Wednesday Work in Progress: Of Storms and Claws

 

This is a little something different I've been toying with, not sure if it is going to be bear shifters, or if my characters are going to be dealing with a bear prowling around their place, or a mix of both, so hey, drop your thoughts in the comment if you have a preference. This one is so new it'll be fun to explore all the possibilities. 

Chase shoved his fingers through his hair, aware of the fact that it was sticking up everywhere, but at the moment, he didn’t give a shit. His heart was still hammering wildly, and he needed to calm his breathing before he passed out. It was stupid, so damned, stupid to think he could return to work without any residual effects from the bombing. One single car backfiring had turned him into a white-knuckled mess behind the wheel and it had taken all of his nerve and concentration to keep his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel when his instincts had screamed at him to lurch sidewise into the passenger's seat, arms over his head to await the blast.

By the time he’d safely delivered his client he’d been a mess, eyes closed and resting his head on the wheel as soon as the man had departed. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stayed that way before pulling into the parking lot and turning the engine off. The door had felt like lead safe when he’d tried to shove it open with spaghetti arms, and it had taken several tries to get the seatbelt to disengage. He’d half fallen, half slid from the vehicle onto the pavement, legs too weak to hold him so he’d just sat there on the asphalt, cheek pressed to the metal as he’d fumbled around for his phone.

Numbers had eluded him, and he’d stared, shaking as he struggled to make his fingers move. Flint’s name had been right at the top, one touch and the phone was ringing. He’d needed a voice, it hadn’t even mattered that it was recorded, just the sound of it was enough to relax him a little. He hated to think how he sounded, rambling that he needed to talk, for Flint to just call him back, whenever, please, desperate. He hardly sounded like himself, he knew that, but there was little he could do but wait until his client paged him to bring the car back around.

He should quit. He knew he needed to, but he couldn’t seem to make the call, admit defeat, not without knowing he wouldn’t have to spend his days in the silence of his apartment, a place where nightmares seemed to lurk, waiting to claw at him any time he closed his eyes.

The phone lay beside his leg, nearly forgotten, so much so, that when he rang, it startled him a little and he opened his eyes, blinking in confusion before his mind caught up with the fact that he was still sitting in the parking lot pressed against the car. He’d gotten the door closed at least, that dinging had been driving him crazy, like a timer moments before going off.

Bobbling it, he watched the phone hit the ground and skitter, forcing him to crawl to retrieve it and nearly drop it again before he was able to hit the button to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Flint, just heard your message, what’s going on, you sounded like shit man.”

“That’s ‘cause I feel like shit right now and everything’s a bit sideways at the moment.”

“How so?”

“I just, I can’t do this job man, it’s not, I’m, my heart is about to leap out of my throat over a fuckin’ backfire from a car. I’m sitting in the parking lot, literally on my hands and knees clutching this phone like a lifeline, which it kind of is. I need to get outta here.”

“Okay. Calm down and breathe for a minute Chase, when you say you’re sitting in the parking lot, where exactly are you sitting?”

“On the ground, outside of the car, in the lot outside my client's building.”

“How long has he been inside?”

“I-I don’t know man, I don’t, I, hell if I know what time it is.”

“Yeah, you’re in no shape to take care of anyone else at the moment, let alone yourself, so I need you to listen very closely okay.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’m gonna call Dave and have him send a replacement for you, I’m also going to have him send someone who can take you home.”

“Don’t wanna go.”

“Why not?”

“Just…I don’t want to go there.”

“Why, Chase?”

“Because I can’t stop seeing it man, the debris, the blood, just everything, I don’t, I try to spend as little time there as I can. I’ve slept in my truck in the yard a couple times just ‘cause having that space was better than four walls.”

“Understandable. You ready to come up here?”

“Ready, no. Do I need to, yeah.”

“Good enough. I’ll have Dave send someone to pick you up so you can go home and pack. I’m in Billings, I need to swing back and pick up T but we can be out there to get you in two days.”

“Fuck that noise, I can drive myself.”

“No, you can’t. I can hear how erratic you’re breathing, you don’t need to get in an accident. We’ll come for you. Okay, you just stay put and you call if you need to talk, anytime, day or night, okay, just hang on for 48 hours and we’ll be there.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay Flint, I can do that.”

“Good. Now I’m gonna hang up. You sit tight, okay, and just focus on breathing. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Okay. Yeah. Thanks Flint.”

“Anytime.”

The line went dead, and Chase shuddered, exhaling and trying to get his breathing under control. His skin felt cold and itchy, prickled with sweat and the wind that had picked up a bit. He lay the phone back beside him and focused on breathing for a bit, in and out, slow and steady, waiting for his ride to come. 

Tantalizing Tuesday: A brief (steamy) glimpse into Claiming Cody

 

Available on Amazon

Cody was just a shadow backlit by the sun when he returned to them, wetsuit rolled down again, hair dripping water into the sand, cheeks flushed from the sun and exuberance.

“Why the fuck are you still here?” he growled the moment he laid eyes on Wreck, and all the calm of the morning disappeared.

“That was rude,” Bellamy remarked, staring up at Cody with a serene expression that didn’t necessarily match his tone. “You should apologize.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s poor manners to be crude to someone when they’ve done nothing to warrant it,” Bellamy remarked.

“The fuck? I’m tired of being spied on!”

“Wasn’t out here to spy on you, was just enjoying the show.”

“Fuckin’ creeper.”

Sighing heavily, Bellamy stood, shook his head, and walked past Cody without another word. When Cody moved to follow him, he looked back over his shoulder and pinned him in place with a cold, even stare.

“Rest of the day is canceled,” Bellamy told him. “I won’t waste my afternoon on an undisciplined child.”

His eyes flittered to Wreck and he gave a tiny shrug. “Guess I was wrong about him ruining the day.”

Cody was still standing there blinking when Bellamy disappeared over the top of the dune, but Wreck heard him softly call out “Don’t go.”

His shoulders slumped, and he stood there, calling out one more time. “Please don’t go.”

Wreck was glad he was on his feet when a furious Cody whirled around on him, features twisted up as he began to yell.

“Why the fuck can’t you just stay away from me? I’m tired of tripping over you every time I turn around. I don’t care if my old man assigned you to watch out for me, there’s nothing to keep an eye on now is there? I have not been late to work, I’ve even taken extra shifts. I haven’t bet on anything; I haven’t even bought a lottery ticket. You’ve got my bike, I can’t go anywhere, and now you’re trying to ruin the only fuckin’ friendship I’ve got!”

Cody threw a punch, sloppy and throwing himself off balance, easy for Wreck to catch. There was a split second when their eyes met and Wreck wondered if he was going to throw another one, then Cody surged forward, crashing his mouth against Wreck’s in a furious kiss.

Growling against his lips, Wreck deepened it, slid both hands in Cody’s hair, and yanked enough to draw a hiss and moan from the smaller man who whined as his fingers scrabbled for the hem of Wreck’s t-shirt, trying to yank it off over his head while they were wildly making out like a couple of teenagers. Cody tasted of salt and aggression while Wreck plundered his mouth, trying to pour his feelings and desires into every moment of their embrace.

It had happened before, several times, those crazy, wonderful moments when Cody yanked him in and initiated things, squirming and begging to be fucked like he was now. Jerking away from Wreck he managed to pull his shirt off, the rough scratch of fabric running up the backs of his arms, blinding him as it was pulled off over his head. The sudden sense of falling accompanied it, the shirt freeing his arms just in time for him to catch himself on the sand with Cody pinned beneath him.

Monday Mayhem: When Sugar Honey Ice Tea doesn't go as planned

 

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“I can’t go out there,” he whispered, hugging himself and huddling against the brick. There was the faintest scrape from its rough surface marring Moon’s pale cheek. He’d have kissed away the sting if he wasn’t pissed at Moon and wanting to wring his neck.

“You can, if either of you hopes to get another booking in this town again,” Linus, bartender, owner, and all-around mostly nice guy unless you were fucking with his money, declared from the doorway. His usually jovial face pinched into a frown as he stared at Moon, who refused to look at either of them.  

“Uncle Linus,” Moon whined, voice wavering.

Mikal knew that sound about as well as he knew the beauty of Moon singing. He was a half-step away from full-on sobbing and rapidly approaching meltdown mode.

Linus knew it too and was not about to be swayed this time. Arms crossed, he glared at his nephew as Mikal stood and brushed the dust from the legs of his jeans, smearing some along the side of his knee. Just great, so much for wearing them to church tomorrow morning. It was the nicest pair he owned, and the only one without holes, bleach, gouges, safety pins, and anything else that would send his Nan into conniption fits. Sighing heavily, he pulled on fingerless gloves and got ready to go out there and play solo, if only to salvage some shred of the opportunity.

“Don’t ‘Uncle Linus’ me. Not after you locked yourself in the bathroom and refused to come out the last time I booked you. And what about the time before that when you didn’t show up at all. Wrapped your car around a telephone pole, wasn’t it? Funny, how they never found anything wrong with that car when it reached the scrapyard. I should know. I had them check!”

“Wh…”

The way Moon’s mouth dropped open might have been comical if they weren’t seriously about to lose their last chance to play in their hometown.

“You could have killed yourself with that stunt, you little idiot. Now either you get up there on that stage, and play like I know you can, or you hand over that guitar, so I can give it to someone who will.”

The tears that had been welling up in Moon’s eyes spilled over, drenching his cheeks, dripping off his chin. When his shaking fingers curled around the neck of that guitar, Mikal was certain he’d hand it over, Linus was too, he even held his hand out for it, but Moon trudged past him and through the door to the stage.

“Better catch up before he tears off through the front door or something equally evasive,” Linus remarked, prompting Mikal to hurry after him.

Dimly lit, packed to capacity, a couple guys standing around the pool table while one guy racked the balls. One of the wall-mounted lamps flickered like the bulb was about to go out, casting deep shadows on the dark mahogany wood-paneled walls. To Mikal, there was no difference between being on this side of the room, and the other, where he and Moon had spent countless hours splitting chicken fingers and mozzarella sticks, sipping beers while the people watched and worked out the lyrics to their songs.

There wasn’t an unfamiliar face in the room either, Mikal noted as he stood behind his keyboard, cracked his fingers, turned it on, and watched while Moon plugged in.

One chord.

The distortion was much too high.

It reverberated through the room in a harsh echo that left at least three people cringing, including Mr. Kyle, their old high school music teacher. In that singular moment, Moon went from meltdown to nuclear catastrophe, ripping the guitar over his head and smashing it on the floor of the stage until it lay in pieces, every squeak, squawk, and screech of its death rattle wailing through the room.

All eyes were on them when Moon shoved the mic stand over and leaped offstage, slamming into Derrick Nester on his way out of the room. Of course, Derrick went after him, to confront or comfort was a coin flip, depending on his mood. Mikal would have chased him down in a heartbeat, only he was left alone to deliver the music they’d promised, ears still ringing from the destruction of Moon’s guitar.

Even as he pressed his fingers to the keys, he was acutely aware of the fact that he was setting them both up for failure, again. Launching into that first song, it occurred to him, not for the first time either, that it might be time to cut musical ties with Moon and go solo. At least then he’d walk onstage expecting to be alone, rather than abruptly winding up that way. With the Tall Ships Festival on the horizon and auditions for bands to play the stage there rapidly approaching, it might be a good idea for him to start focusing on pulling something together for himself, since counting on Moon had become hit or miss.

His eyes kept roving to the broken guitar bits, the realization of what Moon had done sinking in with every song. He’d decided for them. 

Monday Mayhem: A Look at Tattered Angel currently on sale for .99cents

 

Available on Amazon

Must play the guitar fluidly with an ability to pick up songs fast, powerful vocal delivery a must, would prefer someone familiar with Deviant Angel or at the very least, their style of music, but willing to audition anyone able to adapt their style to fit the band’s.

That wasn’t asking too much, at least not to Riley’s way of thinking, but after a week of nothing, despite how many flyers they’d put up and websites they’d posted on, and Riley was beginning to rethink his position. It could not be over. NO way in hell was he going to allow one selfish asshole to pull the plug on everything they’d spent the last thirteen years working for.

Fuckin’ Wade.

Had he honestly expected them to just roll over and take it. Play dead and spend the rest of their lives living off their bank accounts and reminiscing about their glory days? Hell, as far as Riley was concerned, they hadn’t even come close to reaching their peak yet. He’d always envisioned jamming away well into his sixties like the Stones, each new album a reinvention of themselves. Proving they had the staying power to be relevant not just to this generation, but to generations to come.

No way was it over. He wasn’t ready to hang his guitar on the wall alongside their gold records like some makeshift shrine to what used to be. There were too many subjects he’d only scratched the surface of.  Too many places left to see. Too many people left to play for and too much inside him that he hadn’t managed to bleed onto the stage. This last tour he’d finally begun to understand who he was as a musician and formulate a vision of what he still wanted to accomplish. Hell, he and Zakk had spent hours talking about the plans they had for the future. Sounds and themes and collaborative collections of ideas they could build on for decades to come. That vision still burned bright in his mind and he’d be damned if he was letting anyone, especially a former friend, snuff it out.

Fuckin’ Wade.

There was this question reporters loved to ask, about what he’d be doing if he wasn’t making music. He hated that god damned question because he never had an answer. What would he be doing? How about going out of his goddamn mind? How about restlessly trying to keep his fingers busy with halfhearted attempts at flower arranging or building ships in a bottle. Maybe he’d try his hand at basket weaving or learning to create elaborate hairstyles out of hundreds of tiny braids or maybe he’d just hurl himself in front of a bus, it would be less painful than never playing again.

His left eye twitched, vision going wonky as he stared down at the flyer, feeling the first stirrings of a headache coming on. Better to cut that shit off right quick so he could enjoy his meal. Was likely to be the only thing he enjoyed tonight.

Fishing a painkiller from his pocket, Riley downed it and the rest of his water and regretted it not two minutes later when his bladder protested the amount of liquid he’d introduced to it. So much for sipping the whiskey, if he was leaving his table he wasn’t leaving that expensive shit unattended. One run-in with ecstasy in a lifetime was more than enough, thank you very much. He slammed it back and let the glass clatter against the tabletop a little louder than necessary, drawing disapproving frowns from the couple he’d already managed to annoy as well as the Sommelier who no doubt would take his time returning to the table to see if Riley wanted another. Might be for the best, really. Was hard enough to catch a cab in this town when you could walk straight.

Making his way to the bathroom was easy enough, but stepping out, something caught his attention that sent him in the opposite direction of the dining room. Dishes clinking lightly against one another couldn’t dull the magnificently gruff, raspy words delivered with a ballsy enthusiasm that left Riley longing to join in.

Instead, he leaned in the doorway of the kitchen, observing the broad back of the over six-foot singer, whose hair was either extremely dark, or the hairnet was making it look that way. He was rinsing dishes while a shorter man loaded them in a large commercial dishwasher, silverware rattling every time he shoved a dish in too hard. The song was a well-known favorite of the nineties, dark and growly in its original form, yet somehow, this guy was managing to make it both devastatingly haunting and rougher all at the same time.

Damn, but something about him was familiar. Riley kept hoping for a glimpse of his face as he moved, but so far, all he’d been able to make out was the barest hint of a neatly trimmed beard. Even the curse words drifting down the hall as some poor unfortunate soul on the kitchen staff got one hell of a dressing down, couldn’t dull the edgy mystique of the song.

“Hey! You can’t be back here!”

Blinking, Riley tore his eyes off the singer to see the other dishwasher glaring at him. Of course, that ended the song as the man Riley had been hoping for a glimpse of turned, revealing intense gray-green eyes set in a face that drew a shuddering gasp from Riley.

“I know you,” Riley remarked, taking several shaky steps inside the room.

“No, you don’t.”

Bullshit! His voice, soft-spoken but firm, unlike the blustering aggression of the other man, held a musical quality to it, as if he could never quite reign in the urge to sing. He hadn’t forgotten that quality either, despite the brevity of their only conversation.

“Actually, I do. I saw you play in a little dive bar in South Mississippi back when they were finding all those old bones and the place was practically crawling with feds. Saw you play about five years before that too. In Chicago, on stage at a huge ass arena. You were in the band that opened that night. We talked a little after the show, at some wannabe blues bar across the square. I said you played beautifully, you told me I was tone-deaf.”

“Guess whoever it was should have added delusional too. Time for you to go back to your table, sir. Like my cousin said, you can’t be back here.”

Sunday Snippet and a sale: Burning Luck

 

Available on Amazon

“Hey!” Mark yelled over the noise of the animated conversation going on beside the bar.  

Thorn lifted his chin in acknowledgement and headed Mark’s way, Cain at his side, a manila envelope tucked beneath his left arm.  

As they reached the bar, Mark set a couple of beers down in front of them and leaned against the black padded railing. “Didn’t expect you guys until tomorrow.”  

Thorn raised the beer in salute, then took a long chug. “Thanks. Decided to knock off early, wait until the paint was dry before we started assembling the shelves.”

“So it’s coming along, then, no problem with the licenses or anything?”

“Nope. It’s all good brutha, we’ll be up and running by the end of the month. Brought you copies of everything so Pope could file them with the rest of the business shit.”

Mark wiped his hands on the rag hanging from his waist and reached out to take the envelope Cain slid over, grinning, when he followed the path of Cain’s gaze to where Lucky sat at the far end of the bar, alone and nursing a beer that looked to have gone warm.

“I’ll make sure he gets it,” Mark said as he tucked it beneath the bar. “Is there anything else I can get you two? Maybe something blond, ripped, and moody?”

Thorn raised an eyebrow, and Mark jerked his head in Lucky’s direction and watched as Thorn glanced between Cain and the young man they’d played with the month before, a slow smirk sliding across his face.  

He leaned against Cain, bumping shoulders with him to get his attention before lightly biting his ear. “You wanna play with him again?”

“Can we?” Cain asked, as Mark leaned back and watched the dynamic between them slowly play out.  

Thorn was dominant, aggressive and rarely ceded control to anyone. Cain on the other hand, while content to submit to Thorn, had a dominant side he liked to let out every now and again, making it a rather interesting experience to witness when they chose a third. A part of him wished he’d stuck around the Chrome room and watched them play with Lucky, he’d have loved to see how the kid responded to them.  

Maybe tonight, if he could slip away for a little while…

“Something wrong with that spot that the rest of us can’t see?”

Thorn’s words shook Mark out of his thoughts and brought his attention to the rag he was vigorously wiping the counter with. Shaking his head, he dropped it in the tub of dirty ones near his feet, and pulled a clean one from the drawer beside the resister.  

“Nope.”

“Then you gonna answer the question, or you lookin’ for something else to clean?”

Mark stared at Thorn for a moment, unwilling to admit that he hadn’t heard what the hell his friend had asked him.  

“Uh-huh,” Thorn chuckled and finished his beer.  

“Fine, what?”

“Was wondering if you wouldn’t mind wrapping Lucky Strike up for us again, if he wants to play.”

“I think it can be arranged. On one condition.”

Thorn arched an eyebrow at him and Mark grinned as he licked his lower lip. “I want to watch.”

 

Rainbow Snippet: Lion shifter WIP 12/17/2022

 

Coming 2023

Rainbow Snippets is a group for LGBTQ+ authors, readers, and bloggers to gather once a week to share six sentences from a work of fiction–a WIP or a finished work or even a 6-sentence book recommendation (no spoilers please!). 

In this group you’ll find anything from romance and historical fiction to mystery and YA. The common thread is that every story’s main character identifies as LGBTQ+. The snippets could range from zero flames to full-on sexytimes, anything goes content-wise. The only rule is snippets will be 6 sentences long–one for each color in the Pride flag.

I would invite everyone to please come check out the Rainbow Snippets group, click on a link, read and comment on the writing available and get involved yourselves in this awesome exercise. The link to the group can be found HERE.  

This week's Rainbow Snippet comes from my current WIP, an MMMMM Lion shifter Harem romance. 

I’m curious about something, Nathan thought to Misha, who wondered if he was also sharing the conversation with Pike.

He is. Pike replied. Misha shot him a grateful look and lolled out his tongue to lick a paw, though his focus was on the turtle head that had just poked out from the surface of the water.

You mentioned that your friend wanted to go to New Orleans and was fascinated by the food and culture there, Nathan thought. But you never mentioned what fascinated you, or where you’d hoped to visit.

That’s because it was nowhere near as interesting.

Why not let us be the judge of that, Pike thought.

I wanted to see the ocean, Misha replied. That’s all. It doesn’t matter which ocean, Atlantic, Pacific, either one will do. I just want to stand in the face of all that majesty, dig my toes in the sand and feel the waves break against my hips as the water splashes over me.

You paint a beautiful picture with just your words, Nathan said. We’ve never seen the ocean either. The closest we’ve come was still hundreds of miles away from it.

We want to see it though. Pike insisted. It’s hard to imagine how vast it is, and how powerful. I bet it’s hard to feel anything but insignificant in the face of all those rolling waves, especially in the midst of a storm.

Saturday Sale: Burning Luck

 

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Flirtatious Friday: Is it coffee syrup we're talking about....or something else entirely?

 

Available on Amazon

“Just remember something before we dig into this slick pile of gorgeous meat,” Jesse said, scooping a generous portion of mac and cheese onto his plate beside an ear of sweetcorn. “We’re not training everyday anymore. At this stage in our lives, we pig out the way we did at the luau in Kahului and we’ll be working it off until the day we die.”

Laughter before they tucked in, obscene sounds making their way around the table as they did. One particular dish Jaylon hadn’t sampled in years, which might have explained his enthusiasm when he went to spear one a piece with his fork, only to clash with Crowley attempting to do the same thing.

“Unfork my tomato!” Jaylon said, narrowing his eyes at Crowley, who tried not to laugh, and failed completely, right along with Jesse who shared the same sense of humor.

“What’ll you give me if I do.”

The moment those words left Crowley’s mouth, there was a pause, like a collective inhale, as everyone stared at the contents of their plates. It had come out so naturally, playful and light, teasing in that flirting way Crowley had without even trying, that Jaylon hated to see the smile fade.

“I came across a bottle of coffee syrup when I was at the grocery store earlier,” Jaylon said, the words no sooner leaving his mouth than Crowley withdrew his fork from the fray.

“That was the culinary equivalent of tapping out,” Jesse quipped, laughing as he snagged a tomato from the edge of the plate.

“I might have fought harder if it was the last tomato,” Crowley said, “But if giving up that one gets me coffee milk, I’m good with it.”

He’d have gotten more than coffee syrup for his milk if things were different, of that he could be sure.  

Throwback Thursday: Love in Shimmering Chartreuse

 

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Not having seen a vehicle in the driveway, Kenji didn’t think his roommate had arrived yet. He’d never considered checking the garage, but when soft guitar notes drifted up the hall, he quickly realized he and his parents were not alone in the house. Determined to start off on the right foot, he followed the music to the back of the house, excited to have already discovered one thing he and his roommate had in common, the blues. Knocking on the closed door that greeted him, he bounced with anticipation.

“Yeah?” a voice called over the music.

Taking that as an invitation, Kenji stepped inside, only to be greeted by wary crystalline eyes framed by a long cascade of shimmering blue and white hair, shocking Kenji with the contrast of so many bright hues against ghostly pale skin.

“Hey, I’m Kenji, but you can call me Ken. Guess we’re going to be living together for the year.” Sticking his right hand out, Kenji waited expectantly as his housemate gave a little wave and completely ignored the hand that had been offered him. On top of it, those blue eyes darted away from him and back to the project he’d been working on.

“And your name is?” Kenji prompted, anxiety growing with every silent moment that stretched between them.

“Koda.”

Kenji watched the smaller man fidget with the wood in front of him, fingertips pressed into it like it was taking all his willpower not to whip it at Kenji’s face. The thought alone had him taking a cautious step backwards, just in case Koda decided to give in to the temptation. “Guess I’ll leave you be. Just remember, this experiment is about getting to know one another. Between you and me, you’re off to a bad start.”

With that, Kenji retreated out the door, tense and flustered by the time he reached his parents in the living room. Of course, his mother noticed. She noticed everything. With a sigh, he realized his father and sister had started bringing stuff in, so he hurried to help them.

“Is your new housemate going to come out and meet us?” Kenji’s mother asked.

“Doubtful,” Kenji tossed over his shoulder as he rushed out the door.

His sister nudged him as he reached to gather a basket of clothes out of her truck, the streetlight gleaming off the carbon fiber of his prosthetic arm. “You okay? Are you having second thoughts?”

“A little, he isn’t the friendliest guy around,” Kenji grumbled as they headed back in.

“At least now you know your roommate is a he,” she quipped. “Still can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“You and me both.”

Upon seeking out the other bedroom, he was shocked Koda left him the larger room with the attached bathroom.

“Dang, this is nice,” his sister remarked, nudging him out of her path so she could carry his books in and deposit them in the corner. “At least that’s one good point about doing this. Besides, the kitchen is totally lit. Mom and I checked it out while we were waiting for you. She’s probably in there now putting everything away.”

“I still can’t believe how much kitchen stuff she insisted I bring with me. I doubt I’ll use half of it if the only one I’m cooking for is myself.”

“Who knows, maybe you won’t be.”

Smiling ruefully, he turned and headed back out to the cars to finish bringing things in. Movement out of the corner of his eye made him pause at the entryway to the kitchen to see his mother standing on a chair, arranging the cupboards. With a fond smile he turned his focus to unloading and wondered if it would have been easier to start this new adventure without his family around. Of course, getting all his stuff here would have been a struggle unless he’d finally bitten the bullet and decided to start driving again.

Shuddering at the thought, Kenji made another trip out. The last, as it turned out.

“If you were going to move out you certainly could have done much worse,” Kenji’s father chuckled. “So, do we get to meet who you’ll be living with? I’m curious to see how this matching process turned out. I, for one, will be eager to read the journals if Professor Grisham gets his results published. I don’t see why he wouldn’t, this is a marvelous idea.”

“Yeah, it’s … something anyway,” Kenji said with a sigh. “Not sure about you guys meeting Koda though. He doesn’t seem extremely interested in interacting.”

“Not everyone is as instantly outgoing as you, Kenji.” His father laughed. “I believe if you put your mind to it, you could befriend a porcupine.”

“We might finally have the opportunity to find out,” Kenji muttered.

“Don’t be that way, son. It’s a good thing you’re doing. It feels like you’re finally willing to move forward from the accident. Why don’t you go and ask him again to come out? Could be he’s just shy and needs a bit of extra encouragement.”

“All right. I’ll try, but I don’t promise anything,” Kenji remarked, heading once more for the door at the end of the hall. Along the way he found the laundry room, pleased that he wouldn’t have to cart his things home to get them cleaned. Rapping on Koda’s door, he expected a verbal answer, not the sight of a scowling Koda in a t-shirt that read My dragon can beat up your unicorn. He had purple fuzzy slippers on and a screwdriver in his hand.

“Hey, um, my parents would like to meet you, see who I’ll be living with for the next year,” Kenji hurried to explain as Koda’s scowl only grew deeper.

“No thanks, I really can’t right now.” Koda moved to shut the door, but Kenji shoved his prosthetic hand against it to hold it open. He could see the shock in Koda’s eyes as he stared from the hand to his face and back again.

“You’re being extremely rude,” Kenji remarked. “I don’t think it’s too much to ask …”

“You know what’s rude?” Koda cut him off. “Expecting others to react the way you think they should. I said no. I even said thanks. I meant both. Now, can you leave me alone for the rest of the night, please?”

“With pleasure,” Kenji huffed before turning and stalking back up the hall. He found his family in the kitchen with the freezer door open, his mother staring into the depths with a frown on her face.

“You can forget about meeting him today,” Kenji informed them.

“Half of the freezer is filled with boxed dinners,” his mother replied forlornly.

“Don’t worry, Mom, I plan to cook my meals,” he assured her. “I promise, I’ll ride my bike to the supermarket tomorrow and stock up.”

“You’ll do no such thing. I’ll come get you and take you to the market, we’ll get fresh things. Once you can see how much you can fit in here, you can decide how often you’ll need to shop.”

“Okay, Mom. What time?”

“Let’s say eight.”

“I’ll be ready,” he relented, knowing she’d fret if she didn’t ensure he had enough food stocked up for an apocalypse if the zombies ever happened to rise. Smiling, he hugged her and thanked all three of them for helping him move in.

His mother glanced towards the hallway and back to Kenji. “I do not like the idea of leaving you alone with a stranger. What if something were to happen to you? We have no description of him to give to the police. No way of identifying him if he turns out to be a serial killer or a lunatic or …”

“Mom,” he remarked calmly, pulling her into a gentle hug, “I am a third-degree black belt. I’m not really worried about protecting myself. I promise he’s not even close to my size and he doesn’t look like a serial killer. More like one of those sad emo kids that hang around the movie theater. It will be fine. I promise. Why don’t you let Dad take you out to dinner before you head home? It’s been awhile since you two had a date night without dragging one of us kids along.”

“Your father and I enjoy your company,” she remarked.

“And we enjoy yours,” his sister jumped in, helping him out, “but Kenji’s right. You two deserve a night out. Don’t worry, I’ll make a pizza run before I leave him alone for the night. Who knows, the elusive roommate might make an appearance if there aren’t so many of us around.”

Huffing, their mother narrowed her eyes at both siblings. “Ganging up on me now I see, harrumph.” They both laughed at that, getting her to laugh too before taking their father’s arm and allowing him to lead her out.

“Thanks,” Kenji remarked.

“No problem, besides, pizza sounds really good. You want your usual?”

“Please.”

“Cool.”

Kenji reached for his wallet only to have her wave him off. “My treat this time. Besides, something tells me you’ll need all the fuel you can get to deal with the enigmatic Mr. Grumpy.”

Kenji let out a rough chuckle, hoping he didn’t sound too bitter. “No shit.” 

Koda is an artist, a bit of a recluse, and not well-versed in social situations. Shy and a bit reserved, he sees an opportunity to break away from routine, and his trailer park home, when he spies a poster advertising a trial hosted by a college psychology department.

Titled A Social Experiment, the project pairs total strangers up to live together for a year either in groups of two or three. During that time, they are to record their experiences while performing a series of tasks outlined in the trial plan. It seemed simple enough, until Koda found himself overwhelmed on moving in day, leading him to get off on the wrong foot with new housemate Kenji.

All of his life, Kenji excelled at Tae Kwon Do, competing from a young age and quickly moving up in the ranks. His hard work and rigorous daily routine earned him accolades in regional and national level competition. As a second-degree black belt, he’d hoped to earn the opportunity to try out for the US Olympic team, only to have an accident cost him his chance at competing, as well as his left arm. Now, three years after his accident, he’s made a new life for himself, and while he still harbors bitterness over the loss of his dream, he’s hoping this experiment will be just the thing he needs to help him take that last leap back to living independently.

It’s a rocky road, gelling with one another, dealing with each’s insecurities and triggers, and as each day ticks past, one question remains: where will they go when the experiment comes to an end.

Wednesday Words: A look back at ...And all shall Fade to Black

 

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Raised voices and violently slamming wood jarred Jax from a deep sleep and he groaned, rolling on his side to rub the kinks from his neck and shoulder. His first conscious thoughts weren’t about the noise, but about the lumpiness of the bed and how happy he’d be when his furniture arrived. Throwing the abandoned frame and mattress in the dumpster was going to be the highlight of his week and for a moment he contemplated grabbing a bottle of rum so he’d have something to properly toast scrapping it.

“Leave, now, Sean or I swear I’ll…”

Something shattered against the wall adjacent his bedroom and Jax swore and reached for his pillow. He hadn’t even been in his new apartment long enough to meet his neighbors and he already knew he was going to hate them. The place had seemed pretty quiet when he’d done the tour and decided to fill out the paperwork for his apartment and one downstairs for his friends. They were gonna be pretty pissed if it turned out to be frat party loud with people passing out on the stairwell and pissing in the halls.

“What! Just what the fuck are you gonna do? You reach for that fucking phone and I swear to god I’ll beat you to death with it!”

Great, just what Jax didn’t want to hear. Annoyed as he was, there was no way he was just going to lay in bed and listen to some chick get the shit beat outta her by her old man, or drug dealer. Whoever the hell he was, he sounded pissed enough to follow through on his threat. Jax knew all about men like that and what kind of damage they could cause.

An image flashed through his head as he shoved the blankets aside. His mother’s face, eye blackened, cheek bruised, the split in her lip leaking blood on her lavender shirt as she’d huddled on the floor, vase and half dying flowers in a pool around her.

“You lying bitch, who gave you those!”

Hiding beneath his bed, Jax shivered, hands balled into fists, tears streaming down his cheeks as he listened to the fear in his mother’s voice and the sound of glass breaking.

“My son picked them on the way home from school!”

“Do you think I’m stupid? Tell me the fuckin’ truth.”

“No, Henry, I know you’re not stupid. I’m not lying to you, I swear it, I swear, Henry, please!”

The sound of something heavy slamming into the wall made Jax cry out and shrink back to the furthest corner he could crawl to, blankets pulled up over his head, the stuffed moose in his arms clutched tight.

“If I ever catch you messing around with another man, I’ll kill you, do you understand me! I’ll kill you dead and leave you in pieces for your brats to find!”

Shaking off the memory, Jax yanked on a pair of jeans with trembling fingers and snatched his kubotan off the stand by the door. Shoving it in his pocket he stomped through his apartment and shoved open the door into the hall. It seemed like the fight had spilled out there too. Jax paused, taking a moment to realize he’d been wrong about who was involved. There was no woman, just two guys, one considerably larger, and angrier than the other. He hadn’t been wrong about the danger though, the big guy had pieces of the broken telephone in his hand and the smaller guy seemed to be trying to ward him off with a chair. A highly ineffective tactic as the big guy easily snatched the chair away, half dragging the smaller man from the doorway in the process. The big man tossed the chair to the side, effortlessly, not even bothering to glance in its direction when it struck the wall and broke, his entire focus was on the smaller man.

Hands up and cringing, the man backed up, nearly tripping over his own feet as the big guy lunged for him. Jax chose that moment to step between them, anger and adrenaline making his heart pound.

“Get outta the fuckin’ way; this ain’t no business of yours!”

Jax cocked his head to the side and studied the frat boy haircut and pinprick eyes he was suddenly faced with. Stupid fucker was high as hell, just fuckin’ great. Planting his feet, Jax settled into an easy fighting stance, waiting to see what the big bastard was going to do.

“Didn’t you hear me!” the man barked, spewing whiskey breath in Jax’s face. “I said MOVE!”

Jax chuckled and cracked his knuckles. “If you don’t shut the fuck up and leave him alone, I’ll kill you.”

The look on the other man’s face might have been comical, if he hadn’t fucked the whole thing up by taking a swing.

What a way to meet the neighbors, Jax thought as he ducked and fired off an uppercut of his own. Nothing like a good brawl to get the blood flowing.

***

Scrambling backwards, Danny moved from between the much larger men, not that he had very much room to move, but at least further down the hallway he wouldn’t be an accidental target as fists started to fly.

“What’s it to you what I do to him?” Sean grunted as he shook off the glancing blow and stepped right into their new neighbor’s face.

Danny hoped Jax would back off. He didn’t know the tall brunette, outside of an introduction, Jax having just moved into the building three days before, and while he looked jacked, Danny had no way of knowing how he’d handle himself in a fight. Especially against someone like Sean, who loved fighting.

“You woke me up with all your yelling, for starters, but since I’m out here and your attitude sucks, I figure I might as well fuck up your night the same way you’ve fucked up mine,” Jax stated as he held his ground.

Sean went to shove him, but Jax moved out of the way and gave Sean a shove of his own, sending him staggering into the wall. Danny scrambled further back, desperate for a dark corner to get lost in as Sean’s wild eyes scanned around, looking for him. When they landed on him, Danny froze.

“Call the cops,” Sean snarled. “I’m going to have this fucker arrested for assault!”

“C-call them y-yourself,” Danny stammered, then fell back with a strangled squawk when Sean lunged for him. Jax had caught hold of the back of his shirt and hauled him backwards, away from Danny, who stared up at Jax’s pierced face, shocked at the man’s strength. Sean kicked back and managed to drop Jax to one knee, freeing him to go after Danny again.

“Son of a bitch!” Jax roared as Sean lunged for Danny and wrapped his hands around his throat. In the scuffle that ensued, the only thing that Danny could see was Sean’s pinprick eyes and the spittle flying from his lips as he cussed and threatened. Just as everything faded to black, Danny though he saw a snarling demon rise up behind Sean, the rage twisted features scaring him so badly he was grateful when everything faded away.