Sunday, September 20, 2026
Sunday's Short Stack: The Exception by Skylar M Cates
Tenderhearted Sam's entire life changes when he becomes blind. Despite a falling out years ago, it is up to his childhood friend Nick to help him. Nick is able to aid Sam with his guide dog, but will he be able to earn a second chance at love?
One day might decide.
Tropes: childhood friends, friends to lovers, second chance, short story
One day was all it took for me to leave town. One day to say goodbye to anyone who’d mattered. The list had been short: only Sam.
Sam had been my first friend, my best friend, the only part of my past I’d grieved leaving. Every memory I had of home was also tied to a memory of Sam. If only all those memories didn’t also remind me of heartbreak.
I knocked on his assigned apartment and swallowed hard, my palms sweaty as I waited. Ten long years. Would I still feel that spark between us?
We’d kept in touch over the years, with exchanges through texts and social media, but each year our exchanges got shorter until our real lives had nothing to do with each other. How weird that the one person I’d lived for as a kid had become a near stranger to me. Weirder still was how our paths would cross again after so much time had passed.
I was glad that Sam wouldn’t see my face, which might show all the longing I’d bottled up as a teenager… then felt guilty as fuck for thinking that.
Blind.
Sam Harris, the boy with the most beautiful hazel eyes in the world, was blind. Blinded in a firecracker accident helping some stupid kids on the Fourth of July. Sam, who’d loved the beautiful colors of the deep browns and greens of the woods. As kids, we’d lie under a tree for hours, just talking about nothing and cloud-gazing. Sam would peel the bark off the tree with his fingers, a relaxed smile on his face, his gaze locked on the blue sky, mine locked on him.
Briefly I had been there to welcome him when he’d arrived at the foundation, an on-campus service animal training facility, a few days ago, but there had been too many other people around. My job was dog trainer for PSTD clients, whereas Patti handled dogs for the visually impaired and therefore assigned to Sam. It was crucial that Sam be with her and meet his dog as soon as possible. Patti had met with him earlier, and I’d offered to stop in to follow up tonight, since tomorrow was the only day of the week he could simply relax with his dog. All the rest of his time, Patti was assessing and working with them.
I heard a dog’s low bark inside Sam’s apartment and listened for a response to the dog, but there was only silence. I shifted the grocery bag to my other hand, then decided to set it on the ground. The foundation offered temporary apartments during the time our clients worked with our dogs for several reasons. It helped promote the client’s independence, for one thing, away from protective family members, and it also developed the dog-and-owner relationship at a faster pace. I heard the dog again and then a muffled reply. Too soft for me to really hear Sam’s voice.
Just when I was considering knocking again, Sam opened the door, his brand-new guide dog at his side.
“Hey, Sam.”
“Hiya, Nicky, come on in.”
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.
Saturday, September 19, 2026
Saturday's Series Spotlight: Stealing Hearts by K Evan Coles
Summary:
Some hearts are made to be opened.
Jae-seong Bak has never been in love. He prefers to let his personal life take a backseat to his career as a nurse, especially since no-strings hookups with men he's glad to call friends have always felt like more than enough.
After years of moving around the United States, Jae takes a job in his home city of Boston, arriving just in time to celebrate his brother Ty's engagement. In reconnecting with friends and family, Jae befriends Emmett McNeil, a young chef and Ty's future brother-in-law, whose own bad luck with love hasn't dampened his enthusiasm for life.
As the summer passes and Jae and Emmett help their families plan the wedding, the spark between the two men ignites, though each agrees to keep their hookups under wraps in order to prevent potential drama. Taken off guard by the depth of his feelings, Jae backs away, only to find that going back to being just friends with Emmett is much harder than he ever could have predicted.
Now, standing with Emmett as their siblings make their vows, Jae must decide if he's really content to hold the man he loves at arm's-length or if taking a chance on more is in the cards.
Jae-seong Bak has never been in love. He prefers to let his personal life take a backseat to his career as a nurse, especially since no-strings hookups with men he's glad to call friends have always felt like more than enough.
After years of moving around the United States, Jae takes a job in his home city of Boston, arriving just in time to celebrate his brother Ty's engagement. In reconnecting with friends and family, Jae befriends Emmett McNeil, a young chef and Ty's future brother-in-law, whose own bad luck with love hasn't dampened his enthusiasm for life.
As the summer passes and Jae and Emmett help their families plan the wedding, the spark between the two men ignites, though each agrees to keep their hookups under wraps in order to prevent potential drama. Taken off guard by the depth of his feelings, Jae backs away, only to find that going back to being just friends with Emmett is much harder than he ever could have predicted.
Now, standing with Emmett as their siblings make their vows, Jae must decide if he's really content to hold the man he loves at arm's-length or if taking a chance on more is in the cards.
Open Hearts is a 63K age gap sex buddies-to-lovers novel. It features a Nurse Anesthetist with a habit of putting his career before romance, a talented young chef who’s getting over a broken heart, wedding plans and a bachelor party in the woods, and the deliciously satisfying HEA you need.
Summary:
Some hearts are made to be hopeful.
Ian Byrne is done with love. Or so he’s been telling himself since his life crashed and burned. Ian got through his depression with help from friends and his career as an orthopedic nurse, as well as a big shaggy dog that’s not really his. And if most days Ian feels just all right, he thinks that’s fine.
He never expected to meet a guy on the train. Especially not a robot-building whiz kid like Tris Santos, fifteen years younger than Ian and in so many ways his opposite. But they agree that epic love is a myth and strike up an effortless friendship, the spark of attraction between them quickly igniting and burning hot over chat screens when Tris moves away.
Now, Ian can’t imagine his life without Tris. Can’t believe that what started as a fling became so much more and how deeply he feels for a man he doesn’t even see in person. Ian thinks Tris might be the right guy; that he might be ready to risk his heart one more time. But … is it too much to hope that Tris might feel the same?
Hopeful Hearts is an 85.1 K age gap sex-buddies-to-lovers novel. In it you’ll meet a grumpy nurse practitioner recovering from heartbreak, a bright-eyed robotics genius who thinks epic romance is epically dumb, a huge wily dog in need of an owner, a 400-mile LDR, and a deliciously satisfying happily ever after.
Content Advisory: This book contains a character coping with serious depression and contains references to homophobia and disownment. Happy ending absolutely guaranteed.
Open Hearts #3
Original Review November 2020:
I gotta start off by saying, food allergies play a significant part in Open Hearts, I don't want to go as far as saying it's a big or dominating part but definitely significant. That right there was a huge tick in the originality and realism boxes for me. It's just not something often seen. There is so much more that goes into food allergies than just not eating the said food. I apologize for taking a personal moment of reflection here and say that my mom is allergic to bananas and her mother was allergic to strawberries, now neither were in much danger of accidentally eating them but as I said, there's more than just consuming the food. We have to be careful so that if for example I slice a banana and put into my cereal, I have to make sure Mom doesn't use the knife for something or if Dad cuts one in chunks on a plate for a snack, we have to make sure she doesn't use the plate. When mom was a kid, the family would get together for potluck and despite knowing it, her one aunt always brought jello with bananas, when you're five years old and love jello, my grandparents had to be even more eagle-eyed to make sure mom never snuck any. These little things are food allergy elements that many who aren't familiar with said allergies don't often think of. So huge kudos to K Evan Coles for not only creating a MC with food allergies but reaching out in her FB group for experiences. That extra mile is what really helps make a great story into a brilliant gem.
Now, off my little personal reflection soap box and onto Open Hearts.
Jae and Emmett are that couple you know will make a superb team but because of secondary connections, past experience, and overall timing they aren't ready to go beyond friends-with-benefits-on-the-down-low. I want to equal parts smack them upside the head with a frying pan and Mama Bear hug them until their eyes pop waiting for them to, and bad joke aside, open their hearts. That warring feeling inside are the top two boxes I need to tick to make a book un-put-downable. Well those boxes got ticked.
I think we all know Open Hearts will have a HEA but its the journey getting there that make Jae and Emmett's story so heart-filled. So that's all you are getting out of me in reference to any plotlines.
I just want to add that I have never been to Boston but K Evan Coles paints the picture so clearly I feel like I'm living there watching not only the characters' journey unfold but the city come alive each day. Some authors are focused on painting a location that it can bog down the story, slow it's pace, limit it's entertainment factor but not Miss Coles. At times, Boston almost becomes a third character. Simply put: Open Hearts will open your mind and warm your heart(see what I did there😉), a true gem that is definitely a must read.
One last thing, I just want to state that in reference to food allergies, the author isn't trying to teach the reader anything, my wording above may read like that's what she is doing, it's not. No, I just wanted to point out the extra steps she took to add realism into the love story and how it didn't go unnoticed and was very much appreciated by this reader.
Hopeful Hearts #4
Original Review September 2026:
Time is not on my side so this review won't be given the attention it deserves, so it'll be short but to the point. First, I want to mention, I have no idea how it went this long without reading Hopeful Hearts as I read the other three near if not immediately upon release.
Second, the story is brilliantly entertaining with the right blend of drama, romance, heart, and though it is in no way a rom com it isn't without moments of wit to perfectly balance everything. You can't help but cheer for the characters and riding along their journey is just a delight. You might not tear up but the heartstrings will definitely be tugged upon.
I want to add, as a lifelong Wisconsinite where the possible snow season is more than 2/3 of the year(honestly they say July & August are the only 2 months its impossible to have snow), I always appreciate when author's use snow accurately in their stories. Seeing said weather be the catalyst for Ian and Tris being in the same but unexpected space perfectly shows just how the white fluffy stuff can change everything in a matter of moments. So thank you, K Evan Coles for that extra mile accuracy.
RATING:
Open Hearts #3
“What do you think, Zac?” Mark asked. “Have we got anything in Owen’s magic bag to give Jae’s outfit a little lift?”
“Certainly. I think Jae looks perfect as he is, however, as well as very, very tall. Neither of which is unusual.”
Their friend and co-worker, Zac Alvarez, stepped in for Jae’s hug and kiss. He’d dressed in dark colors too, which made his beads and the temporary tattoos on his toned arms even more vibrant. A suntan warmed Zac’s olive-toned skin and he looked relaxed and happy, his grin broad beneath his dark beard.
Fondness washed over Jae. He and Zac had reconnected upon his return to Boston as if no time had passed at all. It was through Zac that Jae had befriended Mark and the trio of young men who would round out their Pride party today: Aiden, Owen, and Emmett, who had moved back from Maine at the beginning of May without his partner, Sean, and was now very, very single.
“Ignore Mark,” Zac said to Jae. “He forgets that not every gay man over forty wants to broadcast a zaddy vibe.”
Jae and Mark exchanged a glance before they each cracked up laughing.
“This is not to say we don’t have some festive doo-dads for you too,” Zac said over their cackling. “The guys made party packs for everyone.”
“Great, thanks. Less so that you just said ‘doo-dads’ the way my Grandma Kay used to.” Jae let out a soft ‘oof’ as Zac elbowed him gently in the ribs.
“Smartass,” Zac murmured before he looked around. “Will your man be joining us today?”
Jae aimed a mock glare at him. “Sal already had plans. Besides, you know he’s not my man. Sal and I strictly friends.”
“Who share a big side order of benefits,” Mark chimed in, admiration written all over his face. “I remember the days when I could say words like those about myself with fondness.”
Zac snickered. “Mmm, I remember those days, too. They were before you met Owen and fell head over heels in love.”
“That’s why I remember them with fondness and not nostalgia,” Mark replied with a smile.
“Where is Owen, anyway?” Jae asked. “Out walking with my favorite dog and the guys?”
Mark shook his head. “Popcorn is hanging with my sister today.” He and his boyfriend, Owen, had found their big, white mutt at a campground last year, lost or abandoned and sweet as can be. “It’s not easy wrangling a dog his size through crowds like this, and we thought he’d enjoy a play date with his aunt and uncle and new cousin instead. Popcorn is already best buddies with my nephew, Ethan, so you know they’re having a fantastic day.”
“As for the guys, they went off into the park to buy cold drinks,” Zac said, his tone fond. “Aiden’s been on an ice cream kick this summer and I’m betting they’ve stopped at every cart they’ve passed. They should be back any second.”
The soft expression on Zac’s face made Jae smile. In the years they’d known each other, he’d never seen Zac so gone for a man the way he was with Aiden.
“That reminds me, I meant to grab a coffee on my way down here,” Jae said. “I could use the jolt.”
“We’ve got some soda if that’ll help.”
Jae’s whole body hummed at that voice. “I’d love some.”
Turning, Jae met Emmett’s dark blue gaze. He tried very hard not to stare at Emmett’s shirtless torso, too, but literally stopped short as he got a look at Owen whose tight dark curls, normally tipped platinum, glowed fuchsia in the sun. “Owen, your hair is pink!”
“Yes, it is!” Owen exclaimed. He and Aiden were just as bare chested as Emmett and all three were chuckling at Jae’s wide eyes. “It’s supposed to be just for today, but honestly, I might keep it.”
Mark cast a loving look at Owen. “Of course, you’d want to.” He ran a hand over his partner’s shoulders, stroking golden brown skin that shone with flecks of multi-colored glitter. “Are there any trinkets left for Jae, love?”
“Oh, yes.” Handing his cup to Mark, Owen shrugged a rainbow striped drawstring bag from his shoulders. “We’ve got buttons, beads, and wristbands, and a visor like Emmett’s if you want a break from the sun.” He withdrew a second bag from his own and handed it to Jae. “There’s also a fan in there, plus sunglasses, tattoos, body glitter—”
“And condoms with travel-sized lube,” Mark put in. “My man does not let his friends go unprepared.”
Jae laughed. “I’ll remember that.” Opening the bag in his hands, he peered into its depths, but looked up again as a second pair of hands came to rest by his own.
“Here—you browse while I hold.” Emmett’s grin was easy. “Can you grab drinks from my bag, A?” he asked over his shoulder. “Zac’s water is in there, along with soda for anyone who needs one. Diet Coke for you, Jae, or do you want full sugar?”
“I’ll take the sugar, thanks.” Jae tried not to ogle his stupid hot friend, keenly aware the effort was a lost cause.
Like Owen and Aiden, Emmett’s skin sparkled with glitter. He stood a few inches shorter than Jae, but he was the broadest man in their group, his chest lightly furred and muscled without being bulky, a combination Jae had always loved. Emmett radiated heat as he huddled over the bag too, his shoulders golden-pink and freckled, and he smelled of citrus and suntan lotion, a mixture Jae found endlessly appealing and a clear indication that he needed to get a fucking grip.
“Certainly. I think Jae looks perfect as he is, however, as well as very, very tall. Neither of which is unusual.”
Their friend and co-worker, Zac Alvarez, stepped in for Jae’s hug and kiss. He’d dressed in dark colors too, which made his beads and the temporary tattoos on his toned arms even more vibrant. A suntan warmed Zac’s olive-toned skin and he looked relaxed and happy, his grin broad beneath his dark beard.
Fondness washed over Jae. He and Zac had reconnected upon his return to Boston as if no time had passed at all. It was through Zac that Jae had befriended Mark and the trio of young men who would round out their Pride party today: Aiden, Owen, and Emmett, who had moved back from Maine at the beginning of May without his partner, Sean, and was now very, very single.
“Ignore Mark,” Zac said to Jae. “He forgets that not every gay man over forty wants to broadcast a zaddy vibe.”
Jae and Mark exchanged a glance before they each cracked up laughing.
“This is not to say we don’t have some festive doo-dads for you too,” Zac said over their cackling. “The guys made party packs for everyone.”
“Great, thanks. Less so that you just said ‘doo-dads’ the way my Grandma Kay used to.” Jae let out a soft ‘oof’ as Zac elbowed him gently in the ribs.
“Smartass,” Zac murmured before he looked around. “Will your man be joining us today?”
Jae aimed a mock glare at him. “Sal already had plans. Besides, you know he’s not my man. Sal and I strictly friends.”
“Who share a big side order of benefits,” Mark chimed in, admiration written all over his face. “I remember the days when I could say words like those about myself with fondness.”
Zac snickered. “Mmm, I remember those days, too. They were before you met Owen and fell head over heels in love.”
“That’s why I remember them with fondness and not nostalgia,” Mark replied with a smile.
“Where is Owen, anyway?” Jae asked. “Out walking with my favorite dog and the guys?”
“As for the guys, they went off into the park to buy cold drinks,” Zac said, his tone fond. “Aiden’s been on an ice cream kick this summer and I’m betting they’ve stopped at every cart they’ve passed. They should be back any second.”
The soft expression on Zac’s face made Jae smile. In the years they’d known each other, he’d never seen Zac so gone for a man the way he was with Aiden.
“That reminds me, I meant to grab a coffee on my way down here,” Jae said. “I could use the jolt.”
“We’ve got some soda if that’ll help.”
Jae’s whole body hummed at that voice. “I’d love some.”
Turning, Jae met Emmett’s dark blue gaze. He tried very hard not to stare at Emmett’s shirtless torso, too, but literally stopped short as he got a look at Owen whose tight dark curls, normally tipped platinum, glowed fuchsia in the sun. “Owen, your hair is pink!”
“Yes, it is!” Owen exclaimed. He and Aiden were just as bare chested as Emmett and all three were chuckling at Jae’s wide eyes. “It’s supposed to be just for today, but honestly, I might keep it.”
Mark cast a loving look at Owen. “Of course, you’d want to.” He ran a hand over his partner’s shoulders, stroking golden brown skin that shone with flecks of multi-colored glitter. “Are there any trinkets left for Jae, love?”
“Oh, yes.” Handing his cup to Mark, Owen shrugged a rainbow striped drawstring bag from his shoulders. “We’ve got buttons, beads, and wristbands, and a visor like Emmett’s if you want a break from the sun.” He withdrew a second bag from his own and handed it to Jae. “There’s also a fan in there, plus sunglasses, tattoos, body glitter—”
“And condoms with travel-sized lube,” Mark put in. “My man does not let his friends go unprepared.”
Jae laughed. “I’ll remember that.” Opening the bag in his hands, he peered into its depths, but looked up again as a second pair of hands came to rest by his own.
“Here—you browse while I hold.” Emmett’s grin was easy. “Can you grab drinks from my bag, A?” he asked over his shoulder. “Zac’s water is in there, along with soda for anyone who needs one. Diet Coke for you, Jae, or do you want full sugar?”
“I’ll take the sugar, thanks.” Jae tried not to ogle his stupid hot friend, keenly aware the effort was a lost cause.
Like Owen and Aiden, Emmett’s skin sparkled with glitter. He stood a few inches shorter than Jae, but he was the broadest man in their group, his chest lightly furred and muscled without being bulky, a combination Jae had always loved. Emmett radiated heat as he huddled over the bag too, his shoulders golden-pink and freckled, and he smelled of citrus and suntan lotion, a mixture Jae found endlessly appealing and a clear indication that he needed to get a fucking grip.
Hopeful Hearts #4
“Weymouth Landing. Doors open on the right.”
Ian slipped his earbuds in and called up the mediation track on his fitness app. But he hesitated to hit Play when the train’s conductor continued speaking, voice oddly friendly over the PA system.
“Passengers, due to the unusual weather conditions, this train will be taking on Red Line riders at some stations. We expect ridership to be unusually heavy during this time and the MBTA appreciates your cooperation in making room where you can.”
In the seat opposite Ian, Marco heaved a sigh. “What fresh hell is this?” he muttered, turning to look out the window to the station platform that lay ahead.
Ian frowned, too. That announcement had sounded not awesome. Yes, back-to-back blizzards had buried the eastern half of the state, clogging highways and making streets impassible. And yes, the ‘snowpocalypse’ had heavily impacted ‘the T’—as the transit authority was known—whole sections coming offline and stranding thousands without buses, ferries, and trains. That had happened with the Red Line, a subway route that serviced nearly a quarter of a million people daily and extended over twenty-two miles from end to end.
So … if Ian’s train was about to take on stranded subway riders, things were going to get—
“Ho, shit. There’s, like, three hundred people out there.”
—crowded.
Ian leaned over to get a look for himself and saw the platform was packed with hordes of passengers eyeing the train through the swirling snow.
“There are two stops after this,” said their friend Dennis, who was leaning into Marco’s shoulder and gawking, too. “Where the hell are they going to put everybody?”
“Wherever they’ll fit, I guess.” Ian gestured at the two empty seats beside him. “Sharing a few inches with strangers isn’t going to kill us.”
“It might,” Marco countered mildly. “We’re citizens of Massachusetts, Ian. We drive badly on purpose, drop consonants, and are selfish assholes about personal space.”
“There’s so much wrong there to unpack.” Ian ignored his friends’ snickering as the doors at each end of the car thunked open.
People streamed in, coats encrusted with snow. Some found seats, like the tall guy in the dark ski jacket who sat on Ian’s right, but most chose to stand, bodies rapidly filling the long car’s narrow aisle. And the people kept coming, a clear indication the MBTA really was going to cram as many people on board as possible.
“Good morning and welcome aboard the Greenbush line,” said the voice on the train’s speakers. “This train will make stops at Quincy Center and JFK, terminating at South Station.” The conductor paused, then sounded almost amused as he continued.
“Passengers, we understand conditions are more crowded than usual and appreciate your patience. Just, ah, squeeze a little closer. Maybe share the Sports section and make a new friend or two while we get you to your next stop.”
Dennis's expression bordered on dazed. “Squeeze closer? Where?”
“On your lap?” Ian suggested, lips twitching when Dennis visibly recoiled. “What? You grouse all the time about not having time to meet men. This could be your chance.”
That got a chuckle from the guy in the ski jacket beside Ian. “Not happening.”
Ian and his friends raised their eyebrows at the guy.
“Oh?” Ian knew he sounded grumpy. But strangers in this town didn’t talk to each other on public transit and this guy—this kid—had big pale eyes fringed with absurdly long lashes and was making all kinds of eye contact.
“People don’t talk on trains,” the kid said, echoing Ian’s thoughts perfectly. “I’ve been here a year and all I get is ‘scuse me’ or ‘your bag’s on my feet,’ or my personal favorite, ‘move your fat ass.’”
Ian’s lips almost twitched again. “Charming,” he murmured. “Don’t take it personally. Insults are kind of a side-hustle here.”
His seatmate nodded. “Truth. Though you’re talking to me and, so far, no insults.”
“Give it time.” Ian sat back in his seat, then surprised himself by asking, “Where’re you from? You said you’d only been here a year,” he added when the kid stared at him blankly.
“Oh! Well, I move around a lot so I’m not really from anywhere. Last place I lived before here was Chicago and that was for six months.”
The kid pulled a messenger bag onto his lap and inched closer as a woman slid into the aisle seat beside him. Ian spied what looked like several Pride-themed pins attached to the bag’s front flap, then heard a soft, “Ugh, sorry.”
He frowned at his seatmate. “What for?”
“For possibly throwing up on you. I feel like crap.” The kid appeared genuinely pained. “I’m not joking when I say I might barf.”
The woman who’d just settled into the aisle seat side-eyed them balefully.
“Ah.” Ian looked his seatmate over. Being blue-yellow colorblind, he didn’t process some colors the way others did and while he knew the kid’s eyes weren’t dark, he couldn’t guess their actual hue. The distress in them was real, however, as was the guy’s pallor and the sweat dotting his full upper lip.
“Open your coat,” Ian said, “and take off the hat if you can. You’ll feel better if you’re not overheated.”
“Um. Okay.” The kid pulled off the hat, revealing a shock of very light hair that was nearly white to Ian’s eyes, a good deal of which flopped onto his forehead. “I’m Tristan,” he said as he unzipped his jacket. “Figured I’d introduce myself since I just threatened to vomit on you.”
“How ya doin’,” Ian said, “My name’s Ian.”
Saturday's Series Spotlight
K Evan ColesK. Evan Coles is a mother and tech pirate by day and a writer by night. She is a dreamer who, with a little hard work and a lot of good coffee, coaxes words out of her head and onto paper.
K. lives in the northeast United States, where she complains bitterly about the winters, but truly loves the region and its diverse, tenacious and deceptively compassionate people. You’ll usually find K. nerding out over books, movies and television with friends and family. She’s especially proud to be raising her son as part of a new generation of unabashed geeks.
K.’s books explore LGBTQ+ romance in contemporary settings.
GOOGLE PLAY / B&N / TIKTOK
EMAIL: coles.k.evan@gmail.com
Open Hearts #3
Hopeful Hearts #4
Stealing Hearts Series
Friday, September 18, 2026
📘🎥Friday's Film Adaptation🎥📘: Marathon Man by William Goldman
A Nazi conspiracy in the heart of modern-day Manhattan—the blockbuster New York Times bestseller that became the classic film thriller.
At Columbia University, Thomas "Babe" Levy, a postgrad history student and aspiring marathon runner, is working to clear his late father's name after the scandal of his suicide, triggered by the McCarthy hearings and accusations of Communist affiliations.
In Paraguay, Dr. Christian Szell, former Nazi dentist and protégé of Josef Mengele, has been in exile for decades. Infamous as the "White Angel of Auschwitz," he's leaving his South American sanctuary to smuggle a fortune in gems out of New York City.
Meanwhile, in London's Kensington Gardens, an international assassin known only as Scylla has completed a hit. A man with too many secrets and twice as many enemies, Scylla has become a target himself, with only one place left to turn.
Then, when Babe's revered older brother, Doc, pays him a fateful and unexpected visit, it sets in motion a chain of events plunging Babe into a paranoid nightmare of family betrayal, international conspiracy, and the dark crimes of history. Now, the marathon man is running for his life, and closer to answering a single cryptic and terrifying question: "Is it safe?"
William Goldman's Marathon Man was adapted by the author for the award-winning 1976 film starring Dustin Hoffman and Laurence Olivier. Upon its publication, the Washington Post called it "one of the best novels of the year," and it remains a powerful, horrifying read. In the words of #1 New York Times–bestselling author Harlan Coben: "I found myself racing through it. You could have put a gun to my head, and I wouldn't have been able to put [Marathon Man] down."
This ebook features a biography of William Goldman.
"Here comes da creep," one of the stoop kids said.
Levy did his best to ignore them, standing at the top of the brownstone steps, making sure his sneaker laces were properly tight. These were his best shoes, the cream of the Adidas line, and they fit his feet as if divinely sculpted, never, not even on the first day, giving a hint of blister. Levy felt passionate about few items of wearing apparel, but these running shoes he cared about.
"Hey creepy creepy creepy," another of the stoop kids shouted, this one their leader, small, quick, with usually the brightest clothes. Now he made his voice very hoity-toity: "I just absolutely adore your chateau," and he indicated Levy's hat.
Without really meaning to, Levy adjusted his golf cap, and as he did the stoop kids, three brownstones down, hit him with the sound of their triumphant laughter. Levy was particularly sensitive about the whole cap business. He had been wearing his peakbill for years, and no one cared, but then, in the '72 Olympics, Wottle won the 800 meters for the U.S.A. and he wore a golf cap, Wottle did, so everyone assumed that Levy was merely an imitator.
Levy felt genuinely confident about few things in this world, but one of them was—did it sound conceited? then it was conceited—his mind. He had, for someone not yet out of his middle twenties, a relatively original mind, and he would never have copied anyone, let alone a fellow runner. Now he took a breath, trying to ready himself for the taunts of the stoop kids as he began jogging storklike down the brownstone steps. The stoop kids loved his awkwardness. They flapped their arms and made goose sounds.
Levy just hated it when they imitated him. Not because they were wrong, but because they were so aggravatingly accurate in their mimicking. He, T. B. Levy, did look like a goose, at least on occasion. He didn't much like it, but there it was.
The stoop kids—usually six in number, Spanish in origin—seemed to live on the brownstone steps of the house three doors closer to Central Park than Levy's own. At least, they had been perched there when he arrived in June, and here it was, September now, and they showed no signs of flying south. They were maybe fifteen or sixteen, small, thin, undoubtedly dangerous when provoked, and they ate on their stoop, played handball against the stoop steps or on the sidewalk in front, and often, late in the darkness, Levy would pass them necking and more with what he assumed were neighborhood girls. Morning till night, the stoop kids were there, sitting there, standing, playing, smoking, not caring to watch the world go by, because they were a world, tight-knit and constant, and sometimes, for that reason, Levy wondered if he didn't envy them. Not that he ever wanted them to offer him a seat. Certainly, he would have rejected such an offer. But then again, who knew how he'd behave, it was all academic, they'd never asked him.
Levy turned on the sidewalk toward Central Park, jogging his way, and as he passed them the one who adored his chateau said, "Why aren't you in school?" so suddenly that Levy had to laugh, because once, in June, when they had been particularly insulting to him, he had said that to them, "Why aren't you in school?" and not only had he not shut them up, for a month they'd never let him come close to forgetting it. But this was the first time in many days they'd used the line back on him, and therefore his laughter. Humor was the unexpected juxtaposition of incongruities, who had said that? Levy rooted around in his mind a moment before he decided on Hazlitt. No. Meredith maybe? G. B. Shaw? Think, he commanded, but the right name would not come. Levy stormed at himself, because you had to know that kind of thing if you were going to be really first-rate, his father would have known just-like-that, known the author's name and the work the quote resided in and the mental state of the creator at the moment of composition—were these good times for him, bad, what? Shamed, Levy jogged faster.
Levy lived on West 95th Street, between Amsterdam and Columbus, not an appetizing neighborhood, certainly, but when you were a scholarship student you took what was available, and in June what was available was a single room with bath on the top floor of the brownstone at 148 West 95th Street. It wasn't all that bad, actually: a lovely jogging distance from Columbia, just across to Riverside Park and then up to 116th, a straight shoot along the river—you couldn't ask for more than that if you were a runner.
Levy crossed Columbus, picked up his pace a bit more as he closed in on Central Park, turned left at 95th, ran one block up and into the green area itself, straight to the tennis courts, and after that it was just a little half turn and then he was there.
At the reservoir.
Whoever invented the reservoir, Levy had decided months ago, must have done it with him alone in mind. It was without flaw, a perfect lake set in this most unexpected of locations, bounded by the millionaires on Fifth and their distant relations on Central Park South and their distant relations along Central Park West.
Levy easily passed other joggers as he began his initial circling of the water. It was half-past five—he always ran then, it was ideal for him. Some people liked a morning jaunt, but Levy wasn't one of them; his mind was at its best in the morning, so he always did his most complex reading before the noon hour; afternoons he took notes or read simple stuff. By five his brain was exhausted, but his body was desperate to move.
So at half-past five Levy ran. Clearly he was faster than anyone around, so if you were a casual observer it would have been logical to assume that this rather tallish, sort of slender fellow with the running style not unreminiscent of a goose covered ground really quite well.
But you had to consider his daydreams.
He was going to run the marathon. Like Nurmi. Like the already mythical Nurmi. Years from now, all across the world, track buffs would agonize over who was greatest, the mighty Finn or the fabled T. B. Levy. "Levy," some of them would argue, "no one would ever run the final five miles the way Levy ran them," and others would counter that by the time the last five miles came, Nurmi would be so far ahead, it wouldn't matter how fast Levy ran them, and so the debate would rage, expert against expert, down the decades.
For Levy was not going to be a marathon man; anyone could be that if you just devoted your life to it. No, he was going to be the marathon man. That, plus an intellect of staggering accomplishment coupled with an unequaled breadth of knowledge, the entire mixture bounded by a sense of modesty as deep as it was sincere.
Right now he only had the B.Litt. he'd won at Oxford, and could race but fifteen miles without fatigue. But give him a few more years and he would be both Ph.D. and Champion. And the crowds would sing out "Lee-vee, Lee-vee," sending him on to undreamed-of triumphs as now sports fans shouted "Dee-fense" as they urged on their heroes.
"Lee-vee, Lee-vee—"
And they wouldn't care about how awkwardly he might run. It wouldn't matter to them that he was over six feet tall and under a hundred and fifty pounds, no matter how many milkshakes he downed per day in an effort to move up from skinny to slender.
"Lee-vee! Lee-vee!—"
It wouldn't bother them that he had a stupid cowlick and the face of an Indiana farmer, that even after spending three years in England he still had the expression of someone you just knew would buy the Brooklyn Bridge if you offered him the chance. He was beloved by few, known by none save, thank God for Doc, Doc. But that would change. Oh yes, oh yes.
"LEE-VEE . . . LEEEEEEE-VEE."
There he was now, up ahead and running with the firm knowledge that no one could ever conquer him, except possibly Mercury. Tireless, fabled, arrogant, unbeatable, the Flying Finn himself, Nurmi.
Levy picked up his pace.
The end of the race was still miles off, but now was the greatest test, the test of the heart.
Levy picked up his pace again.
Levy was gaining.
The half-million people lining the course could not believe it. They screamed, they surged almost out of control. It could not be happening but there it was—Levy was gaining on Nurmi!
Levy, the handsome American, was closing in. It was true. Levy, so confident that he even dared a smile while running at the fastest pace in marathon history, was definitely destroying Nurmi's lead. Nurmi was aware now—something terrible was going on behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and the disbelief was plain for all to see. Nurmi tried to go faster, but he was already at maximum pace, and suddenly his stride began to betray him, the crucial rhythm getting erratic. Levy was coming. Levy was making his move. Levy was getting set to pass now. Levy was—
Thomas Babington Levy paused for a moment, leaning against the reservoir fence. It was hard to really concentrate on Nurmi today.
For he had a toothache, and as he ran, as his right foot hit the ground, it jarred the cavity on the right side of his upper jaw. For a moment Levy rubbed the offending tooth, wondering if he should see a dentist now or not. The thing had come on only lately, and maybe it would depart as it had come, because it hadn't gotten worse, and proved a nuisance only when he ran. Dentists raped you anyway, they charged a ton for maybe two minutes' work, and there were better things to spend your money on, like books, all the books ever printed; records, too. To hell with it, Levy decided.
In the end, it didn't really matter. Once they found his weakness, they almost killed him . . .
Release Date: October 8, 1976
Release Time: 125 minutes
Director: John Schlesinger
Cast:
Dustin Hoffman as Thomas Babington "Babe" Levy
Jeff Palladini as Babe as a child
Laurence Olivier as Dr. Christian Szell
Roy Scheider as Henry "Doc" Levy
Scott Price as Doc as a child
William Devane as Peter Janeway
Marthe Keller as Elsa Opel
Fritz Weaver as Professor Biesenthal
Richard Bright as Karl
Marc Lawrence as Erhard
Allen Joseph as H. V. Levy
Tito Goya as Melendez
Ben Dova as Klaus Szell
Lou Gilbert as Rosenbaum
Jacques Marin as LeClerc
James Wing Woo as Chen
Nicole Deslauriers as Nicole
Annette Claudier as nurse
Raymond Serra as truck driver
Billy Kearns as American tourist
Madge Kennedy as lady in bank
Treat Williams as jogger in Central Park (uncredited)
Awards:
49th Academy Awards - March 28, 1977
Best Supporting Actor - Laurence Olivier - Nominated
30th BAFTAs - March 24, 1977
Best Actor in a Leading Role - Dustin Hoffman - Nominated
Best Editing - Jim Clark - Nominated
34th Golden Globes - January 29,1977
Best Actor in a Motion Picture–Drama - Dustin Hoffman - Nominated
Best Supporting Actor–Motion Picture - Laurence Olivier - Won
Best Supporting Actress–Motion Picture - Marthe Keller - Nominated
Best Director–Motion Picture - John Schlesinger - Nominated
Best Screenplay–Motion Picture - William Goldman - Nominated
AFI 100 Years . . .
100 Heroes and Villains - Dr. Szell - #34 Villain
100 Thrills - #50
100 Movie Quotes - "Is it safe?" - Dr. Szell - #70
William Goldman (b. 1931) is an Academy Award–winning author of screenplays, plays, memoirs, and novels. His first novel, The Temple of Gold (1957), was followed by the script for the Broadway army comedy Blood, Sweat and Stanley Poole (1961). He went on to write the screenplays for many acclaimed films, including Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) and All the President’s Men (1976), for which he won two Academy Awards. He adapted his own novels for the hit movies Marathon Man (1976) and The Princess Bride (1987).
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