Saturday, November 5, 2022

πŸ’œSaturday's Series Spotlight(National Family Caregiver Month Edition)πŸ’œ: San Capistrano by Angelique Jurd Part 2



Stormy Seas #4
Summary:
A storm is brewing in San Capistrano. When it finally breaks will Alex and Ben be the same?

Alex has a happy life now. He and Ben now have two beautiful little girls, Ally and Lucy, who help Ben’s grandmother, Polly, keep both men on their toes. Life seems perfect.

Until Alex's mother shows up, opening old wounds and revealing secrets Alex never wanted Ben to know about. When Janice's hatred for Alex overflows and is taken out on Ally and Lucy, Alex is forced to confront his past and decide what he wants from his future.

How will his relationship with Ben stand up in light of Janice's actions?

Stormy Seas is Book 4 in The San Capistrano Series - an ongoing series, featuring the same couple.

This book deals with family feuds and facing the past, even when it is painful. There is also reference to past physical abuse by a parent.




Scattered Shells #5
Summary:
Peace and calm are not always the same thing.

For the first time in his life, Alex is able to face his past without fear and look toward the future with hope. As he and Ben find their way back to a normal family life with their daughters, Alex begins to open up and become the man Ben always believed he could be.

When he takes up a role in a free clinic, Alex encounters a teenage boy who has been neglected and rejected by his parents. Will Alex be able to cope when he and Ben decide to take the boy in? Will the new family member help him take the last steps into the lightness of being loved?

Scattered Shells is Book 5 in an ongoing series featuring the same couple and features found family, the aftermath of trauma, and the importance of lace.




Haunted Seas #5.5
Summary:
Life in the San Capistrano beach house is good. Ben and Alex's family is settled and happy as they navigate day to day life.As they prepare for Halloween they get some news that may finally offer Alex the closure on his past he so desperately needs.

Haunted Seas is a short story in The San Capistrano Series . It is NOT a paranormal romance.






Stormy Seas #4
The man hands the woman an envelope, pinches a crease in his trousers, and sips his coffee. He watches while she opens it, puts the USB stick to one side, and slides the photographs out. 

There are six photographs in total, all taken from a distance but all clear and sharp. The man is good; he knows his job. 

In the first picture a tall man in a suit holds the hand of a small girl with pigtails, a backpack hanging from his other hand. If you look closely, you can see Elsa from Frozen on the backpack. Next to them an even taller man, with hair covering his collar, is being pulled along by a large Labrador. The hand not holding the leash cups the head of the baby strapped to his chest in a baby sling. 

The second and third photos show the man in the suit – now in jeans – pushing a pram, the little girl clinging to the handles. The fourth photograph shows all four again. This time they’re at a park, under a tree, surrounded by the remnants of a picnic. The taller of the two, with the long hair, is giving the baby a bottle; the small girl is bent over the baby’s head, placing a kiss in the fuzzy hair. The fifth shows the little girl running down the steps of a day care center, pig tails flying, arms wide toward him as he waits, arms open, face beaming. 

The woman drops the fifth photo on the pile and looks at the final image. Disgust and rage twist her mouth and narrow her eyes. It’s more than that, the man across the desk thinks. Hatred. Pure hatred. After a few moments, she tears the image of the two men, hand in hand, leaning into each other, lips almost touching, into shreds; the pieces flutter to the floor as she gathers the envelope, the USB stick, and her purse. Stands. 

“I shall call you if I need anything else.” Her voice is icy. 

She leaves and she slams the door behind her.


2
In his dream, Alex Davis is trying to catch his dog, Bart, so he can take a tennis ball off him. Bart’s love of eating tennis balls has ended in three hefty vet bills already, and in this dream, he’s eaten half a dozen of the damned things and nobody can catch him. Alex knows it’s just a dream, not because of the tennis balls, but because his mother-in- law Allie is watching from a recliner. She’s sipping a cocktail and laughing with her granddaughter Ally. Alex and Ben’s daughter, was born two months after his mother-in-law’s death, which is how he knows it must be a dream.

Just as Alex is about to snag Bart’s collar, the snuffling sounds of their younger daughter about to cry catch his attention. The dream slips away, and he opens his eyes when there’s a second whimper from the baby monitor. Swinging his legs out of bed he pulls his tee-shirt on over his blue pajama pants and crosses the hall to her room. The nine-month-old is sitting in the corner of her crib, pulling on the feet of her onesie with one hand and sucking the fingers of the other hand. By the look of things, she’s getting ready to voice her displeasure at having no bottle yet but gives him a wide, drool filled smile revealing four teeth. This room used to belong to Ben’s grandmother, Polly, but at ninety-seven she’s conceded defeat to the staircase and taken over the downstairs guestroom.

“Hey Lulu bug.” He scoops the little girl into his arms, smiling at the way she snuggles into his neck, kicking against his stomach.

Alex sings Teddy Bear’s Picnic in her ear as they go downstairs, stomach growling when the smell of bacon cooking and the sound of barking and giggles greets them from the kitchen.  When he opens the door, Bart, thankfully with no tennis balls in sight, bounces over, tongue lolling and tail wagging. Ben, dressed in old jeans and a faded shirt, stands at the stove, tongs in one hand, coffee mug in the other. His blonde hair points in every direction and there’s a smear of something – butter? - on his face. Bacon and eggs are about Ben’s limit in the kitchen and even then, it's rare for him to come out unscathed. Ally, who will be four next month, looks up from her coloring.

“Daddy,” she squeals with a wide smile, bright green eyes shining. She’s wearing Pooh Bear pajamas and, Alex is startled to see, has a diaper on her head. He bends down to kiss her cheek, cradling Lucy’s head with his hand. “I have a diapy hat.”

“Morning monster, so I see.”

He retrieves Lucy’s bottle from the warmer, settles her into the crook of his elbow and grins when small hands clasp the bottle and small feet stick straight up in the air. She settles into the serious business of having her bottle while looking at him with wide, unblinking, hazel eyes. Holding her away from the stove, he winds his free arm around Ben’s waist.

“Morning.” He nuzzles Ben’s neck; he smells warm and buttery. “Why is our daughter wearing a diapy hat?”

“Why do you insist on wearing those ridiculous pajamas? Such are the mysteries of the universe, baby.”

Alex rolls his eyes and sits down, shifting Lucy to a more comfortable position.

“Idiot.”

“Idiot who loves you,” Ben replies. He takes a small plate of scrambled egg to Ally. “And, I might add, who is cooking you breakfast Okay, munchkin, no diapy hats at the table please. Coloring on the island, time for eggs.”

“Daddy’s not a baby,” Ally says as she puts her coloring on the island, laying the diapy hat next to it with care, “Daddy’s a growed-up. Lulu bug is a baby.”

“Shows what you know.” Ben hands Alex a cup of coffee and sets a plate of bacon and eggs on the table in front of him. “Lulu bug isn’t a baby, she’s a bug. Didn’t you know that?”

Ally, still standing on her chair, puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head.

“Idiot.” Her tone is an exact echo of the one Alex used a minute earlier. Alex chokes on his coffee and looks up to see Ben, mouth hanging open, his plate of breakfast forgotten in his hand.

“Ally, don’t call Papa an idiot,” Alex tries not to laugh, “that’s rude.”

“You did.” Ally sits, picks up her small fork and shovels a forkful of egg into her mouth, eyes still on her taller father, waiting for an explanation.

“Well it’s different for grownups,” he says.

“Why?”

Alex groans. He hasn’t had enough coffee for why.

“Because sometimes it’s a way of being cute, like when I call Daddy baby, or you, munchkin,” Ben intervenes. Alex watches her mull this over; she’s an intelligent child who likes words and is often distracted by them. Polly is convinced it means she’ll be an award-winning writer someday, but Alex will just be grateful if it saves them from an hour of hearing the word why on repeat.

“Or Lucy, Lulu bug,” he adds.

“Oh, it’s a nicker name?”

“Nickname,” Alex corrects. “Yes, sort of, but it’s not a good nickname for little girls to use, okay? Especially not to their Papa.”

The little girl considers this for a moment, then shrugs, nudges her plate toward Ben’s, and climbs in his lap.

“Sorry, Papa,” she says, and leans her head back against his chest. Ben picks up some scrambled egg with his fork and lifts it to her mouth.

For a couple of moments, they eat breakfast in silence. As Alex gets up to refill Ally’s sippy cup with milk, the door swings open and Polly comes in. She’s dressed in a long, denim skirt and a neon pink sweater that matches her chin length neon pink hair. Retiring from writing three years earlier has dimmed some of her spark, but she still fills the room with warmth and energy.

“Olly,” Ally cries.

Refusing to be called Grandma, Polly became Olly when Ally was smaller and couldn’t quite pronounce her name.  Ally bounces on her father’s lap and knocks his fork, and the bacon it had just pierced, flying. Ben sighs when Bart pounces on it and Alex has to fight another wave of laughter as he shifts Lucy to his shoulder and holds his free arm out, so Ally can get on his lap allowing Ben to serve Polly some breakfast and himself some more bacon.

“Good morning small creatures,” Polly kisses first Ally, then Lucy. She accepts her coffee and sits down with a yawn. “What have we all been doing this morning?”

“I was coloring, and I made a diapy hat, and Daddy called Papa idiot, but I can’t call him that ‘cause I not a growed up.”

Polly looks at Alex, eyebrows raised.

“That’s pretty much it in a nutshell,” he says and rubs his cheek on Ally’s head.

Ben swallows the piece of bacon he's chewing and drops a kiss on Polly’s head as he serves her a dish of scrambled eggs and takes Lucy. Sits back down and puts a toast crust in her pudgy hand to suck on. Alex offers Ally some of his scrambled egg, but she shakes her head; he looks at her plate at the end of the table, she’s eaten most of it, so he doesn’t insist.

“Business as usual then,” Polly says with a grin.

✽ ✽ ✽

“Why can’t I wear my jeans?” Ally kicks her feet against the legs of her chair. The Pooh Bear pajamas have been replaced by a pink party dress tied with a bow at the back.

“Because it’s a birthday party for Charlotte.” Alex grits his teeth and parts her hair to form pigtails. He hates doing her hair, Ben is so much better at it.

“Yeah but why can’t I wear my jeans?”

“Because it’s nice to dress up for birthday parties.”

He winds a matching pink ribbon around the pig tail and moves to the other side.

“Why?”

“Because everyone wants to look pretty.”

“Why?”

Alex sighs and reaches for the other ribbon.

“Because it’s a special occasion.”

“Why?”

Alex closes his eyes and crouches down in front of her. How does Ben always know when Ally is going to be in the mood to question everything and so chooses to change Lucy?

“Because it’s her birthday and you’re going there to celebrate it with her and have fun.”

“So why can’t I wear my jeans? I can’t have fun in a stupid dress.”

Knowing better than to assume he has any chance of winning the argument, Alex tries distraction as a tactic. He puts the hairbrush on Ally’s dresser and turns to look at her.

“Stand up and twirl, monster.”

Ally rolls her eyes and looks so much like Ben it’s eerie. The skirt of the dress billows out to reveal chubby knees, one sporting an Olaf band-aid. Alex crouches and adjusts the white socks and checks her laces are secure.  Stands and holds his hand out.

“Let’s go show Papa what a beautiful monster you are.”

Giggling she encloses his hand in both of hers and pulls him to the staircase.




Scattered Shells #5
1
Alex clamps a slice of toast between his teeth and lifts Lucy out of her highchair. He settles her on his hip and snatches the toast out of her reach before it ends up smeared down both of them.

“Ally, grab your bag, we’re going to be late,” he says and slings the diaper bag over his shoulder.

“Have to say bye to Papa,” Ally calls over her shoulder as she darts across the court yard, back pack bouncing on the cobblestones behind her. Alex lets out a frustrated sigh and hurries after her.

Ben appears in the doorway and smiles when Ally throws herself on him. The glasses he’s finally accepted he needs for reading and watching television are perched on his head, and Alex can’t help smiling at the sight.

“I won’t forget to check on the cake,” Ben says. He lifts Ally up and kisses her cheek.

“And get the presents.”

“And get the presents.” Grinning at Alex, he leans forward to kiss Lucy. “And the turkey. Papa has everything under control.”

“Monster we have to go,” Alex says, capturing a kiss of his own as he shifts Lucy to a more comfortable position and tries to keep the toast away from Ben’s cream shirt. It’s tucked into navy linen trousers and for the first time in what feels too long, Alex lingers over the kiss. Wants to linger over the kiss. Ben pulls away, eyes dancing as he licks his lips.

“Mmmmm, peanut butter. My favorite.” He sets Ally back on the ground.

Alex brushes his mouth over Ben’s again, then presses his lips close to his ear.

“Who knows what you might taste later?”

Ben raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

A twinge of guilt pulls at Alex. It’s been two months since the court case. His mother’s appeal was denied, and his parents are both serving their sentences. Apart from the occasional bad dream and a reluctance to spend too much time apart from them, Ally appears to be bouncing back. Her hair is almost brushing her collar and the dreaded Mary Janes have been donated to the local thrift store. Alex sees a therapist once - sometimes twice -  a week and has regained most of the weight he lost, but he’s been reluctant to make love. Ben hasn’t pushed it, brushing it off as the downside to parenting but Alex can’t help worrying how long his patience will last. He’s about to kiss Ben again when Ally tugs his hand.

“Daddy, no more smushy stuff. You said we’re going to be late.”

“Okay, okay I’m coming.” He smiles at Ben. “I love you.”

“Love you back. Love you munchkin.”

“Love you back papa. Come on, daddy. We have to go.”

Alex shoves the last of the toast in his mouth and follows her out.

✽ ✽ ✽

Alex stares at his hands and waits for Ellen Jones to look up from her notes. A woman in her mid-forties with strands of silver in her long red hair, she has an unerring eye for spotting whatever is bothering Alex on any given day. Not unlike Ben, he thinks and snorts.

Jones looks up at the sound and smiles.

“Care to share?” she says.

Alex shakes his head and looks back at his hands. She steps out from behind her desk, smooths her skirt beneath her, and sits down.

“So, how’s the week been?”

“Not bad,” Alex admits. “It’s Lucy’s first birthday on Saturday, so Ally’s busy organizing us for that.”

“Thanksgiving baby. That’s a pretty good reason to celebrate.”

Alex nods. He knows he has a lot to be thankful for.

“Ally still doing okay? Any nightmares this week?”

“No, none in about two weeks now and she had a play date at her friend’s house over the weekend. She didn’t stay over but she spent the day.”

Jones looks pleased.

“That’s great news, it certainly sounds like she’s doing well. What did you and Ben do while she was out?”

He can feel the blush creeping across his cheeks; he knows what she’s really asking. The first time the subject of their sex life had come up, he had been so embarrassed he’d had to stand at the window with his back to her to be able to answer. It made him angry, as if the whole nightmare with his mother had sent him hurtling back into who he had been before meeting Ben. Jones had listened to this outburst without comment, then asked him to tell her what Ben had done to make things different.

“He was just … Ben,” Alex had said, voice clogged with emotion.

“And is he still just Ben?” she’d asked, and the question had been so jarring in its simplicity that he’d been shocked out of his embarrassment. Yes, he’d whispered, he was still just Ben. His Ben.

“Alex?” her head is tilted to the side and the amusement in her eyes is mirrored in her tone.

“Sorry, just thinking. We had Lucy with us and went out for lunch, then went home and watched a movie while she slept.” He looks up at her from under the hair flopped over his eyes. “Made out a bit on the sofa.” Small embarrassed laugh. “Like teenagers.”

“Hey, that’s what nap time is for. Go any further than making out?’

Alex shakes his head.

“No. I want to though, it’s just …” his voice trails off as he tries to find the words to explain what he’s feeling. Jones waits, silent. “Ben’s really ... physical. Not shy about anything, really open. Everything I’m not.” He sighs, knows how it must sound. “And he’s always been really patient with me. Never pushed me to do anything I didn’t want to do. Always on my side.”

“Sounds like a saint.” Jones face is unreadable but the laughter that bubbles up from his chest feels good. Better, it feels real.

“He’s not a saint,” he finally manages to say. “He’ll be forty in the new year but some days it’s like he’s twelve.” It occurs to him she might not understand. “Not in a bad way, or anything, he’s just …cocky I guess.”

“I get the feeling you love him very much.”

Alex nods.

“I do. He’s kind and compassionate and smart. Funny. He works hard and he’s a great Dad.” Alex takes a deep breath. “I sound like a teenager with a crush, but he’s everything I always thought I wouldn’t have.”

“Before you met Ben, did you have other lovers?”

He tells her the same thing he remembers telling Ben. A few one-night stands, a couple of short lived flings. The first time he had fallen in love, the only time, had been with Ben.

“And were you ever reluctant to have sex before?”

Alex runs both hands through his hair, holds it back off his face fighting the urge to squirm under her gaze.

“No. I mean I wasn’t a virgin when we met but I hadn’t had that much experience and I’ve always been,” he huffs a laugh as he remembers asking Ben if he was too vanilla, “shy I guess. But we have a good sex life. At least we always did before.”

“So, what’s changed? Did something happen when you were a child?”

It’s not lost on Alex that of the many things he has to be grateful for, one of them is that for all the awful things inflicted upon him by his parents, sexual assault was not one of them.

“No, nothing like that.” The truth he realizes is much simpler. And somehow much harder to face. “I’m scared I won’t be able to … you know…” he looks up and catches the amusement in Jones’s eyes, “I know, I know I’m a nurse I should be able to talk about this stuff. Ben’s always teasing me about it. I’m scared I’ll feel guilty. And I don’t want to ever feel guilty about loving Ben. About making love to him. But …”

“But?”

“But I miss it. I miss touching him and being touched. I want that back in our life. You know, before she showed back up, a lot of the time we were too tired to have sex anyway.”

“Having small children will do that to you.”

He nods in agreement.

“Yeah, but this is different. This is … I don’t know.” Frustrated he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Alex,” Jones says, “it’s normal to experience a loss of libido after something like this. Apart from what happened with your girls, which is a major stress factor of its own, you’re dealing with a lifetime of trauma for the first time, you need to give yourself some credit. And I know you know what I’m going to tell you to do.”

“Talk to him.”

Jones laughs, it’s a light, airy sound.

“Go to the top of the class. Yes, you have to talk to him.”




Haunted Seas #5.5
WEDNESDAY 
Something smashes into the back of Alex’s legs knocking him off balance. He steadies himself against the wall and looks down to find his younger daughter, Lucy, grinning up at him from the depths of a fuzzy blue costume. 

“Stitch, Daddy, I Stitch.” She holds her arms out and he hefts her up against his shoulder, dodging the sticky ice-cream mouth she’s aiming at him to be kissed. Instead, he pretends to bite her neck through the furry suit making her squirm and giggle. “Had ice-c’eam.” 

“I can see that.” He turns to greet Ben and Ally coming down the hallway. Ally is still wearing the Wonder Woman t-shirt and jeans she wore to school this morning. He raises an eyebrow in query. “Where’s your costume monster?” 

“Papa said it has to stay in the car, so I don’t get it dirty.”  She shoots a baleful look at Ben as she speaks. “It’s not fair, Lulu got to wear hers.”

Alex bites his cheek to keep from laughing at her indignance and raises an eyebrow as he leans over her to kiss Ben. They ignore her protest to not be smushy. 

“Please tell me you’re done for the day.” Ben takes Lucy back. Alex notices his unknotted tie is askew and there’s a smear of what looks like strawberry ice-cream on his shirt. There are gray smudges beneath his green eyes, and his normally well combed blond hair resembles a bird nest. “She’s on form today.” 

In his arms, Lucy wriggles to get free. “Down. Down, Papa.” 

As soon as she hits the ground, she darts toward the reception area before Ben can stop her. Alex grins when Ann intercepts the toddler and lifts her to sit on the edge of her desk, offering her a lollipop from the jar on her desk. Ally turns hopeful eyes to him. He nods and she runs to the receptionist. 

“Court go okay?” He bumps his elbow against Ben’s. 

“Court was a breeze compared to our daughter. I think we’re going to have to buy the Stitch costume if the fit she threw when I tried to take it off her at the store is anything to go by.” He scrubs his hand up over his face. “Maybe she’s been possessed.” 

“Idiot.” Alex’s mouth twitches. “Let me just put these away and we can go.” 

When he returns, Ben is at the reception desk chatting with Ann and Alex is unsurprised to see he too has a lollipop. Lucy is still sitting on the desk, but Ally has wandered into the waiting area where she’s found the pile of children’s books they keep there. When he tries to pick Lucy up, she protests and kicks at him until finally he lets her slither down to scamper over to her sister and snatch at her book.

“Papa! Make her stop!” Ally holds the toddler at bay with one hand and her book in the air with the other. 

“Told you. Possessed.” Ben strides over, picks up a now shrieking Lucy and starts toward the door. “Thanks for the lollipop, Ann.” 

“Terrible twos are such fun.” Ann, a grandmother of four already, shakes her head with a laugh. “I do not miss that. When my grandbabies start, I send them on home.” 

“Don’t blame you.” Alex turns to Ally and holds out his hand. “Come on monster, time to go. Say bye to Ann.” 

Ally returns the books to the shelf and skips over to them. She takes Alex’s hand, leaning against his leg as she says goodbye. 

“You make sure Daddy brings you in, so I can see you dressed as Wonder Woman, okay sweetie?” 

As soon as he opens the clinic’s door, they’re met with the sound of angry squeals and sobs. From where they stand, Alex can see Ben dodging angry blows and Lucy arching her back as she fights having the car set harness attached. 

“No! No! No! No! Bad Papa! No! No!” 

“When Papa said she had to take Stitch off, she bit him.” Ally’s voice is solemn. “Papa said a bad word.” 

No sooner are the words out of her mouth than Lucy whips around and sinks her teeth into Ben’s shoulder making him yelp yet another bad word. Ally nods in confirmation when Alex glances at her and they hurry over to the car. Alex nudges Ben out of the way. 

“Help Ally with her seatbelt.”

Lucy is in full temper tantrum now and Alex is surprised they haven’t attracted more attention. He places a firm hand on her chest to hold her still and yanks the harness over her head. Clicks it into place and draws back and holds his index finger up.



Saturday's Series Spotlight
Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3


Author Bio:

New Zealand author, Angelique Jurd, writes contemporary gay (MM) romance. Her stories are emotional, sexy, and loving with heart warming endings. After getting a degree in languages, travelling the world, raising a family, and working as a business journalist, she went back to school and studied English Literature and Media Studies.In 2018, she published her first novel Jesse’s Smile with Small Black Cat Media. Since then, she’s continued to write contemporary gay (MM) romance and her academic research in fan studies and the queerification of popular fiction characters by fans.


BOOKBUB  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS
EMAIL: angelique@angeliquejurd.com



Stormy Seas #4

Scattered Shells #5

Haunted Seas #5.5

Series


Friday, November 4, 2022

πŸ’œπŸ“˜πŸŽ₯Friday's Film Adaptation(National Family Caregiver Month Edition)πŸŽ₯πŸ“˜πŸ’œ: The Descendants by Kaui Hart Hemmings


Summary:

Now a major motion picture starring George Clooney and directed by Alexander Payne.

Fortunes have changed for the King family, descendants of Hawaiian royalty and one of the state’s largest landowners. Matthew King’s daughters—Scottie, a feisty ten-year-old, and Alex, a seventeen-year-old recovering drug addict—are out of control, and their charismatic, thrill-seeking mother, Joanie, lies in a coma after a boat-racing accident. She will soon be taken off life support. As Matt gathers his wife’s friends and family to say their final goodbyes, a difficult situation is made worse by the sudden discovery that there’s one person who hasn’t been told: the man with whom Joanie had been having an affair. Forced to examine what they owe not only to the living but to the dead, Matt, Scottie, and Alex take to the road to find Joanie’s lover, on a memorable journey that leads to unforeseen humor, growth, and profound revelations.



1
the sun is shining, mynah birds are chattering, palm trees are swaying, so what. I’m in the hospital and I’m healthy. My heart is beating as it should. My brain is firing off messages that are loud and clear. My wife is on the upright hospital bed, positioned the way people sleep on airplanes, her body stiff, head cocked to the side. Her hands are on her lap.

“Can’t we lay her flat?” I ask.

“Wait,” my daughter Scottie says. She takes a picture of her mother, a Polaroid. She fans herself with the photo, and I press the button on the side of the bed to lower my wife’s upper body. I release the button when she is almost flat on her back.

Joanie has been in a coma for twenty-three days, and in the next few days I’ll have to make some decisions based on our doctor’s final verdict. Actually, I’ll just have to find out what the doctor has to say about Joanie’s condition. I don’t have any decisions to make, since Joanie has a living will. She, as always, makes her own decisions.

Today is Monday. Dr. Johnston said we’ll talk on Tuesday, and this appointment is making me nervous, as though it’s a romantic date. I don’t know how to act, what to say, what to wear. I rehearse answers and reactions, but I’ve nailed only the lines that respond to favorable scenarios. I haven’t rehearsed Plan B.

“There,” Scottie says. Her real name is Scottie. Joanie thought it would be cool to name her after Joanie’s father, Scott. I have to disagree.

I look at the photo, which looks like those joke snapshots everyone takes of someone sleeping. I don’t know why we think they’re so funny. There’s a lot that can be done to you while you’re sleeping. This seems to be the message. Look how vulnerable you are, the things you aren’t aware of. Yet in this picture you know she isn’t just sleeping. Joanie has an IV and something called an endotracheal tube running out of her mouth to a ventilator that helps her breathe. She is fed through a tube and is administered enough medication to sustain a Fijian village. Scottie is documenting our life for her social studies class. Here’s Joanie at Queen’s Hospital, her fourth week in a coma, a coma that has scored a 10 on the Glasgow scale and a III on the Rancho Los Amigos scale. She was in a race and was launched from an offshore powerboat going eighty miles an hour, but I think she will be okay.

“She reacts nonpurposefully to stimuli in a nonspecific manner, but occasionally, her responses are specific though inconsistent.” This is what I’ve been told by her neurologist, a young woman with a slight tremor in her left eye and a fast way of talking that makes it hard to ask questions. “Her reflexes are limited and often the same, regardless of stimuli presented,” she says. None of this sounds good to me, but I’m assured Joanie’s still holding on. I feel she’ll be okay and one day able to function normally. I’m generally right about things.

“What was she racing for?” the neurologist asked.

The question confused me. “To win, I guess. To get to the end first.”

“shut this off,” I tell Scottie. She finishes pasting the picture into her book then turns off the television with the remote.

“No, I mean this.” I point to the stuff in the window—the sun and trees, the birds on the grass hopping from crumb to crumb thrown by tourists and crazy ladies. “Turn this off. It’s horrible.” The tropics make it difficult to mope. I bet in big cities you can walk down the street scowling and no one will ask you what’s wrong or encourage you to smile, but everyone here has the attitude that we’re lucky to live in Hawaii; paradise reigns supreme. I think paradise can go fuck itself.

“Disgusting,” Scottie says. She slides the stiff curtain across the window, shutting all of it out.

I hope she can’t tell that I’m appraising her and that I’m completely worried by what I see. She’s excitable and strange. She’s ten. What do people do during the day when they’re ten? She runs her fingers along the window and mumbles, “This could give me bird flu,” and then she forms a circle around her mouth with her hand and makes trumpet noises. She’s nuts. Who knows what’s going on in that head of hers, and speaking of her head, she most definitely could use a haircut or a brushing. There are small tumbleweeds of hair resting on the top of her head. Where does she get haircuts? I wonder. Has she ever had one before? She scratches her scalp, then looks at her nails. She wears a shirt that says i’m not that kind of girl. but i can be! I’m grateful that she isn’t too pretty, but I realize this could change.

I look at my watch. Joanie gave it to me.

“The hands glow and the face is mother-of-pearl,” she said.

“How much did it cost?” I asked.

“How did I know that would be the very first thing you said about it?”

I could see she was hurt, that she put a lot of work into selecting the gift. She loves giving gifts, paying attention to people so she can give them a gift that says she took the time to know and listen to them. At least it seems like that’s what she does. I shouldn’t have asked about the price. She just wanted to show that she knew me.

“What time is it?” Scottie asks.

“Ten-thirty.”

“It’s still early.”

“I know,” I say. I don’t know what to do. We’re here not only because we’re visiting and hoping Joanie has made some progress during the night, reacting to light and sound and painful jabs, but also because we have nowhere else to go. Scottie’s in school all day and then Esther picks her up, but this week I felt she should spend more time here and with me, so I took her out of school.

“What do you want to do now?” I ask.

She opens her scrapbook, a project that seems to occupy all of her time. “I don’t know. Eat.”

“What would you usually do now?”

“Be in school.”

“What if it were Saturday? What would you do then?”

“Beach.”

I try to think of the last time she was completely in my care and what we did together. I think it was when she was around one, one and a half. Joanie had to fly to Maui for a shoot and couldn’t find a babysitter, and her parents couldn’t do it, for some reason. I was in the middle of a trial and stayed home but absolutely had to get some work done, so I put Scottie in the bathtub with a bar of soap. I watched to see what happened. She splashed and tried to drink the bathwater, and then she found the soap and reached to grab it. It eluded her grasp and she tried again, a look of wonder on her small face, and I slipped out into the hall, where I had set up a workstation and a baby monitor. I could hear her laughing, so I knew she wasn’t drowning. I wonder if this would still work: putting her in a tub with a slippery bar of Irish Spring.

“We can go to the beach,” I say. “Would Mom take you to the club?”

“Well, duh. Where else would we go?”

“Then it’s a plan. After you talk and we see a nurse, we’ll check in at home, then go.”

Scottie takes a picture out of her album, crushes it in her hand, and throws it away. I wonder what the picture was, if it was the one of her mother on the bed, probably not the best family relic. “I wish,” Scottie says. “What do I wish?”

It’s one of our games. Every now and then she names a place she wishes we were besides this place, this time in our lives.

“I wish we were at the dentist,” she decides.

“Me, too. I wish we were getting our mouths x-rayed.”

“And Mom was getting her teeth whitened,” she says.

I really do wish we were at Dr. Branch’s office, the three of us getting high on laughing gas and feeling our numb lips. A root canal would be a blast compared to this. Or any medical procedure, really. Actually, I wish I could be home working. I have to make a decision on who should own the land that has been in my family since the 1840s. This sale will eliminate all of my family’s land holdings, and I desperately need to study up on the facts before the meeting I have with my cousins six days from now. That’s our deadline. Two o’clock at Cousin Six’s house six days from today. We’ll approve a buyer. It’s irresponsible of me to have put off thinking about this deal for so long, but I guess this is what our family has done for a while now. We’ve turned our backs to our legacy, waiting for someone else to come along and assume both our fortune and our debts.

I’m afraid Esther may have to take Scottie to the beach, and I’m about to tell her, but then I don’t because I feel ashamed. My wife is in the hospital, my daughter needs her parents, and I need to work. Once again I’m putting her in the tub.

I see Scottie staring at her mother. She has her back against the wall, and she’s fumbling with the hem of her shirt.

“Scottie,” I say. “If you’re not going to say anything, then we may as well leave.”

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t you want to tell your mother what’s going on in school?”

“She never cares about what’s going on in school.”

“What about your extracurricular activities? Your schedule’s fuller than the president’s. Your scrapbook, show her that. Or what did you make in glassblowing the other day?”

“A bong,” she says.

I look at her closely before responding. She doesn’t appear to have said anything remarkable. I never know if she knows what she’s talking about. “Interesting,” I say. “What is a bong?”

She shrugs. “Some high school guy taught me how to make it. He said it would go well with chips and salsa and any other food I could think of. It’s some kind of platter.”

“Do you still have this . . . bong?”

“Sort of,” she says. “But Mr. Larson told me to make it into a vase. I could put flowers in it and give it to her.” She points at her mother.

“That’s a great idea!”

She eyes me skeptically. “You don’t have to get all Girl Scout about it.”

“Sorry,” I say.

I lean back in my chair and look at all the holes in the ceiling. I don’t know why I’m not worried, but I’m just not. I know Joanie will be okay because she always makes it out okay. She will wake up and Scottie will have a mother and we can talk about our marriage and I can put my suspicions aside. I’ll sell the property and buy Joanie a boat, something that will shock her and make her throw her head back and laugh.

“Last time you were the one in the bed,” Scottie says.

“Yup.”

“Last time you lied to me.”

“I know, Scottie. Forgive me.”

She’s referring to my stint in the hospital. I had a minor motorcycling accident. I crashed at the track, soaring over the handlebars into a pile of red dirt. At home, after the wreck, I told Joanie and Scottie what had happened but insisted I was okay and that I wasn’t going to the hospital. Scottie issued me these little tests to demonstrate my unreliability. Joanie participated. They played bad cop, worse cop.

“How many fingers?” Scottie asked, holding up what I thought was a pinky and a thumb.

“Balls,” I said. I didn’t want to be tested this way.

“Answer her,” Joanie said.

“Two?”



Matt King, a husband and father of two girls, must re-examine his past and navigate his future when his wife is in a boating accident off Waikiki. He awkwardly attempts to repair his relationship with his daughters - 10 year-old precocious Scottie and rebellious 17 year-old Alexandra - while wrestling with a decision to sell his family's land.

Release Date: Novembe 10, 2011
Release Time: 115 minutes

Director: Alexander Payne

Cast:
George Clooney as Matthew "Matt" King
Shailene Woodley as Alexandra "Alex" King
Amara Miller as Scottie King
Nick Krause as Sid
Beau Bridges as Hugh King
Judy Greer as Julie Speer
Matthew Lillard as Brian Speer
Robert Forster as Scott Thorson
Patricia Hastie as Elizabeth King
Mary Birdsong as Kai Mitchell
Rob Huebel as Mark Mitchell
Milt Kogan as Dr. Johnston
Laird Hamilton as Troy
Michael Ontkean as Cousin Milo
Matt Corboy as Kaiba

Awards:
2011 Academy Awards
Best Picture - Jim Burke, Alexander Payne, Jim Taylor - Nominated
Best Director - Alexander Payne - Nominated
Best Actor - George Clooney - Nominated
Best Adapted Screenplay - Alexander Payne, Nat Faxon, Jim Rash - Won
Best Film Editing - Kevin Tent - Nominated

BAFTA's
Best Film - Jim Burke, Alexander Payne, Jim Taylor - Nominated
Best Actor - George Clooney - Nominated
Best Adapted Screenplay -Alexander Payne, Nat Faxon, Jim Rash - Nominated

Golden Globes
Best Picture – Drama - Won
Best Director - Alexander Payne - Nominated
Best Actor – Drama - George Clooney - Won
Best Supporting Actress - Shailene Woodley - Nominated
Best Screenplay - Alexander Payne, Nat Faxon, Jim Rash - Nominated



Trailer

Clips



Author Bio:
Kaui Hart Hemmings has degrees from Colorado College, Sarah Lawrence, and she was a Stegner Fellow at Stanford University. Her first novel, a New York Times bestseller, THE DESCENDANTS, has been published in twenty-two other countries and is now an Oscar-winning film directed by Alexander Payne and starring George Clooney. She has also published a story collection, HOUSE OF THIEVES. Her novel, The POSSIBILITIES, is an Oprah and People magazine "must read" and has been optioned by Jason Reitman. Her debut YA novel, JUNIORS, has been published by Penguin Putnam. Her most recent novel is HOW TO PARTY WITH AN INFANT. She lives in Hawaii.


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Wednesday, November 2, 2022

πŸ’œNational Family Caregiver Month 2022 Part 1πŸ’œ



πŸ’–πŸ’™πŸ’šπŸ’›πŸ’œπŸ’—πŸ’œπŸ’›πŸ’šπŸ’™πŸ’–

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

πŸ’–πŸ’™πŸ’šπŸ’›πŸ’œπŸ’—πŸ’œπŸ’›πŸ’šπŸ’™πŸ’–


Part 2  /  Part 3  /  Part 4



Moments by RJ Scott
Summary:
An actor on possession charges, hell bent on destroying his own life meets a man who quietly works to make the world a better place.

Jacob Riley is a typical Hollywood former child star with issues. He has already done prison time and at the age of twenty-six has been arrested again.

Ethan Myers is the owner and manager of Macs, an education center providing teaching and learning to local low income families. Losing his partner to cancer leaves him lost and alone and he buries himself in his work to start to mend his broken heart.

Sparks fly when Jacob has to complete his community service at Macs. Their relationship grows against a background of disenfranchised street gang members, arson, the Oscars, and despite their prejudices.

Can Jacob Riley be saved?

1st Re-Read Review April 2017:
If I am being completely honest, there really is nothing I can add to my original review.  I will say that I could not tell you what any of the re-edited or added bits were as every bit of  Jacob and Ethan's journey flowed together as beautifully as it did when I read it in 2015.

Jacob is still a spoiled Hollywood stereotype who thinks the world is his oyster and he's lined up for the all you can eat buffet.  Ethan is still the humble man who wants to help the less fortunate.  When their journeys converge, fireworks are the result from the starting line, equally stubborn and determined the pair is perfectly matched.  Sometimes we have to hit rock bottom before we see what is really important in life, well Jacob hasn't really hit rock bottom but he is about at his last chance for redemption when he's forced to serve his community service sentence at Ethan's center. I do believe that we all have that one defining moment that can change us and that's what Jacob faces in Moments.

That's about the best you're going to get out of me as for the plot but I will say that I can't recommend Moments enough.  There are points that may seem cliche but there are plenty of points that are not and when you combine them what you have is a beautiful tale of redemption, friendship, love, and finding your place in the world which is something we all want.  Whether you are as I am doing a re-read or completely new to you, Moments is another winner from Miss Scott that you don't want to miss, you just might learn something about yourself as well as be thoroughly entertained and for me that is the mark of an excellent and amazing tale and talent.

Original Review 2015:
I need to start by simply stating that you will not like Jacob Riley in the beginning.  He is the classic, some might say cliche, Hollywood child actor turned bad boy.  Whether you see Jacob as classic or cliche, it doesn't matter because it works and that's what makes Moments enjoyable.  Despite Ethan's panic attacks he is incredibly patient, more patient than I would be when faced with dealing with Jacob.  I don't do spoilers but I will say there was a point in the story that I thought the author might take a certain path with Jacob's character but she didn't and the road Miss Scott took was much better and appreciated.  Moments may not be what I would classify as an emotional roller coaster but it definitely pulls at your heartstrings and will stay with you.  Moments is another great example why RJ Scott is on my short list of "1-click without the blurb" authors.

RATING:


Resilient Heart by Annabeth Albert
Summary:

Out of Options
When Army IT specialist Xander suffers a serious injury, he is forced to accept help from his ex-friend-with-benefits, Mackey. Stuck in close quarters, their old attraction quickly flares, but so do old hurts. Xander isn’t sure he knows how to let Mackey help.

Out of Control
Mackey’s always kept his emotions close to his chest, but now he’s got a secret that could destroy his one chance with Xander. Further, his love may not be enough to save Xander from his inner demons.

Out of Time
Mackey is not going to let Xander push him away. Their wounded hearts need each other, and their powerful connection can’t be denied. Can Xander find the courage to reach for the future?

RESILIENT HEART was originally released as part of the Unconditional Surrender bundle. This stand-alone edition contains an additional 10,000 word epilogue!

Content Advisory: A full content advisory is available after the title page, but this book contains a character wrestling with serious depression and PTSD. A happy ending is absolutely guaranteed, but be advised that mental health does play a significant role in the story.



Moments by RJ Scott
Chapter One
Jacob Riley slammed the door to the small conference room and stomped to the window to stare moodily at the bright, sunshine-filled day outside. He twisted both hands tight into his hair in frustration, wondering how the fuck this day had all gone to hell. His lawyers—his fucking well-paid lawyers—had said they’d get him off, not land him with probation, community service crap. 

Four months, in some lame ass community program. Jeez, like he was going to be taught anything by cleaning streets or dealing with people’s trash. 

The TV in the corner showed some trashy entertainment show, where a smug presenter was reporting the latest news on his case, live, embellished with words that made Jacob cringe. There were even experts on there talking about the child star gone bad. Experts in what? Character assassination, apparently. He tried his hardest to tune it out but it was nigh on impossible—it must have been the tenth time the clip of the sentence being handed out had been played. 

The reporter continued, “The news of B-list actor Jacob Riley’s arrest boosted the audience figures for the half season’s finale of his show, End Game, to their highest point in eight months.” 

Jacob huffed a sigh, he guessed that was one piece of good news to come out of this whole mess.

Then expert one repeated what he’d said already, “He’s been offered a lifeline in a county rehab program. He showed a lot of promise, and I think this could be a good thing for him.” 

Jacob briefly thought of throwing his cell phone at the TV. 

“Well you may be right there; his spokesperson said he’s concentrating on work and himself. What that means, we don’t know.” 

“We wish him luck.” 

The anchor turned to face the camera, that smug fucking smile back again. “Well, folks, here’s hoping Jacob Riley, one of TV’s highest earning actors, proves to be a recovering addict who actually turns their life around.” 

Jesus Christ, talk about dramatic. 

“The show is on a filming hiatus,” Samantha, his PA, replied carefully from just inside the door. “I’ve just got off the phone with your agent and the Network will delay your return to Game until you’re free to come back. Remember, with Christmas soon the way; we have some room to move here.” 

Jacob spun on his heel. His quiet, calm assistant stood holding a clipboard, a cellphone balanced on top of it. 

“Of course they’ll delay my return,” he summarized. The Network would be stupid to lose him; he was convinced of it. End Game was his show. Jacob’s character was pivotal, the star of the whole goddamned series. 

“There was some talk of replacing you.” 

“They wouldn’t fucking dare.”

Samantha smiled at him, but it was insincere and didn’t reach her eyes. She used to smile all the time, but for some reason, she’d stopped now. Then she pulled back her shoulders. “Your agent says you’re lucky you play a drug-taking manic depressive. Otherwise he swears they would have canned you today, no hesitation.” 

Was she trying to make him feel better? “Sam, do I look like I give a fuck what my shit agent says?” 

“You need—” 

“I don’t need him to tell me I’m lucky; it’s the Network that is lucky. They push me off the show, and they’ll see their ratings drop overnight. No one loses Jacob Riley and sees their show survive.” 

Resentment bubbled up inside him. 

Samantha cleared her throat. “Look, Jacob, we have four months to get you into a program and complete your work through the community service,” she continued. Her patient tone measuring every word, talking to him as if he were a small child—he hated every syllable. 

“No,” Jacob snapped, balling his temper and his dismissal of her into that one word. She stepped away from him to stand against the door. “Jacob—” 

“I’m not cleaning streets; I’m not searching for rubbish or any of the usual crap they put celebrities through to humiliate us.” 

“It’s not meant to be a humiliation. But it is a punishment,” Sam said, raising her free hand in an attempt to placate him. Her cell phone slid off the clipboard and tumbled to the floor. 

Jacob listened, but what she’d said only served to increase his temper. He could feel the itch of addiction under his skin, and it terrified him. Although he would never admit it, he was out of control, and it was eating away at him.

In over a year, he hadn’t wanted a hit as badly as he did at this moment. Frustration and anger burst out of him with uncontrolled force. He crowded her against the door. “I don’t pay you to get up in my face, Sam,” he snarled. 

“You’re scaring me, Jacob,” Samantha said firmly, backing as close to the wood as she could. 

“You don’t know what this is like,” he shouted. 

“Jacob. Please…” There were tears in her eyes, pain and real fear in her voice. Something in the simple “please” reached through his anger. What was he doing? 

“Fuck,” he said tiredly. Half closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. It was the first time in their relationship he’d seen fear in Sam’s eyes, and it scared the hell out of him. Was she afraid of him? What should he say? How the hell could he—? 

“Your father is waiting for you in the next room,” Sam said, but wouldn’t look him in the eyes. 

Jacob went from guilt straight back to feeling aggrieved. 

“Great,” Jacob stepped back, watching as Samantha edged away from him. 

“Your dad just wants to help. He knows of this place you can go for the next—” 

“He’s the one who turned me in!” 

“He’s waiting, and there’s something else,” she said, this time with steel in her words. “I was going to leave this until after Christmas when filming ended, but there is no point now. You’re an asshole, and I quit.” Quietly, she turned her back and left the room, and he felt a moment of shock. 

“What?” she didn’t stop. “Don’t come running back begging for your fucking job!” he shouted after her. 

She didn’t even look at him, but he heard her words. 

“I won’t come back.”

Her loss. 

Frustrated, angry, and looking for someone to blame was not how Jacob should have gone to a meeting with his father, but he didn’t have a choice. The whole freaking world was against him, and none of this was his fault. 

“I’ve pulled strings, son, and arranged to get you into a new type of program, something different. It has an original approach, and it’s very exclusive.” Joe Riley stood stiff and straight in front of Jacob. 

Jacob slouched, arms across his chest, unwilling to show even the slightest interest. 

“Yeah,” he said when his dad remained quiet. 

“I’ve made a hefty donation to get you accepted. The only stipulation was that you are clean.” 

Jacob looked into his father’s gray-blue eyes then shrugged. He’d heard all too clearly the question under Joe Riley’s statement, and hated him for it. A year—a damn year. 

Joe closed his eyes and sighed. “Isn’t there something dramatic you feel you have to say at this point, Jacob?” 

“If I thought you would actually listen to me—just once—maybe I would have something to say,” Jacob said. 

“Are you?” 

“Am I what?” 

“Jacob, are you clean?” Joe asked. 

“Fuck you, Dad,” Jacob snapped, “I’ve been clean for a year, and you damn well know it.” 

His dad crossed his arms and shook his head. “No, I don’t know that. I know what you told your mother and me, and then I find you mixing with the same lowlifes you knew six years ago. What was I supposed to think? What was I supposed to do? Tell me, son?”

“Call the cops on me, obviously.” Jacob clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides. 

“Do you think it was easy for me to do this, Jacob? Call the police on my son?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He’d long ago convinced himself that his dad had perversely enjoyed turning him in, and he chose to ignore the pained expression that crossed his dad’s face. “It kinda solves all those issues around having to maybe—I don’t know—talk to me instead?” 

“You don’t listen.” 

“No, Dad, you’re the one who doesn’t listen.” 

Joe inhaled sharply as if he had been physically hit, and Jacob wondered how his dad was going to defend his parenting skills this time. “Think about your mother in this. What if you died? Can you picture her visiting a morgue, identifying your body, and seeing track marks on your arms? She cried so much over you last time and refused to let me get involved. But this time, hell Jacob we had to do something, had to stop you from self-destructing.” 

Jacob tugged self-consciously at his sleeves, anger building inside him. He had been clean for well over a year. Why didn’t anyone trust him? He felt vulnerable for a moment, like a small child, and then he pushed that weakness to one side, resumed the role of aggrieved man he was playing today, and rolled his eyes. 

“Now who’s being dramatic?” he spat. “I had the stuff in my car for a friend, didn’t mean I was using.” 

“You know how it looks, and the police agreed.” 

“You could have tried asking me why I had it on me.”

“And you wouldn’t have lied to us?” Joe asked simply, his voice calm. Jacob didn’t answer. He wasn’t going to rise to the bait. “This is your last chance. Take it. You could make something of yourself if you tried.” 

Jacob inhaled sharply. 

“So what the hell do you call two movies and a successful TV series? Nothing?” His parents had never liked that he had decided to pursue acting. They’d always made it very clear that they expected him to join the family construction firm. He’d endured several wearying years of forcing and badgering, but always knew what he wanted to do. He didn’t want to build skyscrapers and shopping malls; he wanted to act. 

“It isn’t even about what you do anymore. You’re killing yourself. And I swear, Jacob, if you ruin this last chance, I will hold back every penny of your inheritance.” 

“Not that shit again.” 

“I mean it—” 

“I make three million a movie, and ninety thousand for every episode of End Game. Seriously—you really think your money matters to me?” 

“I swear every penny will go to your brother,” Joe continued, but Jacob had heard that threat before too, and it had the same impact as always—no impact at all. 

“That loser?” 

“Tell me, why is Micah the loser? He has a career, a wife, a great kid—your nephew. He has a life.” 

“I’ve got a freaking career, Dad, and let’s face it—kids? That isn’t going to happen. I’m gay!” Frustrated, Jacob pushed his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes.

“I’m not arguing. This isn’t about some petty brotherly feud, or who is happy and who isn’t. You had every advantage—everything money could buy, every ounce of love your mother and I had in us. Son, please. This is your life, and your mom and I are desperate for you to see that! But you don’t seem to give a damn about it.” 

“Well, maybe I don’t.” 

“For God’s sake, stop being so damn melodramatic. As far as I’m concerned, we’re done talking. Go home and get some clothing together. Benjamin is outside. He’ll take you home, and then he’ll drive you down tomorrow.” 

“And if I say no?” 

“You can’t. I’ve pulled strings, but at the end of the day, it’s either this or you’re back in prison. This program is the only reason you’re not back there now.” 

Shit.





Resilient Heart by Annabeth Albert
Chapter One
“What’s this I hear? They’re springing you loose today?” Mackey’s deep voice rumbled like tires over gravel, making the too-long hairs at the back of Xander’s neck stand up.

Xander tried to push himself upright from the hospital bed he’d been dozing on. He failed miserably, his stupid, uncooperative limbs flailing around like a squid’s tentacles. Mackey grabbed his good elbow and helped him to sit up, concern on his craggy face.

He looked good. Too damn good. Mackey’s ever-present five o’clock shadow was darker than usual, but his shoulders were broad as ever, biceps bulging as he hauled Xander up. He wasn’t in uniform—the tight Army T-shirt and loose jeans unfamiliar on his bulky frame.

Too close. Mackey smelled like the old-fashioned soap he favored. Xander’s pulse gave a weak thrum, like it wanted to rev but had thought the better of it. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Hawaii.”

“And you’re supposed to be following doctor’s orders. But I hear you’re being a pain in the ass instead,” Mackey said mildly, shoving a pillow behind Xander without being asked. His face dipped low enough Xander could feel his warm breath. The memory of Mackey panting in his ear—something Xander had tried hard not to think about in months—rocketed through him, sending blood rushing to sorely neglected places. So much for that whole motor-not-working thing.

“Seriously. Why aren’t you in Hawaii?” Mackey was supposed to have returned from deployment with the rest of Xander’s Army NETCOM unit and then moved onto his next assignment. Mackey should be at Fort Shafter right now, soaking up the sunshine and salt water in between running network tests. Yeah, once upon a time he and Xander had a best-friends-with-benefits thing going, but that thing had blown up the night before an IED made the rest of Xander’s life go boom. Besides, a guy didn’t come running around the world for a jerk-off buddy, even one who was also an ex-teammate and an ex-barracks roommate.

“Seriously, I checked at the nurses’ station on the way in. They said your discharge papers are almost done. You ready to go?”

True, he couldn’t wait to escape the hospital, but ready wasn’t the right word. Xander was never going to be ready for anything again. Ready meant in a uniform, every sense at attention, body primed to do whatever the Army asked of it. Now ‘ready’ meant accepting what that stupid fucker of a doctor had said—that he should prepare to transition out. Start disability paperwork. Ready meant having a plan for what came next. The only plans Xander had involved getting the heck away from the hospital and finding the nearest bottle of Jack. But he couldn’t let Mackey see how his life was crumbling.

Carefully keeping his expression neutral, Xander shrugged. “Sure. Why? You offering a ride?” 

“Yup.” 

“You came three thousand miles to drive me home?” Hell. He couldn’t take Mackey up on the ride even if he wanted to. He didn’t know where he was going. Hotel probably. Wasn’t like he didn’t have money in the bank—two months of accumulated paychecks he hadn’t had any way to spend gave him a nice cushion. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve already made arrangements.” 

Mackey dropped into the visitor’s chair that had remained empty most of Xander’s stay at Walter Reed. Empty was exactly how Xander had wanted it. He’d had various roommates off and on, but the nursing staff had griped that his bad mood was catching, and the last two weeks it had been just him. “Clinical Depression,” the latest doctor had said, which was a load of BS. “PTSD,” the resident had whispered when the two doctors conferred over in a corner of Xander’s room. Xander’s stomach had gone into freefall, headed down a mineshaft of doubts. 

The two of them had to be flat wrong. These strange thoughts and emotions rattling through him had to be normal, right? Anyone who got blown up would feel…off. And if he was messed up in the head, no way did he need meds and talk-y therapy. His dad always said a real soldier handled his business. A real man didn’t need drugs to sort himself out. Xander could fix himself. 

“Liar. What the fuck, Xander? Did you really think you’d just limp out of here? No place to go? Why’d you turn down a stay in Tranquility Hall?” 

“That why you’re here? Commander Bryant send you? I don’t need the rehab wing.” Xander refused to call it that stupid name. Nothing tranquil about living with a bunch of other banged up guys. It was hard enough looking at them when the orderlies took Xander to therapy over at the amputee clinic. And yeah, most of them were worse off than Xander, which was one more reason he didn’t need the in-patient rehab. 

A mere two years ago, he’d been here in D.C. to run the Marine Corp Marathon. He’d volunteered to run as an escort with a hand-crank chair runner from the Wounded Warrior project. She’d been amazing, pushing herself hard up the big hills. The guys in the clinic were pretty incredible too—hefting themselves onto therapy mats, untangling tubes and dressings. But Xander wasn’t ready to be one of them. He was the guy who helped—he wasn’t the one needing it. He was the guy who applauded courage, but he didn’t seem to have a deep reservoir of it to drive himself. And that, more than anything, scared the fuck out of him. So he looked away. Kept his head down. He didn’t belong here. 

Mackey raised a bushy eyebrow and stared Xander down, the extent of Xander’s injuries hanging between them. Hell, he might as well have pointed at Xander’s missing forearm or gestured at his scarred-up face and gimp foot for all the weight that look held. 

“I said I’d do the outpatient stuff. Go to PT and shit. I’ve even got appointments.” That he wasn’t intending to keep, but Mackey didn’t need to hear that. 

“You going to go to counseling too? Hear you’ve been refusing to go to group.” 

“Shit. You my doctor now too? I don’t need any PTSD group and I sure as fuck don’t need an amputee group. What, you think we’re gonna sit around and write love poems to our plastic hands?” 

Mackey cracked a smile, which only pissed Xander off. “Yeah. You’re not the poetry kind of guy. But you might be surprised—there are sports competitions and outings and—” 

“Oh hell the fuck no. I’m not doing ‘outings.’ What am I? Eighty? Last thing I need is someone coddling me.” He looked pointedly at Mackey. “I can handle my own shit. Nice of you to come and all, but I should probably see what’s keeping those discharge papers.” 

“And where are you going to go? Gonna grab your duffle and wander Bethesda? Head down into D.C.?” Mackey gestured to the army-issue bag at the foot of Xander’s bed. “To what? A motel? You don’t have base housing, I know that much—”

“I’m being transitioned out. Army doesn’t give a fuck where I sleep. Why do you care?” Xander’s healing shoulder throbbed, a dull ache that was nothing compared to the ache behind his sternum. His hand balled up. He’d spent a lot of time thumping pillows lately. Processed out. Worst two words in the military. 

“Thought maybe you might want to stay with me. Just until you have your bearings.” Mackey’s voice was the sort of careful casual that the nurses used when they needed Xander to do something he had no intention of going along with. 

“How long you in town for?” A sneaky suspicion made the bland pasta he’d had for lunch turn into a ten-pound weight pushing on his guts. “Tell me you’re not at Fort Detrick.” 

“Not going to lie to you, Xander. Never could.” 

Now that right there was a lie—Mackey had lied plenty, mainly by omission but dozens of little wounds throbbed on Xander’s heart. 

“You’re supposed to be in Hawaii. Not here. Not at Detrick.” 

“Eh.” Mackey’s big shoulders gave an exaggerated roll. “They had a billet that needed filling. Instructor position isn’t terrible—” 

“My billet. My billet needed filling. And you hate teaching. All you could talk about was how psyched you were about Hawaii, how you were gonna get a boat…” Fuck everything. Xander rubbed the bridge of his nose with his left hand. The job assignment he’d been so looking forward to had been taken by the last guy Xander would wish the position on. “You feel guilty. I get it. But you didn’t need to give up Hawaii. You could have just sent a card or something.” 

Mackey snorted. “And have you not open it like you didn’t return my calls?” He’d called a lot the first month—every few days. Xander had stopped charging his phone because he couldn’t stand that blinking blue message button. They’d said everything that needed to be said between them on New Year’s Eve. And if he’d missed Mackey, if he was happy to see him here in the flesh instead of tormenting Xander’s dreams, none of that mattered—he was a hot mess right now and he hated knowing Mackey got to see him at his worst. 

“Eh. Service is really spotty in here. And I’m shit at operating my phone with one hand.” His face heated. 

“Uh-huh.” Mackey’s tone said he smelled bullshit. “Command needed the position filled. Anyway, this is close to family. My mom’s a hell of a lot happier about Maryland than Hawaii. And something told me that your sorry ass was going to need keeping in line.” 

“I don’t need your pity.” 

“Pity? Who said anything about pity? I need your cash. I’ve got an apartment in Clarksburg. You can pay me half rent, stay as long as you need—” 

“You? An apartment?” Xander raised his eyebrows. No way. Mackey was as cheap as they came—no way was he passing on barracks and the chow hall. Big as he was, feeding himself would cut into those stacks of green he was obsessive about squirreling away. 

“Barracks were overrun. Wasn’t hard to get permission to live off-base. Figured I’d try something new.” Mackey’s words came too fast. He might not be lying, but he was likely stretching the truth out far as he could, hoping it wouldn’t slap him in the face. 

“That so?” Xander knew he was being a bit of a dick. Okay a lot of a dick. Mackey had, for whatever misguided reason, flown halfway around the world for him. Mackey’s blue eyes were the color of Xander’s mother’s favorite china, and he saw the same concern in them he’d seen in his mother’s before he’d sent her home to Whidbey Island. Mackey cared, that much was clear. But Xander didn’t need rescuing, and he couldn’t deal with his own guilt, let alone Mackey’s. 

“How about you come with me?” Mackey pushed up from the chair with fluid grace. He never could stay seated. “They’re about to kick you out of here, and you can’t BS me—you don’t have a plan. You can stay until you figure your stuff out.” 

Xander hesitated, neck muscles going tighter than a coil of CAT-5 wire. He did want out of the hospital. Wanted away from everything. Already he could feel one of his headaches brewing, and all his various injuries hurt. Every medical professional he saw asked him about his pain scale, but not a darn one had a solution other than drugs he didn’t want to take. Latest surgery on his foot had been a success in that he was now in a walking boot, but success was relative when he was looking at a permanent limp. Not to mention the sucker still ached, as did his shoulder. It would be nice to have a place for the night and not have to think anymore. 

Liar. You just want more time with Mackey. Well, yeah, there was that too, but that way led to even more pain than his shrapnel wounds. 

“Okay. Just until I find my own place.” He told his stupid brain to stop cheering. This was a simple matter of practicality. Tomorrow he’d figure out where the heck he was going. 

“Alrighty then. Let’s find the nurse and get your papers. What else you need?” Mackey’s generous mouth curved into the first real smile he’d given since entering the room. 

And who’s fault is that? Xander’s feet twitched restlessly, banging against the edge of the bed. 

“Think I pretty much have everything.” Xander gestured at his duffle. A nurse’s aide had helped him pack, a humiliating process. His mom had brought him a bunch of civvies, but otherwise the duffel contained way too many reminders of the Army life he was leaving behind and too few clues about what the heck came next. 

“Prosthesis in there?” Mackey asked, body language deceptively relaxed, eyes avoiding Xander’s arm. 

“Yeah.” Xander put a heavy dose of “drop it” in his answer. He was supposed to wear his temporary prosthesis at least eight hours a day. He actually had two, but he hated both of them. His residual limb—such a BS term—was short, only three inches below his elbow, which made fitting tricky. The therapists kept telling him how much easier things would get when the last of his swelling went down and he could get a better-fitting myoelectric prosthesis, and how the process of skin desensitization would help him be more comfortable. Fuck that noise. Nothing he tried worked. He kept a padded sleeve on mainly because it hid the stump, but he hated the stupid devices. He was pretty sure his therapist had every synonym for “noncompliant” all over his chart. 

“You got all your meds or you need to stop at the pharmacy on the way out?” Mackey dropped the prosthesis questioning, but wandered into the next pile of dog crap Xander wanted to avoid. 

“I got them.” 

“Including the new one?” Mackey did that thing with his eyebrows again—the thing where he tried to look casual and came off looking like a smart ass. 

“Medical information is supposed be confidential.” Xander didn’t know who Mackey was buttering up—nurse, doctor, someone in command—but he clearly had the inside track on all Xander’s shortcomings. “And I don’t need head meds. Doctors want to medicate everyone these days.” 

“Oh? You’re not depressed?” Mackey kept that same uber-reasonable tone. Uber-irritating more like it.

“Fuck no.” “This new propensity of yours for glowering and cursing and scaring nurses, it’s just for giggles and grins? Because I got to tell you man, it’s not working. And it’s not really you.” Mackey hefted the duffel onto his shoulder as easily as if it were one of the bed pillows. 

“This is me. You want old me? The nice guy? He’s gone. You’re wasting your time.” 

“Oh, he’s in there,” Mackey said lightly. “He’s smothering under that giant chip on your shoulder, but we can knock that sucker off.” And with that, he—and Xander’s bag—headed into the hallway, the sounds of the ward creeping in as soon as the door opened. 

Fuck Mackey. Fuck his sudden do-gooder streak and his assumptions. Like Xander wasn’t entitled to be pissed? Like he was supposed to be all Suzy Sunshine about his wrecked life? And Mackey saw him as some of fixer-upper project? Disappointing him was going to be hell, but the old Xander had died in a ditch back in Afghanistan when an IED took everything he knew to be true about himself. He grabbed the pillow and punched it hard with his good hand. Fuck. 

*****

Mackey had the same old Chevy he’d had in Georgia—blue and well—worn, with a deep gouge along the passenger side door. The orderly had wheeled Xander out to the truck—stupid hospital policy, but he’d sent the orderly packing as soon as he stood up. 

“You go see your mom?” Xander asked as he awkwardly climbed into the cab, having to pull his bum leg in. Felt weird being hemmed in a car after weeks of the hospital’s wide spaces.

“Yup. Made her open up a storage unit, give u—me a few things for the apartment.” Mackey’s hands were steady on the steering wheel as he navigated the huge parking structure. 

Mackey’s mother ran a thrift store on the Virginia coast, and she’d been watching Mackey’s truck while they’d been deployed. Xander had met her and Mackey’s younger brother when they’d visited Fort Gordon to collect the truck right before they deployed. Nice people. They’d made Xander feel welcome, though that might have been different had they known Xander was more than just a roommate. Stop that. You were never more than roommates. Never. Didn’t matter how much dick you sucked. 

He needed to remember that because it was too easy to get lost in the good memories of him and Mackey. They’d taken his mother to their favorite chicken joint, and Xander had loved how both brothers tried hard to convince their mother her chicken was still better. His brother was better at Grand Theft Auto than either him or Mackey, and he’d kept them up until two playing tournament style. Xander loved his own family, but there was something easy about hanging with Mackey’s people. He could have gotten used to them, real quick. 

“That’s nice.” Xander didn’t bother looking out the window as they wound their way out of the giant maze of buildings that made up Walter Reed National Military Medical Center. The place was the size of a small city, but Mackey’s driving was as confident as ever. 

A fresh wave of loss swept through Xander—I may never drive again. He loved to drive, to the point that he and Mackey used to do this silly thing with a coin flip to see who would get to drive when they went off base. That chicken place they loved was a good hour away from base, in a tiny Georgia town—a long, blissful stretch of country roads. Whoever got to drive had to pay. He craved the mindless focus of such a drive, could practically feel the shifter of his cherry-red GTO in his right hand. 

Phantom pain, the doctors called it, but there was nothing phantom about how badly he missed that car or how much he wanted to be back on the rural Georgia roads, peach cobbler for later in the back, Mackey beside him, whole night to look forward to. 

He fiddled with Mackey’s stereo, flipping through the satellite radio stations. That was Mackey—piece of crap truck and pricey sound system. Luckily Mackey didn’t object when Xander landed on a hard rock station. They had that down too—driver paid, passenger got to pick the tunes. Xander really needed some Gaslight Anthem this afternoon. He turned the volume up, hoping Mackey would get the hint that he didn’t want to talk. 

Thirty minutes later, they arrived at Mackey’s new apartment. Xander didn’t want to think about how long the same journey though the D.C. exurbs back to Bethesda would take via public transit. Stop it. You’re not staying. 

“God, this place is huge.” He broke his silence as Mackey turned the truck onto a street that wound through a large complex of three and four-story white and gray apartment buildings. 

“It’s a ground-floor unit,” Mackey said, a little too quickly. 

“I can walk. I can do stairs.” Sort of. He’d fallen a bunch the first time he attempted them in PT, but he was getting more used to the walking-boot cast. 

“I know it’s one of those cookie-cutter complexes, but everything is really nice here—clean, great workout room, and all the buildings ring a giant pool for the summer. Indoor hot tub in the clubhouse.” Mackey’s tone was deceptively casual again, like he knew exactly how much Xander’s therapy people had been pushing hydrotherapy.

“Nice.” It was only March. He wasn’t going to be here when the pool opened, no matter what Mackey’s bizarre guilt complex wanted. Mackey could work out and swim and sleep just fine on base. He was going to a lot of effort here, and Xander wasn’t blind to it, though he almost wished he were. Blindness would make it easier to be a total rat bastard. 

“Just moved in on the weekend, but I think it’s got some nice people. Saw some families. You like kids.” Mackey parked the truck in a numbered space. Thank God he didn’t come around to help Xander out of the truck. Instead, he’d exited quickly and was waiting patiently by the sidewalk. 

Liked kids. Past tense. 

“Xander!” Mackey came rushing into the server room, huffing like he’d run all the way from the barracks. “I need a huge large, man.” 

“Yeah?” Xander tried to decipher Mackey’s expression. Grin flashing mischievously, he looked delighted to have caught Xander alone. 

They didn’t really talk about what they did at night—Lord knew Xander wanted the jerk-off sessions to continue—but during the daylight hours they were still teammates. Buddies. But that didn’t mean he was entirely unwilling if Mackey wanted a quick— 

“I need you to take this school tour that’s coming in an hour. Bunch of seventh graders from a programming club. PR set them up to see computer careers on base and somehow I got assigned to lead the group—” 

“Whoa. Slow down, big guy.” Xander held up a hand as Mackey’s words came out uncharacteristically fast, his usual languid drawl all agitated. “You want me to take the tour?” 

“Would you?” Oh man. The level of pleading in Mackey’s eyes was a massive turn-on. 

“Maybe.” Xander smiled at him.

“I never know what to say around kids. I suck at explaining stuff.” Mackey’s face wrinkled like explaining was on par with eating spiders. Mackey wasn’t a big talker on his best day, and he was an action guy. See a problem. Solve problem. He left the details to other people—like Xander. 

They worked really well together that way—Mackey saw what needed to be done and Xander took care of all the minutiae while Mackey moved on to spot the next crisis. Mackey also didn’t have Xander’s experience with kids—Xander had a pile of nephews and a niece to wrestle with whenever he went home. Kids were great. They asked entertaining questions and were always ready for a laugh. 

“What do I get if I take the tour?” Xander raised his eyebrow. No need to show his hand quite yet. 

Mackey glanced at the doorway to the server room, which had shut behind him. He leaned in—far outside of buddy territory, lips right against Xander’s ear. “I’ll blow you tonight.” 

“Really?” Xander’s eyebrows stretched so high, he thought they might pop off. Then commonsense weighed in. “You don’t have to do that, man. I’ll do the tour.” 

“What? You don’t think I’d be any good at it?” Mackey managed to look affronted. 

“I’m sure you don’t suck at it.” Xander laughed. Having Mackey this close to him at work was a huge rush. If Mackey played his cards right, Xander would be more than happy to be the one doing the sucking. 

“Tonight. We’ll see if you’re still laughing.” Mackey bit his ear before backing away. 

Oh sweet hell. Now he had to get his libido under control before greeting the school group. Still though, a couple of hours hanging with baby nerds and then Mackey tonight? Life was pretty sweet. 


Back in the present, Xander wasn’t ready to deal with all the awkward questions from kids, never mind the looks from their parents.

“Nice,” he said, as he hobbled out of the truck, because he had to say something. Mackey was looking at him all expectantly, but Xander had nothing. 

The apartment was mercifully close to the parking space. As Mackey unlocked the door, he could smell the distinctive “new quarters” odor of new carpet and fresh paint. 

“This is it.” Mackey led him into a room made up of a small living area and a kitchen. The space was delineated by a breakfast bar. The living area had an ancient-looking plaid couch and Mackey’s flat screen TV and stereo set up on milk cartons. Beyond the couch, Xander could see sliders that led to what looked like a small patio. Knowing Mackey there was probably already a plant or three out there. When they’d roomed together in the barracks in Georgia, Mackey’d kept a huge aloe plant going and was always breaking off a piece and rubbing some into his hands. Xander couldn’t smell aloe now without getting instantly, painfully hard. 

“This where I crash?” He hobbled towards the couch. Maybe he could just close his eyes until morning and not have to deal with the strange hope on Mackey’s face or the weird silence between them. Maybe that was all he needed—a good sleep and then he’d have fewer rat bastard impulses. 

“There’s two bedrooms.” Mackey indicated for him to follow him past the kitchen, down a small hallway with a couple of doors. Xander limped after him, foot throbbing, shoulder protesting the jostling. 

“Put my computer set-up in this one for now.” Mackey opened a door to reveal his dual-monitor set-up on what looked like an old hotel desk. He turned to open the adjacent door. “And this one has the bed. If you’re tired, you can nap here.” 

“Where are you going to sleep?” Damn it. His head was getting fuzzy again. 

“I’ll take the couch,” Mackey said, just a second too late.




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

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

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



Annabeth Albert
Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open--no flashlights required! When she's not adding to her keeper shelf, she's a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.

Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.



RJ Scott
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk

Annabeth Albert
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Resilient Heart by Annabeth Albert