EXCERPT: No Distance Left to Run

Title: No Distance Left to Run
Author: Aleksandr Voinov, L.A. Witt
Publisher: Samhain Publishing
Format: ebook, paperback

Excerpt:

The text from Deb wasn’t entirely out of the blue, but I always got nervous when I saw her name on my phone. With her father in fading health, no news was usually good news, so a message could mean anything.

Can we meet for lunch?

Well, that wasn’t too bad, then.

Sure. When?

I didn’t have to be at work for a few hours. She probably had a pretty short window between dropping the kids off at school and picking them up. While I waited for a response, I pulled up the traffic app and checked traffic between Seattle and the Eastside where she lived, which gave me something to do besides worry that she was going to tell me her dad’s condition had worsened. I hadn’t even seen much of the Hawthorne family since I’d left the Church, but they’d been like my second family when I was growing up.

She texted me back with the time and suggested a place on my side of Lake Washington. Convenient. Just in case we ran late—when didn’t we?—I put my work clothes in a bag and left them in the backseat of my car.

At twelve thirty on the nose, she pulled into the parking lot of one of those insanely healthy vegan cafés in Fremont, just outside of downtown Seattle. Hope you’re buying this time, I thought. Places like this were not cheap.

As soon as I saw her, my heart dropped. She always looked tired—six kids under seven will do that to you—but she was tense. Really tense. Nervous.

“Hey.” I hugged her gently. “You all right?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” She pulled back and plastered on a phony smile that was totally out of character for her. This wasn’t good.

“How’s your dad?” I asked quietly.

Deb straightened a bit, the smile faltering. “He’s not well, but that’s not why I’m here.” She gestured at the coffee shop. “Let’s go in and sit. I…need to talk to you about something.”

Yeah. Definitely not good.

“Deb.” I touched her arm. “Just tell me. Straight out.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think this is—”

“Please. No beating around the bush.”

She held my gaze for a moment and then swallowed hard. “It’s about my brother.”

Something twisted deep in my gut. She had four brothers, three of them still living. I cleared my throat. “Okay. Which one?”

Deb locked eyes with me, though it seemed to take a lot of effort. “Joshua.”

I winced and shifted my gaze away. “How in the world is this urgent, then?” Unless someone had found his body. At least then, maybe we could all have some closure, but God, his parents didn’t need—

“Chris.” When I met her eyes again, she whispered, “He’s alive.”

“What?” My knees buckled. I grabbed the side of her minivan and leaned hard against it. “How the hell… He’s alive?”

She smiled, but that nervous tension remained in her expression. “It’s a long story. I’ve…I’ve been back in contact with him for a while. Almost a year now, off and on.”

I could barely breathe. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because he didn’t want anyone to know.” She exhaled. “He knows people were hurt when he left.”

“Left?” I growled. “What do you mean he left?”

“Exactly that. He left.”

Left. I had a hard time trying to work out whether this was one of those horrible nice phrases, like “he passed away” or “he’s gone home to Jesus,” a pretty veneer for something awful, or whether she was really so blasé about it. Seeing the tension around her jaw, the second option looked a great deal unlikely. “Explain. Please?”

She tugged at my arm toward the café, and I got the hint and sighed.

We found a table—she’d selected a quiet corner—and then we went through the torturous process of ordering drinks while he left, he left echoed through my head.

When she leaned forward again, her eyes were all soft. “So, yes. Joshua left. That’s how he puts it.”

It was only really sinking in that he was alive. He could still do that. Use words. Give things names and descriptions. Something shifted in my chest, some kind of weight, or maybe grief, or maybe something else entirely. I wanted to strangle him, but this was only his sister, and she didn’t deserve that.

Deb went on. “Joshua reached out to me about a year ago. He found me on Facebook, of all places.” She leaned back when the waiter brought our coffees—decaf for her, of course—and ordered her superfood salad. I shook my head when the waiter asked me if I wanted anything. My stomach was too busy knotting and twisting.

“So, how is he?”

She drew up her shoulders. “Well enough, I think. I asked him to come home to make his peace with Dad.”

Another one of those pretty words. Whether the old man wanted to be made peace with was an entirely different matter, but we both knew that. Deb always believed in family and forgiveness. I wasn’t so sure about all that. I had precious little experience with happy family reunions.

“And?”

“He’s coming.”

My stomach was busy enough to tolerate the sip of coffee. No way could I have eaten anything now. “All right.”

“He’s arriving this evening at Sea-Tac.” She lifted her eyebrows.

Oh no. I’m not picking him up with you. No way.

I started to shake my head, but she reached across the table and put a hand on my arm. “He wants to see you. He’s here to make peace with our father, but…you’re the one he’s been talking about recently.”

“And after five years of thinking he’s dead, I’m supposed to show up at the airport with flowers and a smile?” I pulled my arm back. “No. Just…no. I can’t.”

“It doesn’t have to be tonight. He’ll probably need to rest and settle in anyway. I’m sure he’ll be jetlagged, and…” She trailed off, then lowered her gaze and picked up her coffee.

“Jetlagged.” I tilted my head. “Where exactly is he coming from?”

Deb took a sip of coffee, rolling it around for a moment before she set it back down. “France.”

I blinked. “France? What in the…” I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Last I heard, he was missing and presumed dead. Now he’s alive and flying in from France?” I sat up. “What is going on?”

She took a deep breath. Folding her hands on the table, she met my eyes, her expression taut and stoic like it probably was whenever she had to explain something difficult to one of her children. “When he disappeared from his mission, it was because he left. He just…left. He wasn’t kidnapped or killed or anything like that. He left, he changed his name, and he joined the French Foreign Legion.”

I stared at her, waiting for the punch line. That was not the Joshua I knew. Not even close. He was the straight-A student, the track star, the football star, the everything-he-ever-did star. The first-chair trumpet player and promising business student who’d locked in a full-ride scholarship to Brigham Young, only to have his life tragically cut short during his two-year mission. People like that grew up to be CEOs. Or bishops. Or senators. They didn’t just up and walk away from everything to join the…

“The French Foreign Legion. You’re serious.”

Deb nodded. “I didn’t believe it either, but then I could barely believe he was alive until I talked to him.”

The words thumped against my chest. “You’ve actually talked to him? Like, on the phone?”

She nodded again.

So he was alive. His sister would have known if he was an imposter or a scam artist. If she’d spoken to him and still believed him, then he really was alive.

Laughing softly, she said, “He sounds a lot different now. I mean, it’s his voice. I knew it was him the moment I answered the phone.”

“Then how is he different?”

“He’s got an accent now. French, I guess. His English was actually a little rough.”

I struggled to imagine Mr. Class President, he of the eloquent speeches even in high school, having any difficulty with the English language. “But you’re sure it was him.”

Her laughter vanished, and she nodded slowly. “Absolutely. Chris, I wouldn’t lie to you. Not about this. Joshua is alive.”

Something shifted again in my chest. Like every damn organ I possessed. Maybe her relief or her love for her brother—some of that translated itself to me, though I didn’t want it to. I’d mourned him for so long that hearing he was alive was actually painful. But the whole story seemed unbelievable at the same time, exotic and strange and so not Joshua. I wanted to see him. And I never wanted to see him again. All this was half a dream and half Careful what you wish for. Alive. And soon back home.

“What else…did he say?”

“He mostly asked about the family, but he didn’t say much more apart from what I told you. He seemed to be really…I don’t know. Relaxed? About some things? Laid back?”

“Really?”

“Well, I asked him what he was going to do if he decides to get out, and he said, ‘Something will come up’.” She shook her head. “Like it didn’t matter and like he wasn’t worried at all.”

Not like Joshua either. I wouldn’t exactly call him a control freak, but he liked his plans and his schedules, and he was usually extremely well prepared. A shrugged God will provide attitude was out of character for him.

“Where is he staying?”

“He didn’t say. I offered, but maybe my house is a bit too busy. Can’t have him overdose on family right away.” She smiled a little. “I’ll let him recover from the trip before I introduce him to the other kids.”

Five years. Good heavens. He didn’t know most of her kids. She’d been pregnant with the third and fourth when he’d allegedly died, and there’d been two more since then. His own family was full of strangers now.

And maybe it was wise to give him some space. He’d bolted once—though the why was what really interested me. The Legion? What kind of harebrained idea was that? Who ran away from home—or a mission, for God’s sake—and joined the Legion?

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “When are you going to pick him up?”

“At seven.”

Her face was all open and inviting. Somehow, she managed to put the possibility out there in the room without applying pressure or guilt-tripping me. Then again, there was no guilt to trip over. If anybody, that was Joshua’s role.

“International flight? He might be delayed.”

“I think it’s a connecting flight.”

So epic possibilities for delays and other clusterfucks.

I sucked on my teeth for a moment. Though, how bad could it be?

Pretty damn bad. You could try to punch him, and you both get arrested.

“I could wait with you.”

She smiled and reached over the table to touch my hand. “Thank you, Chris. I’m sure it’ll mean the world to him.”

Unless I punch him. Bastard.

EXCERPT: General Misconduct

Title: General Misconduct
Author: L.A. Witt
Publisher: Samhain Publishing
Format: ebook, paperback

Excerpt:

“Go hike to Hiji Falls this weekend,” MA1 Randall had said in the emergency room on Friday night. “Take some pictures. Post them on Facebook. Make a few offhand comments about the rocks being slick, and you fell and busted your ass.”

“Or my face?” I’d asked dryly.

He’d shrugged. “The rocks are slick, and it’s steep. Trust me, it can be done.”

I hadn’t gone anywhere on Saturday. Partly sleeping off the long night, partly not wanting to venture outside the safety of my apartment. This morning, though, I decided I should put Randall’s advice to good use before I went back to work tomorrow.

Parked in front of the half-translated sign at the trailhead, I glanced at myself in the rearview. The bandage over my eyebrow and the welt on my cheekbone glared back. From this angle, I couldn’t see the mark on my throat, but it throbbed enough to keep me aware of it. Every time I moved my hand, the raw skin on my knuckles burned. Skepticism swelled in my gut. Would anyone really buy that all this shit had happened in anything less than a fight?

Hopefully, they would. And if my dignity had to take a hit so my career didn’t end before it had begun, then so be it.

I sighed and got out of my car.

Though it was still early in the day, the Okinawan heat and humidity were already in full swing. Seemed like a good day to hit the beach and maybe try my hand at snorkeling instead of hiking, but the stitches above my eyebrow begged to differ.

“Keep it clean and dry,” the doc had emphatically said before discharging me.

Hiking it was.

Technically, I didn’t have to go to Hiji Falls. There were any number of places around the island where I could spend the day and then post on Facebook that I’d busted my ass on some rocks.

But I was rattled and didn’t have it in me to think of some other destination besides the one the cop had recommended. That, and I was still terrified of someone finding out what had really happened, and on some irrational level, I’d convinced myself that following his instructions to the letter would keep my secret on the down-low where it belonged. Trust the Naval Academy to beat that into my skull.

I started up the trail. I’d heard the kilometer-long hike to Hiji was a steep one, and it lived up to legend. The short stretch from the parking area to the trailhead was good and flat, but then it inclined sharply as it led into the thick forest.

I barely noticed the scenery. My legs burned as I followed the shady trail—and endless staircases—up and down steep slopes and around sharp bends and switchbacks, but my mind was a million miles away.

Friday night shouldn’t have happened the way it did. The warning signs had been there from the get-go. Glenn was drunk and so was I, but I’d been coherent. He’d been a little too pushy, a little too in my space, and no amount of haven’t-been-laid-in-too-damned-long should have blinded me to those red flags.

Idiot that I was, I’d left Palace Habu with him, and that was when things had gone downhill.

“Why don’t we grab a cab and go back to my place?”

“Uh, actually I’d— Let go of my arm.”

“Let’s go.”

“Let’s not.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was in the back of a cab on my way to the hospital at Camp Lester with a handful of cocktail napkins pressed against the cut above my eyebrow that would not stop bleeding. Freaked out. Rattled. Mind full of all the things that could have happened to me if I hadn’t landed that punch just right, if I hadn’t managed to knock him back long enough to get up and bolt for the end of the alley.

Today, that panic lingered beneath my skin, and God knew I’d spent all of yesterday and last night obsessing over every way things could have happened, scaring myself shitless with all kinds of possibilities, but as I walked down the narrow path toward Hiji Falls, the fear was mostly gone. Now I was angry. Fucking furious.

Not just at Glenn, but at myself.

I was a goddamned second-degree black belt. I had titles in kickboxing and jiu-jitsu. Gold fucking medals, and not just at local competitions. I didn’t get my ass handed to me.

Grinding my teeth, I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my shorts, brushing my raw knuckles on the seam. I walked faster, as if I could march the fear and anger right out of myself.

My dad had put me in martial arts when I was a kid. The minute he suspected I was gay, he’d enrolled me in every form of self-defense imaginable because he’d been scared to death someone would try to beat me up when they found out. Whether or not it had been necessary was debatable. All I knew was the first time someone took a swing at me, I was fourteen, and no one who heard about that incident ever tried anything after that, no matter how they felt about gays.

And then the first time someone really threatened me, someone who intended to do God only knew what once he overpowered me, I’d just barely gotten away from him.

How fucking ironic. My dad had made sure I was extensively trained so I could protect myself from homophobes, and the one who finally bloodied my knuckles and split my eyebrow was another damned gay man.

A chill beneath my skin made me shudder, and I broke out in goose bumps in spite of the heat. Continuing down a flat, winding stretch of trail, I alternated between being on the verge of tears—from shame and fear—and wanting to punch something. My pride was as busted up as my face and my hand, but it wasn’t just that. The guy scared me. He did. I couldn’t pretend he didn’t. I’d had training, but so had he. Even the cockiest black belt doesn’t take his own skills for granted against a Marine, and even drunk, that Marine had gotten me flat on my back on the pavement.

All the way up the trail, as it rose and fell and took me deeper into the forest, I couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened the other night. What all too easily could have happened.

And then what? Was I really going to broadcast to everyone in my chain of command that I’d been in a gay bar on Gate Two Street? Everybody knew the clubs on Gate Two Street could be sketchy, especially the ones down back alleys.

Even if we hadn’t met in one of those clubs, I suspected Glenn had the upper hand if our chains of command got involved. He had had just enough lines on his face and gray in his buzz cut to suggest he had a good fifteen years or more on me. Older men were fine and good, but an older American man on this island meant he was stationed here, which meant if he was an officer, he outranked the shit out of me. Even if he was enlisted, he’d have almost an entire career’s worth of credibility over an ensign straight out of the academy. Yeah, maybe I could take his career down with allegations of assault—sexual or otherwise—but that didn’t mean mine wouldn’t go down with his.

I shook my head and kept walking.

Up ahead, a laminated piece of white paper nailed to a post caught my eye. It was in English, so I stopped to read it.

Call Point: This is the place where the electric wave of the mobile phone reaches.

I pulled out my cell phone. Sure enough, I had a few bars. From here on out, I guessed, that wouldn’t be the case.

Eyeing the trail ahead of me, I couldn’t help feeling a little nervous about moving out into a cell phone dead zone. Glenn was probably sleeping off a hangover somewhere, maybe icing his lip or something, but part of me was sure that the second I lost my ability to call for help, he’d be right there waiting for me around the next bend.

Aiden. For Christ’s sake. Just keep going.

I closed my eyes. My sensei had taught me a dozen ways to center myself, to calm myself, and I applied them one after the other. Breathing. Concentrating.

When I opened my eyes again, Glenn was still lurking in the shadows, but the irrational panic was under control. I rolled my shoulders a few times and continued past the sign.

In an effort to ignore Glenn, I tried to concentrate on the scenery. To my surprise, I started to relax a little. It was hard to stay tense and stressed in an environment like this once I actually let myself take it all in. Though the tropical sun was brutal today, the thick canopy of branches and leaves kept the trail comfortably shaded. Beside the trail, a narrow creek wound lazily between trees and boulders, which added a nice backdrop to all the birds singing—or shrieking, in some cases—above me.

The narrow trail had been painstakingly kept, the edges manicured and the staircases well-repaired, which was a nice switch from some of the places I’d hiked back in the States. Nothing wrecked a great hike like twisting an ankle on a rotted step. Though I supposed it would add some credibility to my cover story.

A few other hikers passed me on their way back down. Not a single American among them, but I supposed that wasn’t a surprise. Commander Connelly and some of the other guys in the office had mentioned that Americans weren’t prone to leaving the bases. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to stay on base all the time. If I wanted to be contained in a small area, I’d have requested orders to a damned ship.

The falls were close. The deep creek beside the trail ran faster and with more force, and the distinctive sound of crashing, rushing water was louder with every bend in the trail. The closer I got to the falls, the more aware I was of the sweat and humidity dampening my skin and the fierce heat gnawing on the back of my neck. A dozen signs at the beginning of the trail had warned against swimming up here, but I was pretty sure I could be forgiven for bending—okay, breaking—a few rules when it was this hot.

At the very least, I was taking off my boots and putting my feet in the water. Just the thought of that made me feel cooler all over. Whether my cover story ended up holding water—so to speak—or not, this hike had been a damned good idea. I felt better. A lot better. Glenn wasn’t here, I wasn’t in any danger, and this environment had shaken some of the stress out of me, replacing the tension with a satisfying ache of muscles having to work.

The trail went up again, and then started down, and there were the falls. Gorgeous white water spilled over moss-covered rocks and into a wide pool.

And that was when I saw the most gorgeous set of shirtless shoulders I’d ever seen.

The guy was swimming on the other side of a No Swimming sign. Well, not really swimming. More like wading. In the water, anyway, in spite of the emphatic cartoon characters warning of snakes, slick rocks, falling stones and whatever other dangers lurked up here.

His back was to me, which gave me the most jaw-dropping view of those broad, wet shoulders. His soaked black shorts held on to his hips and ass just right. Tall, lanky—no way in hell he was much older than me.

He straightened a little and slowly turned around.

Oh. My God.

Definitely not older than me. Probably a few years younger, actually. Twenty, twenty-one tops. Even from here, as I came down the trail on legs that were suddenly not terribly steady, his blue eyes were…disarming.

As far as I could tell, he was American—definitely not Japanese—but there was no way he was military. Not unless he was at least a couple of weeks into some extended leave. His dark hair was too long, the ends curling at the base of his neck.

I stopped at the end of the trail, standing between a couple of rocks near the fence at the edge of the pool. He was maybe ten feet away now, close enough I could see droplets of water sliding down the grooves in his lean, smooth muscles. There was a little bit of dark hair plastered against his chest and his tanned arms, but not a lot.

And he was looking right back at me, eyes locked on mine.

“Hi.” I smiled, hoping he’d buy that it was the heat and the hike that had turned my cheeks as red as I was sure they were.

“Hi.” He returned the smile. “Another brave one bests the trail and the snakes and makes it to the top.”

I laughed. “I didn’t see any snakes. Did you?”

“Not this time.” His lips quirked. “Were you watching the ground?”

“Where else would I look?”

He gestured above my head. “They hang out in the trees during the day.”

Slowly, I lifted my gaze. There weren’t any low-hanging branches right here, thank God, but I realized the trail had been shaded almost the entire way. And here I’d been worried about a drunk Marine jumping out at me. “Oh. Awesome. Glad someone mentioned that.”

Laughing, the guy in the water waded closer. “Just messing with you. They do hang in the trees, but I’ve been up here a million times and never seen one.”

“You ever seen one at all?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “You do enough hiking, you’re going to sooner or later. But as long as they’re coiled up in the trees, you’re fine. They come at you in the grass, they’ll ruin your day.”

“So, watching the ground…is a good idea?”

“Always. But, you know, keep an eye on the trees.” He rested his hip against a boulder. “Nice hike, isn’t it?”

Truth be told, I don’t remember.

“It’s a nice trail.” I glanced back at the visible twist of rocks and stairs. “I’ve definitely hiked worse.”

“Recently?” He arched an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

He gestured at his face, and I was suddenly hyperaware of the bandages and marks on my face. More heat rushed into my cheeks, and I dropped my gaze. “Oh. That.”

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I…didn’t realize it…”

“Don’t worry about it.” I waved a hand and looked him in the eye. “It’s a long story.”

Awkward silence in three…two…

“You going to get in the water?” He motioned at the enticing pool.

“I, um…” I glanced at the No Swimming or Wading sign.

“Don’t worry about that.” He gestured dismissively. “Seriously, nobody cares.”

It wasn’t that I was worried about the sign and anyone who might happen along to enforce it. I’d already planned on getting in the water anyway. I just hadn’t banked on getting into the same water as someone who was making my legs shake worse than the hilly kilometer I’d just hiked.

Just get in the water, idiot.

I untied the laces and slipped off my boots. Then I emptied my pockets, leaving my car keys and wallet inside one of my boots. I started to pull off my shirt but hesitated. Though the trail was shaded, there was plenty of sunlight up here, and I’d forgotten to pack any sunscreen.

So I left my shirt on. I lifted one of the ropes, ducked under it, and stepped into the water.

And immediately pulled my foot back. “Shit.”

He laughed. “Cold?”

“Just a bit.” I tried again, dipping my toe in. Then my whole foot. A little at a time, I eased into the water, and by the time I was in up to my knees, I’d adapted to the cold. After the hike to get up here, it felt great.

After I’d waded a little deeper, I scooped some water into my hands, ignoring the way my raw knuckles burned, and leaned down to pour it over the back of my neck. As much as I wanted to splash it on my face, the doc had been pretty emphatic about keeping the stitches clean and dry. Given the microbes that could be lurking in river water…

Though I’d probably already invited those in via the cuts on my knuckles, but whatever.

I turned toward him. “Man, my legs are tired already. You wouldn’t think that hike would be that tough. It’s not even a mile.”

“Except it’s all up and down, up and down.” He made a gesture like a roller coaster. “We should all be glad it’s not even a mile.”

I laughed. “No kidding.” Legs still in the water, I sat on one of the rocks and looked up at the falls. “Wow, this really is amazing.”

“It is.” He turned to me. “This your first time up here?”

I nodded. “I haven’t been on the island long.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Just transferred here recently. How long have you been here? On Okinawa, I mean. Not”—I gestured at the falls—“here.”

“A few years.” He extended his hand. “Name’s Connor, by the way.”

“Aiden.”

His hand was cool and damp from the water, but still hot from his body heat. As we shook hands, our eyes met, and they locked, and…fuck. Wow, he really was hot. Especially up close. Those blue eyes were unreal.

I released his hand, and as we both sat back, he gave me the oddest little smile, one that seemed caught somewhere between shy and cocky. Before I could figure out which, he broke eye contact and busied himself leaning over to scoop some water onto his arms. It was hard to tell, but I thought his cheeks might’ve turned pink.

“So do you come up here a lot?” I asked.

“Every now and then.” Connor splashed some more water onto his arms and then leaned back against the rock. “It’s one of my favorite places on the island.”

“I can see why. Where else do you like to go?”

“You can’t really go wrong on this rock. I’ve been to all the castles, the outlying islands, the good snorkel spots.” He shrugged. “Just depends on what you’re into, I guess.”

“Do you dive?”

“I tried.” Connor tapped just below his temple. “It bugs my ears.”

“Damn.”

“Tell me about it. There’s some awesome places to snorkel here. I’ll bet diving would be even better.”

“Well, I’ve never even snorkeled.”

“Really?”

“Really.” I mirrored his earlier motions, leaning down and scooping some water—holy fuck, that stung my knuckles—onto my arms to cool myself off. “Any good spots?”

“I haven’t found a bad spot here. Though I did stop snorkeling off Kadena Marina after I realized it’s right next to a sewage treatment plant.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “I don’t know if they actually dump anything in the water, and it all looks pretty clean and clear, but…no way I’m putting my face in that water.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Other than that, though, you can pretty much pull off the road anywhere, jump in the water, and see all kinds of cool shit. Just, you know, watch for jellyfish.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.” I sat back against the rock and, without thinking about it, propped my foot up on the other rock…just inches from his leg.

He glanced down, and that odd smile came back to life as he looked at me again. There was no casually pulling my leg back and pretending it had never happened, so I just kept it against the rock.

Clearing my throat, I broke eye contact. “You had any problems with jellyfish when you’ve snorkeled?”

“Not the box jellyfish. Never even seen one, knock on wood.”

I lifted my gaze. “Are there others?”

Connor nodded. “Buddy of mine got stung in the face by one of the red ones. Those fuckers won’t kill you, but, man, they will ruin your day.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. Watch out for them. They’re red and about this big.” He held his hands up about a football’s width apart. “Nasty fuckers.”

“Good to know.”

Silence fell between us. My foot was still on the rock next to him. He was still fucking with my pulse just by existing. I had no idea if he was gay, straight or just a goddamned figment of my sex-deprived imagination, and what to say next was completely lost on me.

Fortunately, Connor spoke first. “Listen, um…” He paused, gnawing his lower lip. “There’s a place not far from here, maybe an hour once you get back to the main drag. Some of the most amazing pizza on the island. You, um, want to grab a bite?”

In spite of this unbelievable attraction, my first instinct was to back away and quickly decline, but this wasn’t some drunk Marine trying to coax me into a dark corner. Connor was as nonthreatening as a man could be. And so, so gorgeous.

I smiled. “Sure. Why not?”

EXCERPT: The Best Man

Title: The Best Man (2nd Edition)
Author: L.A. Witt
Format: ebook

Excerpt:

Chapter 1 

Any minute now, Craig would be here.

Chewing my thumbnail and fidgeting on the couch, I stared at the front door and waited. Less than an hour had passed since my ex-boyfriend had called to say he needed to talk to me, but the atmosphere in my apartment had a strange emptiness about it, as if he’d already come and gone, leaving only an echo of his presence and whatever he’d come to say. Not unlike the night he left.

I picked my water bottle up off the coffee table and took a drink, then played with the cap, spinning it one way, then the other, then back, just to give my hands something to do. Over and over I tried to tell myself there was no point in getting this wound up over a conversation that hadn’t happened yet. It could be about anything. We were still friends. We still talked and hung out.

But really, I was kidding myself. Craig could handle all but the most serious conversations by phone, yet he’d insisted on meeting in person. And it couldn’t wait.

Maybe he was having problems with his girlfriend again and needed advice. At that thought, I clenched my jaw. It shouldn’t have bothered me that my ex was with a woman now, but it did. I guess on some strange level, the fact that he had a girlfriend put him that much farther out of my reach. A new boyfriend left me a little glimmer of hope that I still had a fighting chance in the future. Craig’s relationship with her gave our split a kind of resonating permanence, an implicit “This is how far I’ve moved on from you.”

Ah, the joys of being with a bisexual man. I wondered if the girlfriend before me had felt the same way when she’d found out about us.

The sharp three-beat knock made me sit up so fast I nearly dropped my water bottle. I recovered, set the bottle on the coffee table, and went to the door, all the while trying to convince myself one last time that there was no reason to worry. He just wanted to talk. It didn’t mean it was anything bad, or that this was going to hurt.

But when I opened the door, my heart went into my throat.

The look on his face did nothing to ease my nerves. It was the same apologetic expression—eyebrows pulled together above wide eyes, lips thinned into a grimace that was almost painful, three worried lines creasing his forehead—he’d had when he’d come to tell me he was leaving.

My stomach did a somersault, but I smiled through it and waved him in. He didn’t look at or speak to me as he came in, and in fact shrank away from me slightly as he moved past. It instantly made me miss the time when he couldn’t walk by me without at least some sort of affectionate contact. I shook my head as I pushed those thoughts back and followed him into the living room.

He stopped and stood with his back to me, hands in his pockets, shifting his weight. Making no move to sit. Probably not planning to stay long. Then he turned and faced me, but scratched the back of his neck and looked at the floor.

And still the silence lingered.

Finally, I said, “You wanted to talk?”

His eyes flicked up and met mine. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He sank onto the sofa, the muffled squeak of leather creating a mix of relief and apprehension in my gut. He was planning to stay for a while. Whatever he came to talk about, he didn’t expect it to be over in a few short minutes.

He steepled his fingers in front of his lips and rested his elbows on his knees, brow knitting again as he focused on my coffee table.

I was too wound up to sit, so I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the wall. He glanced up at me, then his eyes shifted slightly to my left. His cheeks darkening, he dropped his gaze again.

“I’m surprised you still have that thing on the wall,” he said quietly.

I looked at the painting that hung above the television. One of his paintings. I shrugged. “I guess I just got used to it being there. Left it up there out of habit.”

His eyes met mine and I knew he saw right through me, but he didn’t press the issue. We’d had this conversation a hundred times before, and I’d more or less convinced him that I would get over him when I got over him.

“I don’t imagine you came all the way across town to discuss my living room décor,” I said.

His chin rested on his hands, which were now folded loosely, and he lowered his eyes again. “No, I didn’t.”

I shifted my weight slightly, “So, what—”

“Rebecca and I are getting married.”

He couldn’t have knocked more air out of my lungs if he’d punched me in the chest. I recovered as quickly as I could and cleared my throat. “Wow, that’s…uh. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I asked her the other night.” He laughed softly. “Still kind of weird to even say it. Me. Getting married.” Shaking his head, he added, “Who knew?”

Yeah. Who knew?

He wrung his hands. “Are you,” he paused. “Are you okay with this?”

“Craig, why wouldn’t I be?” Besides the fact that I would kill for even one more night with you. “I want you to be happy.” I just wish you could still be happy with me.

He eyed me. “You know what I mean, Jon.”

“Yes, you’re right, I do.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “And I’m fine with it.”

He regarded me silently for a moment. Then he stared at his hands. “There’s…” He hesitated. “There’s one more thing.”

This should be good. I raised my eyebrows. “Okay?”

“I want you to be my best man.”

I was wrong. There was still some air left for him to knock out of my lungs. “You—” I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Craig avoided my eyes. “Look, I know it’s an odd thing to ask, given—” He pursed his lips and finally looked at me. “Given our history. But Jon, you’re my closest friend. I’ll understand if you can’t, but…”

“What does Rebecca think of this?” She wasn’t particularly fond of me anyway, nor did she care for the fact that Craig and I were still close friends.

He shook his head. “I haven’t told her yet.”

“Don’t you think you should mention it to her? Given that it’s her wedding too?”

“I wanted to talk to you about it first. See if you were even willing to do it before I took the time to argue with her about it.”

I shifted my weight again. “So you don’t think she’ll be thrilled about it.”

“Probably not.” He shrugged. “Not at first, anyway. You know how she is.”

“Yes, I do,” I said. “But expecting her to be okay with your ex-boyfriend as your best man? Don’t you think that’s asking a bit much?”

Craig waved a hand. “Let me deal with her. What I want to know is if you’re okay with it. If you’re not, I’ll ask someone else, but Jon, I want you to be my best man.”

Chewing my lip, I stared at the floor. Though there was very little I wouldn’t do for Craig, I had to admit, this was pushing it. I wouldn’t miss his wedding for the world, but I wasn’t sure I could stand beside him with Rebecca’s ring in my pocket and pretend it wasn’t killing me.

“Jon?”

I leaned one shoulder against the wall in an effort to look as casual and relaxed as I didn’t feel. “I’m flattered, but…” I licked my lips. “Do you need an answer right now?”

“No, of course not.”

“Have you set a date yet?”

“Not yet. We’re going to talk it over tonight after she gets home. Probably a few months out, at least.”

I chuckled. “Not going to rush into it, are you?”

His eyebrow lifted and the slight twist of his mouth made me wonder if I’d crossed a line. “Look, I know she and I haven’t been together long—”

“Craig.” I put my hand up. “I’m not questioning you. If you know she’s the one you want to be with…” I shrugged. “Then I’m happy for you.”

“But you think I’m moving too fast with her.” It wasn’t a question.

I swallowed. “There’s no way I can answer that without sounding like I’m either patronizing you or trying to talk you out of it for my own gain.”

He cocked his head. “Indulge me.” His flat, low tone sounded all too familiar. It held the same undercurrent of annoyance that it always did when he wanted to pick a fight.

I sighed. “Craig, I didn’t mean anything by it, it’s—”

“Just tell me.”

Are you humoring me or daring me? I let out a breath. Oh, what the hell? What are you going to do? Leave me? “Look, I’m saying this as your friend, not your ex-boyfriend.”

He said nothing, but gestured for me to continue.

My eyes fixed on the coffee table instead of him. “Are you sure you’re not rushing into this?”

He hesitated for a split second, but that fleeting silence spoke volumes. “Yes, I am.”

I looked him in the eye. “After four months?”

“Listen, I know we haven’t been together long, but I know she’s the one for me.”

“Craig, it took you two fucking years to figure out I wasn’t the one for you.” My chest tightened as the words came out before I could stop them.

He looked away, setting his jaw. “You and I both knew a long, long time ago that we weren’t right for each other.”

“Speak for yourself,” I said through my teeth.

His expression was still calm, but his fingers folded so tightly that his knuckles blanched. “So now who am I talking to? My friend, or my ex-boyfriend?”

Letting out a breath, I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go there, it’s—”

“I know, it’s a raw nerve,” he said, his tone soft. “Which is why I’ll understand if you don’t want—”

“It’s not that. This has nothing to do with being your best man or not.” Oh, what an ironic title for an ex-boyfriend. “My feelings are what they are. But, I’m serious. Asking as your friend, who really does want to see you happy, are you sure you’re not rushing into this?”

He rested his chin on his folded hands again. “Honestly, I’ve known from the day I met her that this was coming.” Before I could speak, Craig stood and started toward me. “Jon, I know it seems like I’m moving fast with her, but I know she’s the one for me.”

Why wasn’t I?

“Then if you’re sure about it, I’m happy for you.”

He nodded, but didn’t smile. “What about you?”

I blinked. “I just said, I’m happy for you.”

“No, I mean, are you happy? Not about me, just, in general?”

My shoulders dropped and so did my gaze. “I’m getting there.”

“That sounds like a no.”

“Craig, I’m fine,” I said. “Honestly. I just, I take a little more time than you do to move past things.” I met his gaze and gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

He said nothing for a long moment, but then he finally spoke. “Have you gone out? Met anyone?”

“I’ve been out a little,” I lied. “Just haven’t met anyone worth mentioning.”

The slight raise of his eyebrow told me that, as always, he saw right through me. “You know, even if you’re not ready for something serious, maybe it would do you good to meet some new guys. Get laid. Something.”

I rolled my eyes. “I think I’ll manage.”

“I’m serious, Jon, I—”

“Craig.” I put my hands up. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

His voice softened. “You know I do, though.”

“I know. I know. But you’ve got a wedding to plan and a lot of things on your plate.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I worry about you. I want you to be happy, too.”

Then come back. “I will be. I just need more time to get there than you.”

He went quiet. I had a feeling he wasn’t convinced, that he was just trying to decide whether or not to push the issue. After a moment, he said, “I didn’t realize you were still having such a hard time with it.”

“I’m better than I was.”

He nodded, but didn’t look at me. “You know I didn’t do it to hurt—”

“Craig.” I put my hands up again. “We’ve been over this. You did what you had to do, and I’ll deal with it in my own time.”

Looking at the floor, he put his hands in his jacket pockets. “If being part of the wedding is too much, I’ll understand.”

It is. You don’t even know, Craig. But I couldn’t stomach the idea of sending him into his marriage thinking that I was still this torn up over him, even if I was. If I could stand up there at the altar with him, then he would know that I was at peace with it.

Even if I wasn’t.

“If you want me to be your best man…” I paused to wet my parched lips. “Then I will.”

He searched my eyes. I very nearly reached for his arm, just to silently reassure him, but it would be too tempting to hold on.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

His eyes repeated the question and my smile repeated my answer.

“Okay.” He gave a sharp nod and blew out a breath. “I’ll bring it up to Rebecca tonight.”

I chuckled. “Good luck with that.”

He laughed. “She’ll be fine with it.”

“Eventually.”

“Right.” He squared his shoulders, cocking his head to one side, then the other, as if loosening a kink. “I’d better go. Traffic’s going to be a bitch if I wait much longer.”

Forcing a smile, I nodded. “Congratulations again.”

“Thanks.” Craig’s smile seemed only marginally more genuine than my own. We were silent for a moment before he started toward the front door. I followed, hooking my thumbs in the belt loops of my jeans just to give my hands something to do besides reach for him.

He opened the door and started to step out, but stopped. I rested my forearm on the doorframe, watching him, wondering what was on the tip of his tongue that made his brow furrow like that.

He turned to leave and I thought he’d decided to let his thought go, but he paused again and looked over his shoulder. “Jon, promise me something.”

“What?”

Meeting my eyes, he barely whispered, “You’ll at least try to make yourself happy.”

I was happy with— “I’ll try.”

He looked at me for a moment, then nodded and continued down the hall. I closed the door before he was out of sight. He’d been to my apartment plenty of times since we’d split, but I still couldn’t bring myself to watch him turn that corner at the end of the hall again.

I leaned against the door and released a long breath.

He was absolutely right. I needed to move on. In the six months since he’d left, I hadn’t met anyone at all. Hadn’t felt the need.

Tonight, though, in the wake of his announcement that he was farther than ever out of my reach, I needed to get out of the house and meet some people.

I went into the bedroom to change clothes.

Chapter 2

Walking through the front door of Wilde’s was like stepping into another world.

Seattle was blessed with numerous gay and gay-friendly clubs, and Wilde’s was one of the somewhat higher brow places: Live music, top shelf liquor, a strict dress code, low lighting everywhere except the dance floor. It was relaxed, but swanky, with leather booths and bow-tied bartenders. The music was just loud enough to warrant getting extra close to someone to talk, but not enough to leave a person’s ears ringing after they left.

Gulping back my nerves, I paid the cover and checked my coat. The atmosphere here was just subdued enough to keep me from shying away. This whole thing was intimidating enough without blasting music and wild lighting to assault the senses. Walking through the crowd, I couldn’t recall ever feeling quite so out of place. So lost.

A few times, I considered backing out and heading home, but since staying here meant not spending the evening at home pining over Craig, I convinced myself to face an intimidating night out on the prowl.

On the prowl. Christ, I don’t even know what I’m looking for.

A knot twisted in my gut as I headed for the bar for a little courage on the rocks. It was entirely too soon to even think about a relationship, so if I met anyone tonight, it was either casual sex or friendship. Glancing around at the guys getting close on the dance floor and even closer in booths, friendship was pretty much off the menu in a place like this.

I had never been particularly promiscuous. I wasn’t against casual sex on principle, it had just never been my thing. Craig had often ribbed me about being a serial monogamist, and maybe he was right.

But tonight, I told myself as I took one of the available bar stools, I would just see what happened.

A bartender materialized in front of me. “What can I get you?”

I gave the top shelf selections a glance to see if anything sounded good, then went for my usual. “Jack and Coke.”

He nodded and went about mixing it as I pulled my wallet out. I took my drink and he took the cash, and then I turned my bar stool enough to give me a wide view of the club and its patrons.

The place was crawling with attractive men, some of whom caught my eye and exchanged smiles—even suggestive grins—with me. But I didn’t know where to start.

Hi, I’m Jon, care for a fuck?

My name’s Jon. I’m emotionally fucked in the head right now but wouldn’t mind a roll in the hay.

I shuddered. This was just not me. What the hell was I doing? What was I thinking?

Maybe this was a bad idea. Oh well. At least I’m out of the house for once.

Sighing, I turned back around to face the bar, and my breath caught in my throat.

Leaning casually against the counter below the top shelf bottles was a different bartender. Even the club’s dim light didn’t detract from his striking, pale green eyes, and I couldn’t look away from him if I wanted to. He didn’t seem to mind the fact that I was staring, though. After all, he was looking right at me.

When I could finally look somewhere other than his eyes, I wasn’t disappointed.

The tux shirt perfectly emphasized his broad chest and shoulders, while the black cummerbund subtly drew my attention to his narrow hips. It seemed that everyone else on staff in this club was clean-shaven, but stubble heavily shadowed his angular jaw. Still, he didn’t seem out of place. He had a kind of classy, dignified air about him that let him get away with not shaving, even with a tux shirt and bowtie. As he wiped down a rocks glass with a white towel, I noticed then that his sleeves were unbuttoned and pushed partway up his toned forearms. He must have had some seniority if he could show up unshaven and with his sleeves rolled up so casually.

“Refill?” He nodded toward my empty glass.

“Uh, yeah, how about—” I looked down at my glass, trying to remember what the hell I’d been drinking.

“Jack and Coke?”

“How did you know?”

He smiled as he set the rocks glass down and dropped some ice into it. “I saw Zach pouring the first one. Figured you were a creature of habit.”

“Perceptive.” I folded my arms on the bar and leaned on them. “Anything else you figured out about me while I wasn’t looking?”

“Well,” he said, pouring what looked like more than a single shot of Jack Daniels into the glass, “I’m guessing you’re either new in town or newly single.”

My eyebrows jumped. The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement and he finished making my drink. When he set it on the bar, I started to pull a five out of my wallet, but he held up his hand.

“On the house.”

“Is the psychic reading free, too?”

He laughed. “The drink’s on me. As for the psychic reading, the only charge for that is that you might have to put up with my lack of conversation skills for a few more minutes.”

“I haven’t noticed anything lacking so far.” I lifted my glass.

“Likewise,” he said with a wink.

My cheeks burned and a second later, so did my throat. I was right, he definitely put more than a single shot of Jack into the drink. Just the way I liked it.

“So, what makes you think I’m either new in town or newly single?” I asked.

He rested his hands on the bar, his shoulders lifting slightly as he shifted his weight. Nodding toward the door, he said, “The ‘fish out of water’ look on your face when you came in.”

I shrugged. “Could just be that I’ve never been to this particular club.”

He shook his head. “I see a lot of new people come through that door who have obviously been around clubs, just not this one.” His smile turned into a cocky grin that suddenly made my drink taste like water. “But then there’s the people who come in looking like they’ve just arrived from another planet. And over the years, I’ve found that most of those have either just moved here or are trying to move on after a relationship.”

I raised my glass. “Very observant.”

“So, if it’s not too forward of me…” His eyes narrowed a bit as if he was trying to read between the lines of what I thought was a neutral expression. “Should I be welcoming you to the Emerald City, or buying you another drink to commiserate?”

I drained the last of my drink and rolled it around in my mouth as I set the glass in front of him.

“Sorry to hear it.” The amusement faded from his face as he pulled another glass out from under the bar and filled it with ice.

“Just make it a Coke this time.” My head was already light, but I couldn’t tell if it was Jack or… whatever his name was.

He nodded and topped the glass off with Coke.

“So if you’re commiserating,” I said. “I’m guessing you’re recently out of one too?”

“Ooh, yeah.” He grimaced. “Three years, and he picks up and walks away like nothing ever happened.”

“Ouch.” I sipped my drink. “I’ve actually been single for a while, just didn’t feel like meeting anyone right away.”

“Understandable,” he said. “It’s only been a couple of weeks for me. S.O.B. hasn’t even gotten all of his shit out of my apartment yet.”

“You haven’t done the ‘come and get it or I throw it out the window’ ultimatum yet?”

He laughed, but some of the humor disappeared from his expression. “I have. I think he just wants to make it as miserable as possible. Anything to draw it out, even if he initiated it.” He dropped his gaze for a second.

“I’ll bet I can beat that.”

“Try me,” he said.

“My ex came by tonight to tell me he’s getting married.”

His eyes widened. “How long did ago did you say you split up?”

“Six months.”

He whistled. “He doesn’t wait around, does he? Er, sorry, no offense.”

“None taken.” I put my finger on the end of my straw. “But it gets better.” Keeping my finger on the straw, I lifted it out of my glass and put the other end on my tongue. As I let my finger go so the Coke would come out of the straw, I noticed his eyes were following. When I ran my tongue around the end of the straw, his lips parted and he looked away, clearing his throat.

His cheeks colored. “So, um, what happened?”

“He wants me to be his best man.”

The bartender blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“Maybe we should introduce our exes.” I paused. “Well, if they were both still single, anyway.”

He opened his mouth to speak, then glanced down the bar. “Shit, I need to take care of some other customers.” He looked at me again. “You going to be here a while?”

I am now. I smiled. “Not going anywhere.”

With a wink that made my head spin, he stepped away to see to his other customers. It was only when he was gone that I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Ever since I’d turned around, since I’d first laid eyes on him, I hadn’t drawn a proper breath.

I thought of the way he’d watched me with the straw and shivered. The way he’d looked at me when I first turned around. I wasn’t imagining it, was I?

As he tended to customers a few feet away, smiling and laughing politely with them, he cast me a quick look and his smile faded. It didn’t fade in the sense that he was suddenly embarrassed or annoyed by my presence or the fact that I was looking at him. Quite the contrary.

His eyes said nothing if not, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

My heart pounded. I knew nothing about him beyond his job and the fact that he was recently single. I didn’t even know his name, but I suddenly wanted to hear him growling mine in my ear.

We continued that way for a while, shooting the breeze while he was between customers. Every time he was sure that every glass and bottle on the bar had been filled, he came right back to me.

At one point, while he filled drinks, several more bartenders appeared and a few others left. Shift change, I guessed. When he caught sight of one of the newcomers, his expression changed. This time, it was annoyance. As the other bartender approached him, they exchanged a few brief and, by the looks of it, terse words. Then they disappeared into the back.

It was almost fifteen minutes before he came back into view, his jaw set and his eyebrows knitted together over narrowed eyes. He kept his eyes down as he approached me. Before I’d even said a word, he went about filling another glass with Coke. Glancing back the way he came, he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“My boss is here, and he’s on the warpath today, so I can’t chat.” He put the drink I hadn’t ordered on a napkin, slid it toward me, and tucked the piece of paper under it. Then he met my eyes. “I’m off in an hour.” Tapping the bar beside my drink, he said, “If you want to talk someplace quieter, I can meet you there.”

With that, he turned to go.

“Wait,” I said.

He paused and came back, glancing over his shoulder and swallowing nervously.

“Do I have to wait until then to find out your name?”

He smiled. “Liam Sable. Yours?”

“Jon Beatty.”

“I’ll see you in an hour.”