotors zooming through the clouds.
Dean managed a few hours of sleep on the plane but still didn’t feel rested when they landed with a jolt. The line moved slowly, and he was nearly the last one off the plane. At the airport shop, he grabbed a bite to eat, including a pack of licorice and some M&M’s. There were no ATMs where the Stalkers had been in Afghanistan, and it felt odd to use one and to actually buy junk food. Dean bought a book too, a thriller, another luxury, since most of the guys just passed around the few books they had. Then Dean checked the address where his niece was staying. He’d left so quickly that he knew none of the details beyond it. He felt stupid about that now, and it didn’t help his mood any to walk a freaking mile to the tiny shuttle that took him to the car rental agency.
The man in the Hertz office was middle-aged and had stringy brown hair. He pushed a bunch of forms at Dean, explaining that while he understood Dean’s need for legroom—and with that he’d glanced up at Dean’s large frame—he still couldn’t help him. All he had left were smaller cars. He took a sip of his dark coffee and shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”
Dean would’ve liked to have left it, instead of shelling out his hard-earned money to drive some damn compact, foreign piece of junk, but since a dozen other people were waiting for cars, he took it. As he passed the others, he was torn between feeling lucky to escape and imagining he was going to a worse place. Although he could have tried another car rental agency in the airport, Dean was too tired from the long flight to want to wait in another huge line with no guarantee of a better car. Besides, he needed to get all this over with as soon as possible.
Weiss was wrong. Dean already regretted being there. What could he do to help some kid? Nobody had ever helped him, and he’d done all right. Dean ducked his head, still nearly banging it on the roof of the car, and left the airport. Even with his foot sitting heavily on the pedal, the car barely reached seventy on the highway. Junk. He should have held out for something with some guts. Giving up on the useless car going any faster, Dean chewed some candy, put on some soft rock, and tried to relax. The GPS told him in firm, female tones where to go, and he followed the directions out of Phoenix and onto the highway. Even though he’d grown up in the city, Dean had never really made it to too many places outside of it. He hadn’t seen anything, really, until he’d left for the army, and he’d never even heard of Glamour, the town where his niece was staying, but according to the GPS, it was only a forty-five-minute drive.
As he drove, his shoulder felt a bit stiff, and he rubbed it. For a moment, he contemplated stopping to pick up some ibuprofen, but Dean hated taking any drugs. He’d exercise it later. That usually did the trick. He worried about what his regiment was doing. They weren’t supposed to mobilize for at least ten days, but in Afghanistan, anything could change at any time. Night Stalkers flew. Determined or hungry or terrified, they flew. Dean didn’t want to know if they’d suddenly left on a job without him. Even if they hadn’t gone out yet, they were doing important training. The Night Stalkers were in the middle of testing low-flying capabilities with extra men—each equipped with over seventy pounds of gear—and delivering them safely into the enemy’s backyard. For the Rangers and SEALs depending on the Night Stalkers to transport or rescue them, this training was crucial, and Dean was missing it.
He glanced out his window at the scenery as he turned off the highway. Welcome to Glamour, Arizona! Dean looked around. The sign lied. There didn’t seem to be anything glamorous about Glamour. It was a tiny, dusty-looking town with only a few sparse cacti dotting the streets. It looked more like a place for gunslingers than beauty.
Dean eyed Main Street. There weren’t any fast-food restaurants or discount stores in sight, he’d give it that much, although there had been plenty of them on the road outside the town. Maybe it had a certain charm, Dean thought grudgingly as he went past the post office and Wells Fargo Bank. Most of the other buildings were cutesy little shops of some kind or another, none of them looking as if they were part of any larger chains.
He sped down the main street in less than five minutes. The GPS guided him right past the town and into a more rural area. The houses here were well kept at least, and there was even some life. Dean saw a few kids playing and two women outside watching them. He drove past a slightly curved road and onto the street where his niece was staying. He could see mountains in the distance now, and even with the air conditioner on full blast, he could feel the hot whip of the desert sun.
Turning his car into a small, circular driveway, Dean parked and then sat for a long moment. He was used to pressure. Just last month, he’d been on a recon mission, trying to make it out of the enemy terrain with all his guys intact. Flying the birds with the barest amount of infrared light, bullets zinging off his blades—that was rough. That was pressure. So why was he shaking in his combat boots at the thought of facing his thirteen-year-old niece? Why was he was quaking like a damn baby?
With a shaky breath, he forced himself to get out of the car.
The house was painted a cheery yellow. There were a number of desert plants in the front and a nice-sized porch. Dean stretched, pulling his left arm over his head, and then his right one. He walked toward the front door.
“Crap! Oh damn.” There was a sudden thump. Curious, Dean turned toward the noise and headed to the back of the house. It was a fairly big yard with some well-loved lawn furniture circling a fire pit filled with lava rocks. There was also a lush garden blooming with desert marigolds, sunflowers, and aloe plants. A tiny grotto stood in the center of the garden with a pretty statue of the Blessed Mother there. Dean wasn’t religious at all, but there was something inviting about all the bursts of colorful flowers surrounding the statue. What really drew his attention, however, was the man standing on his tiptoes while facing a shed near the left of the garden, trying to put a cardboard box on an extremely high shelf. The shelf was already jam-packed, and Dean watched him shoving at the box to try to make it fit.
“Crap,” the man cried again as the box started to tumble down at him. Dean moved quickly and grabbed the guy with one hand, catching the wayward box with his other. There was no way that box would fit on that shelf. Why he didn’t simply empty the entire shed out and do it correctly, lining everything inside it up in neat sections, was beyond Dean.
“You should stack these better and they wouldn’t fall,” Dean said, his voice a bit raspy from the long flight and hours of not speaking.
“Um, yeah. Thanks. I’ll do that next time. Haven’t opened up this shed in forever, and I forgot what a family of pack rats we are.”
Dean didn’t comment. He let go of the guy, who immediately rubbed his arm. Dean could see where his fingers had left a red mark.
“Didn’t mean to be rough. Wanted to grab you before that box hit your head.”
“No, that’s fine. I was just caught off guard.” The other man was staring at him, and Dean pulled a little at his collar. He forgot how oddly civilians sometimes viewed the military. He hoped he wasn’t going to get lectured about politics or anything. He had enough on his mind with the kid. Dean put the box down on the grass.
“You must be Nicki’s uncle?”
At Dean’s nod, his gaze swept over Dean’s uniform. Nope, it wasn’t judgment in his face; it was admiration. Dean breathed a little easier. He could handle a lot of questions about the Night Stalkers. This guy would probably go on about all the reasons he’d wanted to join the military but never did. Dean got that a lot.
“I’m Anthony Carrino.”
“Captain Dean Pierce.”
“I’m really glad you decided to be here for Nicki. She’s at the movies with my dad right now, and nobody else is home, but you’re welcome to come in. I’d like to talk with you, actually, before you meet her. She’s a bit fragile. Even before Jenna’s accident, Nicki had trouble in school and—”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“What? Nicki’s trouble?”
“No. The accident.”
“You don’t know the details?”
“No.”
Anthony hesitated. He ran his hand through his thick brown hair that curled just at the nape of his neck. Dean braced himself for what he’d say.
“It was a car accident. The truck driver had been driving here from Texas and fell asleep at the wheel. He T-boned Jenna’s car as she was coming home from work—Oh God, I’m sorry. This is coming out horribly.”
“It’s all right. I asked you.”
“Still, I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine if one of my sisters—” He bit down on his lip.
“It’s fine.”
But Dean could picture it now: the glass shattering, metal twisting, the acrid smell of gasoline, Jenna’s second of pure terror. He was used to death. He’d seen plenty of good men and women blown up or shot at in combat, but this was his sister, and even if they’d lost touch, it still ripped at his guts.
“You know,” Anthony said, giving him a speculative glance, “we didn’t even know about you for some time. Jenna never mentioned having a brother.”
“We fell out of contact. You said the kid was having trouble in school, even before Jenna was…?” He couldn’t get himself to say the words Jenna and killed together. Instead, Dean began to take some of the boxes out of the shed and reorganize them.
He could feel Anthony’s gaze on him again, and he tried to ignore the sizzle of awareness that shot through him. He needed to focus on why he was there and not on this guy’s handsome, almost pretty face and his hard, lean body. Jesus, nothing about this situation seemed real. He wasn’t used to chaos and mess, emotionally, physically, or otherwise. Dean gripped one box tightly until his knuckles turned white, then forced himself to let it go. He lifted it a second time and slid it into place. He sorted through a few more boxes, organizing them too.
“We can take this one step at a time, okay? I’ll tell you what. Let me show you the house and her room, and then I’ll be happy to share with you all about Nicki. Mr. Haines, her social worker, and my father, who is Nicki’s temporary foster parent, must be involved in all this too. We can all sit down together and talk.”
“I thought you were her foster parent.”
“Me? No. I’m her guidance counselor at school, and I’ve come to care about Nicki, so when this happened, I asked my dad for a favor.”
“Why?”
“He and my mom have taken in a few kids over the years, and they’ve known Mr. Haines for a long time. Only my mom’s out of town right now and couldn’t help. She’s with my sister, Stacey, who is having a difficult pregnancy. Mom insisted on flying off to New Jersey to look after Stacey’s girls. Stacey told her that she could manage, but nothing stops Mom when she insists on something. Luckily, Dad agreed to take in Nicki for me. Mom will help out too, of course, when she comes back. And God, I’m rambling on about my family. Sorry. I do that sometimes.”
Anthony paused. He looked at Dean expectantly.
“Anyway,” Anthony continued when Dean didn’t speak, “it’s temporary. Mom and Dad stopped taking in kids on a long-term basis a while ago, so we’ll still need to work out a more permanent foster home for Nicki.”
Dean jammed his hands into his pockets. The word “foster home” left a vile taste at the back of his throat.
Anthony motioned for Dean to follow him. “Come into the house. We might as well get to know each other a little more.”
Reluctantly, Dean followed.
He could do this. It would be a week, two at the most. He’d treat it like a job. Go in, do the mission, get out. Then he’d be back in Afghanistan where he belonged.
The minute Anthony opened the back door, a golden retriever puppy bounded right at him, nearly tripping him.
“Oh, hiya, Moose. You crazy dog.” He laughed. “This is the true baby of the house, Nicki’s puppy, Moose.”
“Her puppy?”
“Yeah.” Anthony cocked his head. “Do you like dogs?”
Dean looked at the puppy. Moose had his head cocked too, just like Anthony.
“They’re okay.”
“Oh. Let me put him into his crate. I’m really supposed to be keeping him there most of the day to train him, but he cries so much. The other night, I went down and slept beside him.”
Dean said nothing, and after an awkward moment, Anthony caged the puppy.
It was a pretty nice house, better than most Dean had been inside of, anyhow. The kitchen was big and roomy. It had a big pantry that was half-open and filled to the brim with cereals and chips and pastas. The appliances were stainless steel and very modern-looking. At the end of the hallway was a great room with a damn nice plasma-screen television front and center. But it wasn’t luxurious or cold. The sofa was well used, and the glass table had a small nick in the corner. Somebody had collected or made doilies too. There were intricate patterns crocheted and on display in several places, some tucked under lamps or vases and others hanging in the china cabinet. Dean wondered offhand who sewed them. He had an urge to run his finger down one. He rarely saw anything so delicate. The house was neat but not immaculate. There were magazines spread out on the coffee table and a pair of sneakers by the front door. Still taking it all in, Dean followed Anthony up the stairs. They climbed up to the second floor, which was dimly lit but smelled nice, like roses. Maybe Anthony’s family went in for that potpourri stuff, or maybe it was cleaner. Whatever it was, Dean took another appreciative sniff. Army barracks, even the good ones, didn’t smell like flowers.
“This is where Nicki is staying for right now. It isn’t perfect, but I think she’s comfortable.”
He led Dean down the hallway and opened a door for him to walk through. Funny thing, the way his stomach tightened up. The kid wasn’t even in there, yet Dean had to tell himself to breathe. He strode past Anthony and into the room.
Dean looked around. The walls were a bright blue, and there was a decent bed loaded with pillows. There was also a wall of books. Most of them were about cars or about the lives of various basketball players like Michael Jordan and Larry Bird.
“Is this your room?”
“Yeah. Well, when I was a kid. Up until a few months back, I was living in my own place in Mesa and commuting to work here in Glamour. But my mom never bothered to change it too much.” He looked around absently, gliding his hand over one of the books. “I never imagined I’d end up back here.”
Not knowing what to say to that, Dean turned and inspected the rest of the room. On the desk was a backpack, half-open, crammed with papers and notebooks. It was purple and had some pop singer on the front of it. Pink maybe? Dean wasn’t sure. A bunch of nail polish sat next to it, as though the kid had painted her nails instead of doing her homework, and next to that was a Wii game. At least Dean wasn’t so out of touch that he didn’t recognize Mario.
Dean started to say as much to Anthony when he noticed a tangle of blankets in the closet. He walked closer, seeing an old air mattress in there too. Was his niece sleeping in here and not on the bed? Why? Dean slowly shifted his weight from side to side. Anthony seemed like a good guy, but Dean had lived long enough, had survived enough shit, to know that people were often not what they seemed, and all kinds of things happened behind closed doors. He and Jenna had both learned that the hard way.
“Why is the kid sleeping in there?” His voice came out low and gravelly.
“What?”
“Don’t deny it.”
“I wasn’t going to.” Anthony gave him a puzzled look. “We offered her the twins’ old room, but she liked mine. Since I was already set up in our guest room, I was fine with that. She has the bed, of course. But we kept finding Nicki curled up in the closet in the morning. So I blew up that air mattress for her and gave her some blankets. Believe me, I’d rather she sleeps in a bed too, but I guess she needs a small space. I think it feels good to her, safe or something. She’s starting with a therapist soon, and I was going to bring it up. For now, I talked with the social workers, and we all agreed to let Nicki dictate her needs. As long as she’s not hurting herself. I can see this upsets you, but it’s what she seems to want.”
Dean stared hard into Anthony’s hazel eyes, flecked with gold and brown, and he saw nothing but warmth. Unsettled, Dean watched Anthony move a step closer to him.
“I promise you”—Anthony smiled, his lips curving upward—“the only one living in the closet in this house was me, and I came out swinging.” He made a motion as if he had a bat in his hand.
Dean didn’t answer. He’d never really mastered joking with people. His tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth. Dean pushed past Anthony and strode into the hallway. He scuffed his shoe at the edge of Anthony’s stairs, feeling pretty ridiculous, and worse, like an ungrateful ass. He shouldn’t have returned to Phoenix. He just didn’t belong there, not in this house, in this town, or with this girl. Dean didn’t belong with regular people. He’d seen too much blood and war. He didn’t know how to be normal; maybe he never had known.
He sensed Anthony coming up behind him and tensed. “She’s all right, Dean. Really.” His voice was soft. “I mean considering what she’s going through, Nicki craving a small space to hide away seemed logical.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? With her sleeping there? With everything? What?”
When Dean didn’t answer, Anthony made an impatient sound. “So why are you so quiet? Or are you upset about what I said before?”
“Before?” Dean turned around.
“About me and the closet? My impulsive, slightly corny joke? You don’t have a problem with my being gay, do you?” Anthony asked, folding his arms at his chest. “Because I’m out at school and here at home, and I plan to stay that way.”
“No. I….” Dean stared at him. He swallowed. “No.”
“Oh, okay.” Anthony’s stance lost some of its hardness. “Good. That reminds me. I forgot to ask you before if you’re involved with anybody. Girlfriend? Wife? I’m asking because of Nicki and how this might fit into things for her.”
“Nobody.”
“Nobody?”
“I’m a Night Stalker. Do you even know what that means?”
“I think that you—”
“We’re Special Forces,” Dean interrupted. “We’re the most elite helicopter force in the whole damn world. We fly into enemy territory and navigate our way through it to complete search-and-rescue missions or perform high-risk air assaults. I don’t have time for anything else.” He’d had enough of this bullshit. Dean started quickly down the stairs, taking them two at a time, Anthony at his heels.
As he reached the front door, Dean turned back, and Anthony nearly collided into him. They looked at each other a moment.
“Do you have a hotel yet? You could stay here or I could suggest one. Glamour only has one motel, but there’s a four-star hotel about fifteen minutes from here.”
“No. I don’t need some fancy hotel. A motel close by is fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Anthony held up one hand at Dean’s curt nod. “Wait here a second. Let me at least give you a few things.”
Anthony dashed away before Dean could protest. He heard Anthony moving in the house. He heard the puppy whimper. He was tempted to get into his car and leave, but Anthony came back. He thrust a plastic bag into Dean’s hands.
“What’s this?”
“Oh, you know, just some things to make your stay more comfortable.”
Dean glanced into the bag. There were soaps, shampoos, a sleep mask, pillowcases, detergent, and a bunch of quarters.
“The motel has a coin laundry,” Anthony said. “Or you could bring your laundry here. And my sisters can spare all the other stuff. Beauty is their business.” He smiled widely at Dean. “We aim to make our guests comfortable here in Glamour.”
Dean didn’t smile back. After a moment, he managed a fast “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He opened the front door. “Well, I’ll show you where the motel is. You can follow me there.”
“I’ll MapQuest it.”
“Right. Okay.”
Dean took out his phone and Anthony typed in the address.
“It’s not much to look at, but it’s clean. You won’t find a carpet that turns your socks black or anything here. And they give you free coffee and a newspaper in the lobby.”
“It’s fine. I don’t need much.”
Anthony looked as though he expected to say more. Dean had nothing to say. Outside of army talk, he rarely knew what to say to people. God, he was failing at all this already, failing to joke, failing to respond to small talk. He should have stayed with the Stalkers. He needed to get out of there, away from Anthony, and think.
“Do you need anything else?”
“No.”
“I could show you that hotel?”
“No.”
“And you will come back tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Are you deliberately trying to be difficult?”
“What do you mean?” Dean was painfully aware of his shortcomings.
“Nothing.” Anthony shook his head, smiling slightly, studying him. “You’re just not what I’m used to I guess.”
Dean stared back.
“Look,” he said. “Maybe this isn’t fully my place to ask, but I need to know. What exactly is your plan here?”
“Plan?”
“For Nicki?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Oh.” Anthony paused. He smiled ruefully. “Now I’m the one talking in monosyllables.”
“I’m not good at this,” Dean said. He could feel heat rising to his face. “I don’t belong here. I have no plan for the kid. I came to see her and maybe, I don’t know, get to know her because of my sister or whatever, but… I’ll just fuck her up more.” He heard a note of raw panic in his own voice and fought to control it.
“No, you won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re worried about it. If you would thoughtlessly hurt Nicki, you wouldn’t be worried. Besides, I’m hoping that in the long run meeting you will help her. Everybody needs family, needs somebody, even if they can’t give you everything you want.”
Dean grunted at Anthony’s naïveté, but didn’t try to argue. Spoken like a guy who came from a decent family. Some family was scum, not worth knowing, not worth having.
“I’ll talk to Nicki. All right? If she agrees, then you can come around eleven?”
“Fine,” Dean grunted. Then, realizing he’d only given Anthony a one-word answer again, he added, “Lunch.”
AFTER HE arrived at the motel, Dean unpacked and went to the pool. The only good part about growing up in Arizona had been that almost every crappy place he’d stayed with Jenna came with a crappy pool, and Dean had been a great swimmer from an early age. Dean’s workout usually involved long, intense swimming with his fins on and then a long run, but he made do with what he had. His swim alternated between high bursts of speed and longer, endurance-building laps. He tried not to dwell too much on the long day, Anthony Carrino, or the girl, Nicki. Fuck. He tried to just swim, pushing his body until his muscles burned and his lungs screamed. Water splashed over the edges of the pool as he increased his turning speed, pounding out lap after brutal lap. It didn’t help, not the way it usually did. His body was fatigued, but his nerves were still all fired up.
He made his way to his room and cleaned up in the shower, letting the water hit his back and still-sore shoulder, and then he wrapped himself up in a thin towel at his waist and flopped down on the bed. He had to admit, Anthony’s soap had smelled nice. Kind of like fresh oranges.
He turned the television on and watched a few cheesy sitcoms, but he couldn’t concentrate on them. Dean shut off the TV and tried to sleep. His long legs hung off the bed, and the mattress was way too soft. He was used to hard bunks or even the bare ground. He’d rather be jumping out of a plane than looking into his niece’s face tomorrow. But he’d try. He would go to lunch, attempt to talk with her, find her a decent place to end up. Dean could see his sister’s sad, pretty face right in front of him. It was the least he could do for Jenna.
The very least, Jenna would’ve said.
“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered hoarsely into the darkness. He stretched his hand out to the flat pillow, his sister’s face only a blurred memory. He tried to see her features in his mind more clearly and failed. And now… Jenna was dead. They’d never get a chance to put things right. Dean knew he’d screwed up forever, so he dropped his hand to his side, turned away from the pillow, and struggled to sleep. He had a bad feeling about all of this.
Blind Date for Father's Day by Lorelei M Hart & Colbie Dunbar
One
Keith
“Three wedding parties.”Andrew stood there with his chest puffed out. I didn’t blame him after landing three entire wedding parties while I was on a delivery that took far longer than it should’ve.
“Well done.” He beamed at my praise, and it was well-earned. There had been a few times when he had just started that I’d been worried this place would be too much for him. We were a small shop on the outside, but we had a very steady business and our quality was what kept us that way. But Sebastian took him under his wing and many many more patient hours than I would’ve had later, and here we were.
“When are their fittings?” He told me the details, and I wrote them on our paper calendar, the one Jason insisted we use in addition to anything computerized. We were going to need to start limiting events pretty soon. We just didn’t have the manpower. Not with Jason still on partial paternity leave.
“Sebastian getting you guys lunch?” He was so addicted to the local sub place. At first I thought maybe he had a crush on one of the counter people, but then I discovered he also picked them up from the one by his place, and often ate them multiple times a day. They weren’t that good, but if they kept him happy I was all for it.
“He should be back by now.” Andrew squished his lip funny, something he tended to do when he was nervous, and then his face bloomed. “Never mind. He’s here.” He jogged over and opened the door, Sebastian with three subs and a drink container with four fountain drinks.
“Did you get them all?” Andrew was like a five-year-old kid. I wasn’t even sure about what.
“Yes.” Sebastian sighed. “That’s why I was late. I made them open the new case, just for you.”
Squeeing. The air was filled with squeeing. Over I still didn’t understand what.
“You are the best. That’s why I love you,” he kissed the man’s cheek, who consequently turned a bright red.
“I meant thank you. Not the I love you stuff.” Awww, Andrew had no idea I knew they had been sleeping together or dating or whatever it is called when you try not to let people know.
“You thought I didn’t know?” I pointed to the ginormous subs, and Andrew handed me one. It would be good for both lunch and dinner. “Thanks.” I had a standing order. So yeah, fine, I was addicted too.
“What has you so excited?” I asked. Poor guy looked like he was about to be punched or fired or set on fire or something horrible. I just wanted to hug him and make it better. Of course pissing off his man might not be the best way to do that.
“Andrew, it’s fine. Really it is.” Sebastion spoke softly, so I could barely hear.
“I was just excited,” he mumbled. “It’s okay to like things other than... you know... work.” He glanced at me. “And I work hard.”
“No one said you didn’t, love.” And with that, Sebastion kissed the top of his head and Andrew relaxed. If I had known the stress of them hiding their relationship had been weighing on them so much, I’d have let the cat out of the bag earlier.
“I do need to know what he got you that you think is so cool, and then you can tell Sebastion what you did while he was gone.” He bounced on the balls of his feet. Bounced. It was official, they were the cutest couple ever. They just better stay that way because we needed them both.
“Bastian got me all four Shifter World collectors cups! All. Four.” He handed me the drink tray, and sure enough, four plastic cups with Shifter World slapped on the side and a picture of the hot men that made the show popular and some random animals that correlated with their shifter animals or what have you.
“That is awesome.” Because if it made him happy, it was. “Now tell him your good news.”
He told Sebastian all about the wedding, and I put half my sandwich on a paper towel and the other half in the fridge. I’d barely taken my first bite when my phone started announcing, “It’s your grandpa. You better pick up.” Because yes, I set it that way after missing one too many phone calls and hearing about it.
“Hey, Grandpa,” I answered the phone and stepped out back, not wanting to ruin their lunch by the medical questions that I would inevitably ask.
“It’s Aunt Kallie.” My stomach dropped. She should not have his phone. “Your grandfather, he had a—shit, he’s fine now—he will be fine, but he had a fall and I think you need to come down.”
Ten minutes later, I was on my way out the door, giving Sebastian the keys and promising to make it up to both of them. The last thing I was expecting to hear was that my grandpa broke his hip...and then it got worse. He’d done it a week prior and no one called me. The guilt started to seep in and grow roots. I didn’t call him either. He’d had surgery and was doing well, but he was refusing to go to a rehab facility, and Aunt Kallie wanted me to get there and “talk some sense into him.”
I had no intention of doing that.
“Keith,” Jason answered his phone in a whisper. Shit. He had a sleeping baby.
“Shit. I’m sorry. I hope no one is stirring.” I pulled up in front of my apartment building. I needed to pack—everything else could be done remotely. “I’m calling because I need to go for a while. Grandpa broke his hip.”
“What do you need me to do?” Just like Jason. Always looking out for others.
“I think the guys will be okay at the shop, but maybe could you come in just a little bit more?” I hated to ask, knowing how much he was loving his time home.
“Yes,” he said almost excitedly. “Thank you.” Surely I heard him wrong.
“Umm you’re welcome?”
I’d grabbed my duffle and was filling it with a little bit of everything. I could buy more later if I didn’t coordinate or what have you, I just wanted to get on the road.
“I need to get back to work and I kept finding excuses not to.” Oh. “And don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, and just a heads up, Sebastian and Andrew know we know they are fucking.”
“How many shades of red was Andrew?” This was easier. Better. I could gossip and not think about everything. I zipped up my duffle bag and swung it over my shoulder, glad I didn’t have pets to worry about.
“Andrew—he was just Andrew, but Sebastian...I mean, Bastian was the color of that cumberbund they kept having us redo because they were sure we could find a better red.” I locked the door, leaving the hall light on, and threw my duffle bag into the car.
“I need all the details.” He didn’t. It was very much not him, but he knew I needed to talk and think about not the badness. He was that kind of a friend, and I was beyond grateful. Because right now—I needed him so I didn’t pull over and cry.
Snow Falling by Davidson King
I should have known I wouldn’t get far. Frank grabbed my arm. “He’s not my kid. His pop will very much want to speak with you. Something tells me if you walk out that door, you’ll disappear, and I don’t have time to go lookin’ for you. So, I think you’ll come with us for now.” His firm tone made it clear it wasn’t a question.
When I looked around the police station, I was shocked that no cops were interfering in what was clearly a kidnapping. I shouldn’t have been too surprised. After all, in my book, police didn’t have a very good track record for doing what was right.
“Stranger danger!” I yelled, which just made Simon laugh.
“No, Snow, we aren’t strangers anymore. You come home and my pop will protect you. That’s what he does.”
Who the hell was his pop? Surviving was a lot about picking your battles. Looking around the precinct, it was obvious my choices weren’t going to win out. Frank and his goons weren’t going to let me pass. On the off chance I got away, then I’d have Roy and these guys chasing me.
“I don’t think I have a choice, do I?” Frank shook his head. “Okay then. Onward, my good man!”
If the limo wasn’t a huge giveaway that Simon’s pop was disgustingly rich, the enormous mansion with the iron gate was. Two large Ms were worked into the iron. The house had a medieval look about it. A fountain of fear was on display in the middle of the circular driveway, some sort of gargoyles spitting water out of their mouths… or was it their eyes? Gray stone, iron, and darkness made up this house. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t just rich, he was powerful. Leaning over, I whispered in Simon’s ear, “Is your pop Tony Stark?”
Simon chuckled. “No silly, he’s Christopher Manos.”
Christopher Manos? Oh, son of a bitch. At least Iron Man was on the right side of justice.
“Come on, Snow, you can meet my pop!” Simon grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the limo with all his might. When we came to the stone steps and I looked up, I came face to face with not only the most dangerous man in this city, but the most gorgeous. He was broad, and I could see the muscles in his arms and legs even through his expensive suit. He had midnight black hair and obsidian eyes. There was no doubt he and Simon were related.
“Pop!” Simon ran into his arms. The man didn’t miss a beat. He scooped Simon up without ever taking his eyes off me. “That’s Snow. He saved me.”
“Mr. Manos, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ll have you know, I didn’t want to come here. I was forced. You have a beautiful home and a great kid and if you just let me go, I’ll happily walk home.”
He stared at me coldly. “You don’t know my home is beautiful, you haven’t seen it. Let’s rectify that. Come in.” He turned and walked inside. The nudge from Frank was likely the only encouragement I’d get.
I hope I don’t die.
When I looked around the police station, I was shocked that no cops were interfering in what was clearly a kidnapping. I shouldn’t have been too surprised. After all, in my book, police didn’t have a very good track record for doing what was right.
“No, Snow, we aren’t strangers anymore. You come home and my pop will protect you. That’s what he does.”
Who the hell was his pop? Surviving was a lot about picking your battles. Looking around the precinct, it was obvious my choices weren’t going to win out. Frank and his goons weren’t going to let me pass. On the off chance I got away, then I’d have Roy and these guys chasing me.
“I don’t think I have a choice, do I?” Frank shook his head. “Okay then. Onward, my good man!”
If the limo wasn’t a huge giveaway that Simon’s pop was disgustingly rich, the enormous mansion with the iron gate was. Two large Ms were worked into the iron. The house had a medieval look about it. A fountain of fear was on display in the middle of the circular driveway, some sort of gargoyles spitting water out of their mouths… or was it their eyes? Gray stone, iron, and darkness made up this house. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t just rich, he was powerful. Leaning over, I whispered in Simon’s ear, “Is your pop Tony Stark?”
Simon chuckled. “No silly, he’s Christopher Manos.”
Christopher Manos? Oh, son of a bitch. At least Iron Man was on the right side of justice.
“Come on, Snow, you can meet my pop!” Simon grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the limo with all his might. When we came to the stone steps and I looked up, I came face to face with not only the most dangerous man in this city, but the most gorgeous. He was broad, and I could see the muscles in his arms and legs even through his expensive suit. He had midnight black hair and obsidian eyes. There was no doubt he and Simon were related.
“Pop!” Simon ran into his arms. The man didn’t miss a beat. He scooped Simon up without ever taking his eyes off me. “That’s Snow. He saved me.”
“Mr. Manos, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ll have you know, I didn’t want to come here. I was forced. You have a beautiful home and a great kid and if you just let me go, I’ll happily walk home.”
He stared at me coldly. “You don’t know my home is beautiful, you haven’t seen it. Let’s rectify that. Come in.” He turned and walked inside. The nudge from Frank was likely the only encouragement I’d get.
I hope I don’t die.
Checking it Twice by VL Locey
Chapter One
“Are we there yet?”
I felt my left eye twitch. My co-pilot and best friend sniggered softly from the passenger seat. I gave Watley a look that could wither a forest. He snickered even harder while fiddling with the Bluetooth hookup in our rented van.
“No, Zachary, we are not there yet. We just left home an hour ago.”
My son huffed. Zach was not the most patient of children. He obviously got that trait from his mother since I was someone who could sit on something for so long it would petrify under my ass. Like one of those fossilized dinosaur eggs we’d seen at the American Museum of Natural History two summers ago when Zach and I had visited New York City. Yep, no chicken or dino could sit on something longer than Sutter Thompson.
“How long does it take to get to Colorado?” Adam, Watley’s son, asked.
I waved a hand at my buddy and associate coach of the Red Pines Pumas, a squirt summer league ice hockey team from scenic Red Pines, New Mexico, a mere thirty minutes from Albuquerque. The same small town that housed Red Pines University, where Watley and I worked. Me as the athletic director and Wat as the conditioning coach for all the teams plus cheerleaders on our tiny campus. The five players nominated for awards were with us. Zach a winger, Adam a D-man, Tigh Williams a forward with startingly red hair, Seth Mankowski who played right wing, and Matt Vigliano a center. We would have had six with us, but Millicent Davies, our goalie, had to fly south to spend the holidays with her grandparents in Florida. It crushed her she was going to miss the trip with her friends, but knowing she was going to Universal Theme Park kind of weighed things out. We have her short acceptance speech should she win Outstanding Goalie.
“About six hours give or take,” Wat replied just as The Eurythmics “Sweet Dreams” blared to life, effectively silencing the top 40 pop station that we’d been forced to endure for the past sixty minutes. My head instantly started bopping. “Sweet dreams are made of cheese, who am I to dis a brie,” Wat began crooning. All five boys in the back groaned. Whether at Wat’s silly pun or the song itself, who knew? Probably the song. I snorted at the moans from all the ten year olds.
“Finally, some good music,” I shouted, then tapped the volume button on the steering wheel.
“Ear buds stat!” Zach bellowed to his teammates. Within seconds, the bored whining disappeared as the boys jammed to their own tunes or queued up a movie to watch on their tablets and/or phones.
“Works every time,” Watley whispered with a wink. That wink always did something to me. As did his smile, his laugh, his walk, his way of standing, his curly brown hair that was now shot through with silver, his ass, his eyes, and about a million other things. I’d loved this man for over thirty years and had never uttered a word about the attraction. Yep. There sat Sutter on the lone fossilized egg from his sad, closeted past. I doubted it would ever hatch. “Remember when we were young?”
“Vaguely,” I remarked, lifting my takeout cup of coffee from the console as the song slid from Annie Lennox to A-Ha. God I loved this song. It brought back such memories.
Wat chortled. “I recall that time we were making the trip to Southern California to play in the Western semifinals. We were so bored we played punch buggy to pass the time.”
“Oh yeah, I used to play that with Donna all the time when we’d go to Boston to visit our grandparents. She still hits like Muhammad Ali.” My older sister had the boniest knuckles. “We’d also play ‘I Spy’ and ‘I’m going on a picnic’ a lot. That was before kids had their faces in phones twenty-four-seven.” I glanced in the back at my son, who had his face in his phone. No shocker there.
“Yeah, they don’t have to use their imaginations like we did back in the day.” Watley sighed then straightened out his left leg. His trick knee popped like a starter’s gun. “Ouch. Mother fudger.”
“Only five more hours to go, Gramps,” I teased and got a secretive middle finger.
That made me smile. Not that I had much to tease my friend about. My back would be a knotted mess by the time we arrived in Chester Lake, Colorado later today. Thankfully, we’d miss a lot of the holiday traffic by leaving on the twentieth, so we should make good time. We’d get to spend a few days at the lovely Retreat Inn, hopefully win some awards, play with the boys in the snow, then head home for Christmas. Fifty-two and road trips didn’t play well most of the time. My sciatica liked to flare up at the worst times and being in a vehicle for hours was killer. I did the cheek-to-cheek wobble every few miles. A rest stop would be needed at the next hour marker for back kink alleviation and old man bladder relief. And to let the boys run off some of that glorious energy I wished someone would bottle up for the old guys like me and Watley.
Although, to be honest, I felt Wat had aged much better than I had. Perhaps that was just me being a nitpick. I tended to niggle at my faults endlessly, nipping at my imperfections like one does a hangnail. But Watley really had moved into his fifties with incredible grace and good looks. His divorce from Paul, his long-time husband, five years ago, hit him hard. I could relate to the devastation of a marriage falling apart at the seams brought. I’d gone through it myself when Zach was a baby, only I’d added coming out to the maelstrom of chaos. Talk about a one-two punch to the testes. If I would have had the guts, I would have come out in college as Wat had and lived my life proudly as a gay man. But my Catholic upbringing kept me in the closet for years, afraid to be who I was born to be, fearful of losing the love of my family and colleagues.
It was only after I gazed into the deep blue eyes of my baby son that I knew I had to stop living the lie. This long sought after child would rely on me to be honest with him. About everything. How could I lead a boy through life if I was being dishonest with the child as well as the whole world? I couldn’t. And so I’d told Kimberly I was gay two months after Zach was born. Looking back in retrospect, it probably was not the best time to do so, but if not then when? When Zach graduated from high school? College? At his wedding? At the birth of his children? When I was on my deathbed?
“You need me to take over?” Wat’s warm, deep voice broke through the fog of days long gone. I stared at him blankly for a second, then got my sight back on the road. “Toto’s “Africa” is playing and you’re not singing aloud.”
“Didn’t realize you missed my golden vocals.”
“No one can sing about wild dogs and Kilimanjaro like you, Sutter.”
“Wiseass.”
I broke loose, singing at the top of my lungs, my gaze flicking to Watley as I belted out the lines. We’d been close for more than half our lives. He’d moved after his divorce to take the job that I’d begged the dean to interview him for. Now his son and mine were close friends and teammates, and I had my best friend in my life on the daily. Wat laughed aloud as the boys begged us to quiet down. I sang even louder just to get another smile from the man on my right. I’d do just about anything to make Watley and my son happy. Shame I couldn’t say that about myself.
RJ ScottWriting 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.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, 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 flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey 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 hand.
Emotional, Roller-Coaster Romance
Skylar M. Cates loves a good, heartfelt romance, especially ones that are both steamy and emotionally satisfying. She is quite happy to drink some coffee, curl up with a good book, and not move all day. Her novels feature strong, passionate characters who care about their friends and family. Skylar loves to craft stories where people are challenged by vulnerable situations. Although lately the laundry room is the farthest place she has visited, Skylar still loves to chat with people from all around the globe. Contact her on Twitter, Facebook, or through her newsletter.
Lorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming. Friends for years, the duo decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).
My characters are sexy, hot, adorable—and often filthy—alphas and omegas. Feudal lords with dark secrets, lonely omegas running away from their past, and alphas who refuse to commit.
Lurking in the background are kings, mafia dons, undercover agents and highwaymen with a naughty gleam in their eye.
As for me? I dictate my steamy stories with a glass of champagne in one hand. Because why not?
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.
Skylar M Cates
Lorelei M Hart
EMAIL: Lorelei@mpregwithhart.com
Davidson King
EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com
Hat Trick by RJ Scott & VL Locey
The Guy from Glamour by Skylar M Cates
Blind Date for Father's Day by Lorelei M Hart & Colbie Dunbar
Snow Falling by Davidson King
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