Twisted Tuesday: When the ex shows up looking for his brother (Gemini's Rogue)

 

Thunder accompanied the sound of the door being kicked open, the thud of it crashing against the wall jarred them from sleep. Fester woofed and let out a growl as the heavy tread of boots echoed off the kitchen floor. Gemini stood, only to have their arm grabbed and held firm by Rogue. Without the candles, they couldn’t see his face, until a flash of lightning showed him reaching for his bag as the footsteps got closer. The press of metal into their palm alerted Gemini to the fact they’d been handed a knife, and they closed their fist tight around the handle as he stood, silent and moving past them toward the noise.

Lightning illuminated a large figure in the doorway, and Gemini gasped.

“You might want to back out of here nice and slow,” Rogue advised, his voice having gone low and deadly. “I’m armed, and you’re trespassing.”

“I figured I’d find you here.”

That voice, Gemini tensed even more than they already had and fumbled around for the lighter Rogue had laid on the coffee table, fingers shaking as they attempted to light the candles. The first tiny flicker of flame in the darkness blinded them for a moment, and they blinked several times to clear their vision.

They almost wished they hadn’t, when they turned their gaze toward the voice. Randy stood in the doorway, as large and imposing as the last time they’d seen him. Fury rose up in them, warring with anxiety.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?”

All of Randy’s attention was on his brother, his expression hard, bordering on aggression. “Looking for this son of a bitch.”

“You ever hear of knocking! Who do you think you are? You can’t just kick the door in like some fuckin’ psycho.”

“I’m not the crazy one here.”

Gemini looked between the two, noting the way Rogue still held the knife like he intended to use it. Stepping between them, Gemini hoped to diffuse things before they got out of hand.

“What do you want, Randy?” they asked, taking a step toward him, hoping to herd him back toward the kitchen. Of course he was too stubborn to go.

“Isaac told me Rogue was headed this way. Saw his truck in the barn, thought maybe you were in trouble.”

“And why would I be in trouble if he was here? Why not just knock and ask nicely?”

“Like I said, I was worried. What with the way the trucks were hidden I wasn’t sure what all he was up to,” Randy said. “Besides, I didn’t need him hearing me at the front door and running out the back.”

“That’s funny, you being worried about me. Quit your bullshit and tell the truth. What in the hell is going on? And for your information, the trucks were in the barn because it was supposed to hail and the last thing we wanted to deal with was one of the windshields getting cracked.”

“And whose idea was that, yours or his?”

Gemini sputtered at that, eyeing him up and down and trying to figure out what the hell was going on. It bothered them that Rogue still hadn’t said anything, that he was just standing there with that wicked looking knife and a murderous look on his face, eyes trained on his brother.

“His I’m guessing,” Randy continued on. “Look, I’m sorry about the door. But I’m glad you’re okay. Rogue, come on, it’s time to go home. Dad’s pissed, Mom’s worried and Uncle Cairan’s been pulling his hair out trying to figure out what to do with you. You shouldn’t have checked yourself out of the hospital without telling anyone.”

“Hospital?” Gemini asked.

“No one asked my opinion when checking me in, so I didn’t see any reason to ask theirs when getting myself out.”

“You needed help and you were being stubborn about getting it. Someone had to step in before you hurt someone else.”

Hands on their hips, Gemini felt themselves shaking. “Exactly what kind of hospital are we talking about and who did he hurt?”

“One that deals with mental health issues and breaks with reality,” Randy remarked, never taking his eyes off his brother. “He nearly sent our father to the emergency room.”

A shiver ran up Gemini’s spine, leaving them feeling cold and tense. “I…see.”

“No, you don’t,” Rogue remarked, turning to look at them fully. “It was bullshit. There was an issue, but it wasn’t with me. I kept trying to tell them that and no one would listen.”

“You threw Dad through a pair of sliding plate glass doors! You’re lucky he didn’t press charges.”

“He’s the one that came at me, all I did was shove him away and try to leave.”

“Not to hear him tell it.”

“And that’s exactly the problem. The only side you’re willing to hear is his. I didn’t go there looking for trouble. I had a question for Mom. I tried asking over the phone, but she wouldn’t tell me, so I went over there to talk to her face to face. She wasn’t home, your dad was. Shit was said and he lost his temper. Nothing new there.”

“And what was so damned important?”

“That’s between me and Mom.”

Randy shook his head. “So you run to my ex. For what, exactly?”

“A friend. A place to stay? Someone who might, maybe give a shit about me and listen to my side of the story.”

“Only you never got around to telling the story, did you?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Not exactly the easiest topic to bring up. I wasn’t sure how it would go over. I couldn’t just say good morning, I made breakfast, oh by the way, one of the reasons I came out here was ‘cause my family is trying to lock me in the nuthouse!”

“Better than lying,” Gemini said softly, moving closer to Randy.

“I never lied,” Rogue insisted, reaching out for them, but Gemini stepped further out of the way and dropped the knife, the sound of it hitting the floor like a gunshot in the room.

“Lying by omission is still a lie,” Randy pointed out. “Let’s go. I’m pretty sure Gemini’s about had it with both of us in their space.”

“Gemini…” Rogue began.

“Just go, Rogue, go. I don’t need this shit. You asshole, I can’t believe I actually listened when you said you came here for me.”

“I did come here for you!” Rogue snapped. “And I told you right from the get go I was running. Told you there were no cops after me, and there aren’t. I never lied. I told you’d I’d talk to you. I just wasn’t ready yet.”

“And exactly when were you going to be ready?”

“I don’t know, okay. It wasn’t exactly easy to talk about. I didn’t go over there to start a fight, that was all him. I just wanted some answers from Mom, about my real dad and some… stuff from when I was little.”

Randy shook his head and took a step toward his brother, backing off only when Rogue tightened his grip on the knife. Gemini eyed the movement with concern, wondering if there was still the potential for bloodshed right there in their freshly cleaned living room.

“You need to let that shit go.”

Rogue was shaking, it was minute, but Gemini noticed the way his whole body had started to quake. “Easy for you to say.”

“You hate Dad, we get it. You’ve made that clear to everyone in the family. It’s not his fault Mom fucked around, and it’s not his fault your old man didn’t want you, so get over it! At least he made sure you had food in your stomach, clothes on your back and a roof over your head until you turned into such a difficult little brat that Uncle Cairan had no choice but to take you in.”

“Believe what you want, you always have,” Rogue said, gaze shifting away from his brother and onto Gemini. “Please give me a chance to tell my side.”

His eyes and the devastation in his voice gave Gemini pause, and they studied him intently.

“Gemini please. I swear I planned to tell you everything, I just, I wanted…”

“To what, fuck them before you were honest with them?” Randy cut in.

“No.”

“But that’s where we were headed,” Gemini said softly. 

Gemini's Rogue can be found here on Amazon!

Growing up with a strictly religious father in a house with little joy, or love, left Grady Stoltz eager to get out. At the first opportunity that presented itself, they left home with a young man who swept them off their feet, used their preferred pronouns, and accepted that they were gender fluid and wished to shed the name Grady and all of the constraints of their former life. Dubbed Gemini, they never expected to return to that farm or the rural community they’d been raised in, but life took some unexpected turns, and they found themselves returning four years later. A little older, a little wiser, and the new owner of a house full of memories and regrets.

Cleaning the place up is only the first step towards deciding if they wish to sell it, or if they wish to stay and try and make a life for themselves in a place they’ve never felt as if they belonged. Haunted by the memories of the father who could never accept them, the mother they lost at a young age, and their own shortcomings and failures, they are in a very dark place when Rogue arrives.

Charismatic when performing in front of an audience, yet shy and vulnerable when faced with the prospect of being alone in a crowd, Rogue seeks shelter with Gemini on their middle-of-nowhere farm, hoping for a new beginning and a chance to see if the tiny spark that had flared between them once before, can be kindled into a roaring flame.

Two battered souls, one tattered farmhouse, an old dog, a cranky chicken, several misspoken words, and one crazed ex-husband combine in an explosive combination of truth, lust, dreams, and vengeance. Will the force of it tear Gemini and Rogue apart, or will it leave them closer than they ever dared to hope?

Sunday Serial Story: Spiced Cider Sunday

The diner was starting to become his second home. Jenson sat in the booth along the far back wall stirring sugar into coffee that had already grown cold. Every time the bell on the door jangled, he looked up to see who was entering, but so far it had just been older couples.

The guy he’d talked to on the phone had sounded around his age and nowhere close to as frail as the people who’d been stopping through all morning for their two egg breakfast specials, fake butter and pink sweeteners, please.

Conversations unfolded all around him, but they were all so mundane he only dropped in on them for a few seconds before letting his mind wander again. One lady’s doctor had warned her against using salt because her blood pressure had gone up again. Two women had grandchildren on the way, one dude needed a prostate exam.

It was a farming community, so weather was always at the forefront of people’s discussions. The current temperatures were mild for this time of year. Some felt that was a good thing and make for an easier harvest, others were worried that it meant the winter to follow would be a brutal one. It was the same anywhere. Worry about when the crops could be harvested, worry about when the fields could be prepped for the following year, worry about the amount of food that needed to be stored to get the animals through winter, worried about winter, because the unpredictability of it factored into everything from the town Christmas pageant to the annual horse drawn sleighride.

It sounded like the town went all out when it came to choosing a theme and decorating Main Street, not that Jenson would be around to see it. The farmer he’d come here to meet was already running more than a half hour late. Either he’d found someone else to work the job he’d been coming to interview Jenson for, or he’d decided that an out of towner wasn’t someone he wanted to take a chance on.

He got that, he did. He’d worked with drifters before. Some lasted a few weeks before moving on, some didn’t even make it a handful of days, it just depended on the type of work they’d done in the past. Jenson didn’t consider himself a drifter, despite his slightly nomadic lifestyle at the moment. Before taking the job that had brought him out here, he’d worked for two years at a small poultry farm with a couple he’d truly enjoyed working for. In fact, the job was waiting if he decided he wanted to go back. He didn’t.

He loved them to death but there were too many memories associated with that place and his fuckups.

Even with sugar in it his coffee was bitter, but he was going to finish it before he tipped the waitress and went back to the motel. Maybe Pacey would have a line on something for him, because at the moment he just felt stuck between two places he didn’t want to go back to.

When the bell jangled this time, he didn’t bother looking up, until the chair across from his scraped across the floor and a man dropped into the chair across from him.

Well hello.

Spiced Cider Sunday will be updated roughly every Sunday (or following Monday)

 

Musical Monday: To Hype a Crowd (with Johnny and Jagger of Damaged Saints)

 

Sometimes people just mesh and when it develops into a long-term friendship there is little they can't accomplish when they work together. For Johnny and Jagger that sometimes translates to being up on stage together. 

Damaged Saints can be found here on Amazon!

“Ready to do this?” Robbie asked, fingertips dancing up the back of Jagger’s neck so he could draw him into a kiss.

“How cliché would it be if I said I was born ready?” Jagger asked once Robbie let him go.

“A thousand percent,” Kayden said as his fingers tangled in Jagger’s hair and tugged his head back so he could kiss him too.

“Showtime,” Mickey announced, the five of them coming together in their circle, heads touching, as they offered up their personal prayers for a good show, then headed out there.

All Robbie could see as he approached the drum kit were people and a desert horizon so far away that they might as well have been on their own fuckin’ planet. Adrenaline surged through him, and he caught Kayden’s eye, his best friend giving a little salute with his guitar before launching into their first song.

Sticks tattooing a rhythm into those old skins, Robbie poured out every emotion he’d experienced over the course of the past year, from crushing disappointment, fear, and rage, to exhilaration, pride, and love.

From his spot he got to watch the loves of his life strut and howl, bang their heads, flirt, dance, and give in to the swirl of wild, manic energy they hadn’t been able to give themselves over to since the night after their first show. They did everything short of making out and fucking, the energy between them so crackling thick that Robbie was hard in his boxers and grateful for a drumkit to hide it behind.

Jagger hadn’t forgotten any of their lessons, either. He got Mickey involved, whirling behind him, and swaying like a serpent about to strike, and even climbed the stack of amps behind Robbie, to sing from high above him. It was wild. It was frenzied. And Robbie loved every minute of it.

During Robbie’s long solo, Jagger hurled himself off the stage, the fans passing him around while Robbie showed off why he’d come in third in the drum-off last year. He hit that last beat and let the first stick fly, several people leaping to try and catch it. He couldn’t tell who ended up with it though, a scuffle ensued and in the hopes of keeping others from joining in, he threw the second stick. It was only then that he noticed another disturbance, just to the left of where the crowd was still passing Jagger around over their heads.

From his vantage point, it looked like the crowd had parted and someone was on the ground. He just hoped no one had wound up hurt over there.

Jagger’s leap had been timed perfectly. With the way they’d laid out the setlist, the next song’s intro was Kayden’s long solo. That would give Robbie time to hydrate and grab a new pair of sticks and the people the opportunity to pass a rumpled Jagger back onto the stage where he hesitated, for one long moment, before reaching for his mic. 

Robbie saw him blow out a breath when nothing went wrong, then launch right back into his performance. By the time he finished Curses from the Edge, the sea of people was lit up with lighters and glow sticks and anything else they could wave over their heads or wear. They’d draped them around their necks, hung them from their ears, twisted them into crowns and woven them around their wrists.

When he launched into Restless Fireflies, the little surprise they’d set up for Jagger revealed itself when Johnny stepped out onto the stage to sing it with him the same way he’d done back at the house when they’d been rehearsing.

Flirt with the light but dare not touch it

Skirt the edges of broken dreams

These crumbling illusions we fail to see through

Nothing is ever as real as we make it seem

Dare you to dance closer to the fire

For in the end we shall not burn

And if we die it’s better than barely living

At least then we’ll know the true meaning of freedom.

Casting shadows on the wall

These fragile puppets will not fall

We mime the past in blunted hails of twisted words

Knowing in the end we’ll all…be extinguished.

Their voices mingled to give the song a chilling, haunting sense of fatalism and pain. The way they interacted, though, touching, wrapping around one another, abandoning one mic so they could share, all brought an additional vibe to the song. One in which the dreams they were singing about giving up on would still endure in some slightly warped and twisted way.

It was, in a word, breathtaking.

They shared a hug at the front of the stage when the song was over, then Johnny waved to the crowd, gave a little peace sign salute, and walked off leaving them to kickstart the final song.

Kayden hit that opening riff like a maniac, all power chords and stunning rifts, with Mickey right beside him, the two complementing each other beautifully, the way they always did. They wound up back-to-back as Jagger crisscrossed the stage, growling out the words to the gritty lyrics and whipping the crowd into a frenzy in the process. It was the perfect way to end things, especially when Jagger nailed that last snarled word, dropped the mic and leapt back in with the fans, waving to the rest of the band as they carried him away.

Kayden and Mickey shared looks, passed their picks to the fans in the front, shrugged and leapt in after him. Alrighty then. Never one to be left out, Robbie whipped his sticks as far out into the ocean of people as he could manage and jumped in too, a rare occurrence for him. Damn was it fun to be surfed around, bounced, groped a little and ultimately passed all the way to the edge of the crowd. It was a long ass journey when one considered just how many people were out there. 

Saturday Snippet: From Halfway to Someday...the moment when music connected them

 

Restless, Ryker stoked the fire in the fireplace and added more wood, glad it was stacked on the porch so he didn’t have to be out in the cold too long to grab it. Winter had always been his favorite season, for the fresh powder and the snowboarding, the snowmobiles and how much fun it had always been to play paintball in snowshoes and watch the landscape dotted with colors by the time they were done.

At least in those skirmishes, everyone walked away unscathed save for the occasional bruises. His arm ached and his back twinged, but it was the echo of memories in his head that kept him pacing, rummaging for a distraction to occupy his time. He came up with a deck of cards and absolutely no desire for playing solitaire, so he tossed them back in the drawer. There was a TV with no movies, and a video game console with no games. A quick search of the bookcase shelf beside the window yielded several old favorites though, so he snatched up a collection of Poe’s poetry and dropped into a chair.

Less than an hour later, he was restless again and pacing.

The words hadn’t helped settle him—if anything they’d been too dark, full of loss and pain, ushering in more ghosts, leaving him straining to hear every sound, wondering if there was something sinister attached to them. Hands rubbing together, he looked for a way to ground himself, as the sounds warped, shifted, began the ghostly echo of a moment he had no desire to remember. His heart was hammering, and he no longer cared if Jesse wanted him to stay away, he was going down the hall and beating on the door if only to fight with the other man for a little while and take his mind off the crash of memories trampling through his brain.

Only, music reached him as he approached, and a honey-smooth voice singing made him shiver and think back on all those times he’d put in the CDs Kyle sent and lost himself in his cousin’s music at the end of a long, dirty, dusty, and sometimes bloody day. He paused, hand raised, prepared to knock, when the words smashed into him.

“I can’t fight these demons closing in. These lonely nights—they never seem to end. If I could bleed all my fears into the dust and shake this hollow husk, I’d be free again. But there’s no end from this pain I cannot voice, from the hate I feel, and the rage I fight, and the nights I long to die. How can you save me when I can’t save myself? How can you see me, when my colors bleed, and the light inside me fades to gray? Have mercy, please; pierce me with your blade; kiss me gently. Let me go.”

Ryker shivered.

It wasn’t one of the band’s songs he’d ever heard before; in fact, when Jesse sang it again a few of the words changed, and he realized then this was something he was creating, something that maybe was a raw honesty he’d never shared with anyone else.

He knew what it was like to plead for something. Not death—he’d fought too damn hard to survive to ever want to give in to that. But the peace that eluded him was something he’d plead for. A break from memories and guilt—a day, or better still, a night when his mistakes didn’t play over and over in his head.

He should have done more. Should have seen the signs. Should have been faster. Should have saved them.

Ryker stared at the closed door, listening to the soft guitar chords drifting out into the hall. Lingering echoes of his nightmare jackknifed through his mind in bright flashes and metal tossed so high it obscured the sun. Gritting his teeth, he tried not to brush his hands down his arms, seeking the phantom dirt and blood his mind insistently screamed was clinging to his skin.

You’re not there anymore. You’re here. You’re safe.

He whispered it over and over, a mantra, a prayer for peace that fell into rhythm with the heartbreakingly haunting notes Jesse was wringing from the guitar. He wished he could shove the door open, crawl across the floor, press his front to Jesse’s back, wrap his arms around his body, bury his nose in Jesse’s hair, and breathe in his scent. Anything to ground himself.

After Jesse’s shower last night, the bathroom had smelled like rain in the forest: woody, earthy, taking Ryker back to a time before he’d left Vermont. Home. Jesse smelled like home, and all Ryker wanted in that moment was to get closer. Replace the guitar in Jesse’s lap with his head and cling there until the last of the nightmares were gone.

Instead, he slid down the wall, fingers gripping his hair so tightly he could feel his fingertips pressing into his scalp. In the back of his mind, everyone was still screaming, he was still screaming into the com, ineffable horrors taking place around him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed the visions away. Told himself to focus on the music and the soft tenor of Jesse’s voice accompanying it.

Breathe in

Breathe out

You’re not there anymore. You’re here. You’re safe.

Jesse’s lilting voice rose above the chaos crashing through his mind, wrapping around him, helping him to keep his breathing even.

“I don’t wanna fight these demons closing in. This one last night, I pray that it’s the end. I wanna bleed my fears into the dust, shake this hollow husk, be free again. From this pain I cannot voice, from the ghosts I fear to trust, from the hate I feel, and the rage I fight, and the nights I long to die. How can you save me when I will not save myself? How can you see me when all my colors bleed, when the light inside me fades, when hopes dies, and dreams burn, and still I lie and say I’m good, all good? Have mercy, please; pierce me with your blade; kiss me gently. Let me go.”

So different that time, from breaking to completely ruined. Ryker wondered if that’s what he was going for, if that was what he felt, what had driven him to the mountains and made him hide inside his room. Secrets, grief, regrets, in those words Jesse sang, Ryker saw a reflection of himself in his lowest moments when he’d come so close to giving up.

Resting his head against the door, he focused on Jesse singing, wishing he was on the other side where it wasn’t so lonely and cold. Wishing Jesse would sing something a little brighter, something with a shred of hope to chase away the storm before it drowned them both.

The words were wrong. They weren’t visceral enough, and they weren’t honest enough for the sheer disgust and self-loathing he felt. He struggled to describe the acts he wanted, the ragged grating of sandpaper scouring every touch and memory from his flesh until it all bled. Maybe then he’d stop feeling those phantom caresses, sloppy kisses, hands groping and pinching and firmly holding him in place; the voice harping on every failure and plucking at every flaw.

Such a stupid, stupid thing he’d done in forgiving that first betrayal, in accepting apologies for the backhand to the cheek that had left his head reeling. Instead of ending the relationship, he’d carefully blended away the bruise with makeup, accepted the hugs, the promises, and the fancy dinner Troy had taken him out to after the show. He’d accepted the attention and the affection, the guitar necklace, and bondage cuffs, and when that jealous, possessive streak had reared its head a second time, he’d once again conceded that maybe he was the one at fault. Maybe he flaunted himself both on and off the stage, flirted too much, let the fans get too close, let people grab and touch and hug while he smiled, basking in the fact that they loved his music, never taking a moment to think of how badly it might hurt the man who loved him.

Because that’s really all it had ever been. A longing for their praise of his creations, not for their praise of him. He’d never considered himself anything special, but the music, the words that seemed to pour down from the cosmos and explode out through his hands—those were the true gems—and he worked very hard at displaying them in a way the whole world could see.

He’d tried dialing it back. In the end, he’d withdrawn from everyone, having no desire to have even the slightest thing be provocation for a man he’d been too terrified of by that point to ever tell him to go to hell.

Pouring his soul into the notes, he tweaked and retweaked the lyrics as he went along, the day fading into night, until hunger rolled through him again, and he checked the clock. It was well after ten, and the house was silent. His fingers hurt, and his back spasmed when he attempted to straighten up. He groaned in pain and lovingly placed the guitar in its stand, then arched his back, listening to it pop before he rotated his neck, hearing a sharp crack preceding an instant burst of relief. He knew better than to play so long without a break. His old man would have chided him for not taking care of his body, treating it like it was a part of the instrument he played. Maybe later, he’d set an alarm to keep himself from playing all night.

Standing, he headed out the door, only to trip and land half sprawled across a large, hard form. Scrambling backward, Jesse retreated into his room and stared at the sleeping form slumped in the hallway. For his part, Ryker just grunted and was silent again, head pillowed on his arms, legs drawn up. For a moment, Jesse sat there staring at the sleeping form, wondering what in the world had possessed him to fall asleep in such an uncomfortable spot.

Behind Ryker lay the empty hall and firelight. He told himself this might be the best opportunity he had to grab his food and store it in his room. Still, it bothered him seeing Ryker looking so vulnerable, with his brows knitted together, and the downturned frown. So severe and…sad. He went to the living room and grabbed a couple of throws, returned to the hall, and carefully covered Ryker with them, praying he wouldn’t wake up. Had he been listening to Jesse’s music?

The thought made him blush with how rough the song had been. He hated for anyone to listen while he created; he always felt so dumb, fumbling around trying to piece his thoughts together. For a moment, he lingered beside Ryker, wondering if he should wake the man and send him off to his bed, but an image of Troy flashed through his head, reminding him of the damage big men could do if they set their minds on it. In the end, he settled for hurrying to the kitchen and grabbing his stash of booze, canned foods, boxed snacks, cereal, and a garbage bag. It wasn’t the healthiest collection of edibles. The canned stuff he’d have to eat cold, and the cereal he’d have to eat dry, but it was better than starving until he was about to pass out. At least, all his cans were pull tabs. Taking the can opener would mean Ryker would come knocking on his door the moment he needed it.

Before he closed the door behind him, he stared down at Ryker once more, still bewildered about why he’d chosen to sleep there, of all uncomfortable places. There was another bedroom, not to mention the couch, both warmer and far more luxurious. It wasn’t like the hall was wide, either—even Jesse couldn’t lie across it without scrunching up. It didn’t make any sense. With a sigh, he closed the door softly, not wanting to disturb the sleeping man. But the sight of him sleeping there played over and over in his head, even when he tried to sing it away. In the end, he opened the door a little, changed the tune to something softer, older, and left it that way until he was too tired to play another chord. Only then did he close it and lock it again before settling into sleep. 

*****

Ryker woke with a crick in his neck and a dull pain in his hip. Groaning, he rolled onto his back, batting at the cloth that suddenly tangled around his hands. What the hell? Yanking at it, he found it was stuck firm, half trapped underneath his body. Wiggling, he tugged and pulled until he could wad it up and shove it beneath his head. He hadn’t brought blankets with him when he’d come down the hall, had he? No, he’d only meant to knock on Jesse’s door, not linger there. Which meant Jesse had to have emerged and discovered him at some point. Ryker ran his fingers over the cloth, soft, warm. Why hadn’t Jesse just woken him? Ordered him back up the hall with grumbling curses and a demand he stay away. Why be so kind as to cover him up? He lay there, pondering that for a while, trying to ignore the constant pressure in his bladder reminding him he needed to piss. The cabin was silent; he couldn’t even hear the crackle of a fire in the fireplace anymore. Opening his eyes a little more, he determined that it was barely sunrise, everything soft and quiet. He rolled over, stood, and pressed his cheek to the door to see if Jesse was still playing, only to be met with silence.

He hurried to the bathroom to relieve himself, washed his hands, and walked to the kitchen, rubbing the ache in his hip. He’d never meant to fall asleep, just rest his eyes for a little while but the music had been so comforting. Hell, just knowing he wasn’t alone had been comforting.

Flipping on the light and opening the cupboard, he sought out the cereal he’d brought, wanting something quick to fill his belly and immediately noticed the stack of cans that had previously filled one shelf were gone. Ryker paused, fingers poised to grab his cereal box, suddenly very, very afraid he was alone, that Jesse had not only slipped past him but left in the middle of the full fury of the storm.

No, certainly he wouldn’t do something so stupid, so reckless…

Ryker ignored the cereal for the moment to hurry to the front door and yank it open. It was next to impossible to see anything through the dim light and snow. He couldn’t see his own truck, let alone Jesse’s. He glanced back toward the hallway, then back into the night. He could knock and maybe wake him, but after Jesse’s kindness with the blankets the last thing Ryker wished to do was piss him off. That only left one option.

He closed the door long enough to tug on his boots and coat and then retrieved his heavy-duty flashlight before plunging out into the storm. He lined up with the front of the porch, knowing that as long as he put one foot in front of the other and didn’t waver left or right, he’d reach the trucks.

The wind howled as the snow fell fast and furious, stinging his face. He stumbled, foot skidding out from beneath him and plunging him sideways into a drift. Shivering, he shoved to his feet, muttering curses as he shone the light at the ground so he could align himself with his footsteps again.

This is stupid and dangerous, too, he thought when he noted the way the wind was already beginning to erase them. Still, he had to know. Forging ahead, he finally caught a glimpse of color in the light. Green, thank God. Ryker braced himself against the passenger door, nearly sagging with relief. If anything, the winds seemed to intensify, and Ryker was very aware of the fact that he was the one in peril and needed to get his ass back inside. It was slow going, but he made it back to the porch and groaned with relief. Neither of them would be leaving anytime soon, which might give him a chance to convince Jesse to stay. If tonight had shown him anything, it was that there was no way he’d be able to stay here alone for long.

Rocker Jesse Winters just wants to be left alone. If he could melt into oblivion, he would bid farewell to the wild child of rock n’ roll so many have dubbed him in recent months. Truth is, there was never anything reckless, wild, or even deliberate about most of the things that had happened on Wild Child’s last tour, but had anyone cared to listen? No! Which was precisely why he was sitting in a cabin high up in the Colorado mountains, hoping the incoming blizzard would bury him forever.

Ryker Jorgensen left the VA hospital with a bunch of prescriptions and pamphlets on how to deal with reentering the civilian world, not that he’s in any hurry to do so. His nightmares still keep him up at night, and every new limitation he discovers gives him more reason to believe that he’s hopelessly useless now. Better to drive up to his cousin’s cabin and lick his wounds. Come spring, maybe, he’d look into being around people, if only for long enough to make the kind of money he’d need to buy his own secluded place.

The last thing he ever expected to see was the man whose face had been plastered in his footlocker and his dreams for the better part of the past six years, but Jesse Winters is nothing like he imagined. When trying to leave Ryker out in the storm doesn’t work, Jesse resorts to ignoring him. But two wounded souls trapped in a snowed-in cabin have little choice but to reach out for one another when emotions get frayed. His only hope is that Jesse will trust him enough to let him drag him back from the edge before he’s just another burned-out star in the legacy that is rock n’ roll.

Halfway to Someday can be found here!

Friday Fireworks: When powers flare and squirrels become unwitting targets

 

Decades ago, I worked at a little roadside diner in the middle of nowhere in Tennessee. Some of the people I worked with were true characters, let me tell you, and so, Roadhouse Reds was born. The early draft of the story was written while I still worked as a waitress and occasionally jumped on the grill after the place got smokey. During that time, I watched the cook burn a pork chop so bad I'm sure he offended hogs everywhere. You could use that thing for a hockey puck when it came out of the unsalvageable pan, and let me tell you, he made the dishwasher try to salvage it, which lead to the man scrubbing his way through two Brillo pads before finally declaring that either the pan went in the trash, or he went out the door and left the cook to wash his own dishes. Needless to say, the pan went out to the dumpster before the end of the night. 

While Roadhouse Red is technically a paranormal romance, most of the book unfolds in and around the roadhouse, after an alien craft crash lands in the cornfield next to it, and the town speculates about the odd goings on. 

Jason stood in the field, all of his focus on a single orange traffic cone. A traffic cone that at the moment might as well have a smiley face painted on it for the way that it was mocking him.

 “Breathe,” Bakari instructed. “Picture a single spear of ice flowing from your hand into the target.”

“Fuckin’ easy for you to say!” Jason snarled.

Broken shards of ice littered the ground between Jason and the target. Ice hung off one of the tree limbs fifty feet away, from Bakari’s sleeve and even off the roadhouse sign by the driveway; but that damned orange cone remained untouched.

Jason drew in a deep breath the way Bakari had shown him; he pictured ice exploding outward, stabbing through the orange cone and impaling it. What happened was far from it. Ice exploded from Jason’s hand, over the cone and into a shrub, freezing it solid. A brown squirrel fell from the shrub, frozen solid as well, sunlight twinkling off the icy sheen over its fur.

“Shit!” Jason cursed.

“Squirrel stew for supper then,” Clyde suggested, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Focus, Jason. Are you envisioning it as I told you?” Bakari demanded.

“Yes!” Jason yelled, his fists clenched, “I’m picturing the damn thing skewered but the god damned ice won’t do what I want it to!”

Bakari sighed, reigning in his temper. It would do no good to yell at Jason. It was clear that he was doing his best and in truth, no one mastered such powers in a single day. On Alltiis he would have been allowed months, if not years of careful working with a master in each ability, learning to hone and focus them until he could wield them with the simplest of thoughts. They were never meant to be triggered by emotions. Emotions were unpredictable, and clearly, unsuitable for hitting a target as Jason was finding out.

“Maybe you need a gentler approach?” Clyde offered as he stepped up beside Jason. It was Bakari’s eyes he looked into, however, issuing a challenge which the stern man met with a nod of his head, relenting.

“You need calm, Jason,” Clyde told him. “Here, sit with me.”

Jason shook his head, determined, his eyes narrowing at the orange cone. He blasted ice towards it and came close, the burst rocking the cone but the ice itself spread in an arc that fell harmlessly to the ground beside a group of half melted failures.

“Jason! Sit down!” Clyde said, far more firmly this time. It was no longer a suggestion, it was an order.

Jason immediately complied and Bakari chuckled giving Clyde a small smile of approval. He stood back, arms crossed as he watched the other man address Jason.

“You can’t attack this with force or anger,” Clyde said calmly. “It’s like sparring. You have to focus, you have to be calm, you have to let it flow. Be in tune with it so you can react without needing to think, instead of charging in blinded by fury.”

“I’m doing my best,” Jason said.

“I know you are. But you’re also losing your temper because it isn’t going right. If this were a kata you were struggling with, what would you do?”

“I guess I’d stop, take a drink, then meditate until I found my center again,” Jason admitted.

“And then?” Clyde prompted.

“Well once I was calm and focused I’d go over the steps in my head, envision myself doing them before I tried it again,” Jason sighed.

Clyde said nothing, he simply sat fiddling with a blade of grass and watching Jason.

“What?” Jason asked, confused and self-conscious for a moment, thinking he’d said something wrong.

Clyde patiently continued to sit there, waiting for it to sink in.

“Ohhh,” Jason said at last, grinning sheepishly. Bakari and Clyde chuckled as Jason got comfortable and closed his eyes. 

Jason focused first on his breathing. Slow and steady, in, pause, hold, one, two, three, exhale, slowly, counting to three again. Another pause, then another inhale; focusing on the routine of breathing with a steady pattern, until even the sound of the birds chirping and the wind rustling the trees faded away. With his mind and emotions settled, he could hear Bakari’s instructions loud and clear and pictured a line forming between his hand and the cone.

It wasn’t about throwing the ice, it was about directing it, forming it with his mind and body and then sending it out along the path towards his target. Breathing deeply, Jason connected with the icy magic that chilled him to the core. He pictured it in his mind, shimmering when the light hit it, clear and sharp, pure and deadly. In his mind he shaped it into a spear, then focused the direction of the energy down his arm and out his hand. He imagined it striking the target, dead center and piercing all the way through.  For a moment he allowed himself to imagine it was Ano ki, but thoughts of the man fueled his anger, and he had to return to rhythmic breathing to restore his calm. Twice more he pictured the ice, shaping it and directing it through the cone before he opened his eyes.

Jason didn’t stand, he just took a deep breath and released it slowly, felt the icy chill inside of him and formed a spear with his mind. He held his hand out, drawing that imaginary line between his body and the cone and then he let the magic go.

It struck the top of the cone, tipping it over and Clyde happily went to go stand it upright again while Bakari placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Now you’re getting the hang of it. That was better,” he said.

Jason nodded and did it again, and this time the ice went through the cone as well as knocking it over.

“Yes!” Jason yelled excitedly.

“Very good,” Bakari praised, giving Jason a smile.

That one small bit of praise made Jason’s eyes lit up and swirl, the flame inside of him coming alive for a moment. 

“Good job,” Clyde said, pleased with Jason’s progress as he fixed the cone again.

From that point on, Jason rarely missed the cone, and when he did, it was by inches, rather than feet and yards. They spent three hours on ice, shaping balls as well as spears, shaping darts and at one point Jason had gotten creative and even attempted a throwing star. Bakari had smiled at that while Clyde had chuckled. Both had pointed out that while excellent for a first attempt , it was too warped and lopsided to have an easy time finding its target. They promised he could practice them more when the need wasn’t so dire, but for now to focus on the easy things.

After ice they switched to fire, the element bringing out a shockingly aggressive and wild side of Jason’s personality.

“Be certain that you are wielding it, not allowing it to wield you,” Bakari cautioned.

“Is it always like this?” Clyde asked Bakari.

“For the young and untutored, yes. It’s our deadliest magic and our wildest because it is the one that can be unleashed on pure emotion, which is why we work so hard with the young ones to teach them to reel their tempers in.”

“We might need to do a little reeling ourselves,” Clyde pointed out as Jason fired fireball after fireball at a rapidly moving butterfly, trying to hit the tiny target and growing more frustrated by his efforts.

Bakari just chuckled and watched as Jason sat down for a third time to meditate, the second having help little once the fire had begun to flow.

“I think that he might need a more strenuous activity to burn all of that emotion off,” Bakari suggested.

“You have something in mind?” Clyde asked. 

Born moments before his parents crashed landed on Earth, Jason was raised in foster care. As soon as he was old enough, he packed his backpack and hit the road. Just him and his bike.

Now a jaded young man, living above a roadhouse diner and bar with several other misfits, he struggles to understand friendships, relationships, and the bonds of family.

Unbeknownst to Jason, other refugees from the planet Altiss also made it safely to Earth. After discovering Jason living as a human, they seek to safeguard him and his fledgling abilities.

As Jason’s powers begin to manifest, his mate arrives on earth looking to claim him. Ano ki stalks Jason, adding to the intensity of his new magic as seeks to gain Jason’s trust.

Fearing they will be dragged back to the planet they fled, the refugees prepare to do battle. In Jason, they believe they may have what is needed to tip the scales in their favor.

Left with no choice but to accept his heritage and learn to fight, Jason struggles with some harsh lessons about love and trust amidst a backdrop of battle and betrayal.

Roadhouse Reds can be found here!

Thursday Thirst Trap: From Painted Love...and not really safe for work...so...can we keep him?

 

Painted Love can be found here!

Snuggled to Daddy G’s chest, his head pressed against Cas’s, Mouse slowly noticed the changes in the room. It was cooler, for one, the warm sunbeams had retreated beyond the horizon line. The television played Project Runway, another of Garrett’s guilty pleasures. Cas watched him through bleary eyes, their noses inches apart from one another. Reaching up, Mouse slowly and decisively tapped Cas on the nose and grinned.

“I owed you one,” he whispered.

A smile stretched across Cas’s face as he leaned in until their lips were barely touching. “And I owe you something else.”

A lingering hint of cream and berries still lingered on Cas’s lips when Cas gently kissed him, though it was far too brief. When Cas started to pull away, Mouse leaned closer, deepening the kiss, and slipping a hand into Cas’s hair. It was silky soft and cool to the touch as it slid through his fingers. Cas let out the most delicious little moan as his fingers stroked along Mouse’s cheek. It was easy to get lost in one another again, as they had earlier in the day. This time, though, Daddy G was holding them as they made out. Every now and again he let out a low groan or whispered something about how hot they looked and how they were driving him out of his mind.

Mouse loved when Daddy G sounded that way, his voice all husky and half-wrecked with need, but he wouldn’t interrupt, that wasn’t his style. He'd wait and save up all that desire for when they were ready to surrender to him.

Cas looked dreamy-eyed as they inched apart. Mouse was certain he didn’t look any better. He could feel Daddy G stroking his hair and knew he was doing the same thing to Cassidy’s, but that wasn’t going to get them to what Mouse desperately wanted to see.

“Daddy….” Mouse began, sitting up a little more and smiling at him.

“Yes Mousy.”

“Will you do something for me?”

“What would you like me to do little one?”

“Kiss Cassidy.”

Garrett grinned, joy flashing like fireworks in his eyes. “With pleasure.”

As soon as Mouse had scooted off to the side, Daddy G turned Cas in his arms and gazed into his lust-blown eyes.

“You heard our little Mousy, he wants you to kiss me,” Daddy G murmured.

“Uh-uh, he wants you to kiss me.”

“Guess I’d better keep him happy then.”

“Yeah.”

Can’s voice was all breathy when he said that, and he flung his arms around Daddy G’s neck when their lips met. Little groans and grunts echoed from both as Daddy G manhandled Cas until Cassidy was straddling him.

“Mmm you taste good,” Daddy G groaned, licking over Cas’s lips before plundering his mouth again.

When he let go of Cas he kissed Mouse with all the heat and passion Mouse was used to from him. Since Cas was still in Daddy’s G’s lap, Mouse could kiss him too, until there came a point when all three tongues dueled in a fun dance of need and urgency.

“I love how alike you taste,” Daddy G commented as they all struggled to catch their breaths.

“’cause of you and those berries,” Cas murmured, rocking in Daddy G’s lap. Mouse was certain he’d intended the move to get him close enough to rest his head on Daddy G’s shoulder, but that wasn’t the response he got. Daddy G clasped both his hands on Cas’s ass and pulled him so close you couldn’t have slid a piece of paper between them.

Mouse sat eagerly waiting to see what would happen next.

“I don’t think you minded them one bit,” Daddy G replied, nipping Cas’s lip.

“Nope.”

“And how about this?”

With those words, Daddy G rocked Cas over his lap again, no doubt treating him to a feel of the thick cock that lay beneath Daddy G’s sleep pants.

The whine it produced, and the way Cas ground down against Daddy G’s lap, said more than any words he might have uttered. He was clearly enjoying the sensations it produced if how eager he kissed Daddy G was any indication.

“Love it,” Cas declared.

“And this?” Mouse whispered as he slid into Daddy G’s lap behind Cas and ran his hands up and down Cas’s chest. Groaning, Cas rocked forward against Daddy G, then backward, rubbing his ass against Mouse’s erection. The only problem with it all, as far as Mouse was concerned, was that they were all still fully clothed.

“Oh god,” Cas moaned. “You’re a tease.”

“It’s not teasing if I plan to do something about it,” Mouse declared.

“Yeah?” Cas groaned, shivering when Mouse pinched one of his nipples. “W-what?”

That last part ended in a whine as Daddy G chose that moment to nip the side of Cas’s neck.

“Well first, I think I’m gonna get rid of this,” Mouse murmured, tugging at the hem of Cas’s shirt. Cas raised his arms without needing to be told and held still while Mouse worked the shirt over his head and threw it somewhere behind him.

“Look at my pretty pets,” Daddy G said as he pressed Cas into Mouse’s arms so he could lean forward and lick a trail between Cas’s pecks.

Cas gasped and squirmed as Daddy G’s tongue sought out the places that tickled and the spots that left him writhing with need. All the while Mouse held him and played with his hair.

“I love the way he responds to you, Daddy,” Mouse said softly.

“I love the way he responds to both of us.”

“Does that mean we get to keep him?”

“If he wants us to.”

“Please keep me,” Cas pleaded, hooking one hand behind Mouse’s head so he could pull him into a scorching kiss.