by Susan Ward
Closing my eyes, I wait for meal time to end and my time with Noah to begin. Maybe if I sing to him, I’ll get him down fast and maybe he’ll eat enough that he’ll sleep three hours this stretch. A guy can fantasize, can’t he?
Ding.
Fuck.
“E, can you check if it’s yours or mine? I only have two hands and they’re both occupied.”
“It’s yours. It’s always yours,” I grumble. “Don’t you dare call Emmy back while I’m getting Noah into his crib. Your sister will yap away my entire three hours.”
Avery’s throaty laughter joins the baby’s suckling sounds. I wasn’t joking, babe. I want Ethan time today.
Grabbing the cells off the nightstand, I check hers. Nothing. Then mine. Wow. It’s me for a change. I swipe it open and my heart stops as I read the text.
I stare and can’t breathe.
“Ethan, what’s wrong?” Avery asks, alarmed.
I sit up.
I can’t stop staring at the phone.
It’s been over a year.
“It’s my brother.”
“What?” Avery scooches up to me and looks over my arm at my phone. “Finally. Are you OK?”
I shrug. “I don’t know yet. Feeling a lot of junk here, Avery. It’s been a fucking long time and he hasn’t reached out to me. I was starting to believe he wouldn’t.”
She kisses my back and, careful not to crush Noah, presses her cheek against it.
“This is what you wanted,” she reminds me.
“Yeah. But I didn’t know it’d feel this way. Overwhelming. Didn’t expect that.”
She kisses me again.
“He’s sent you an address of where to find him. He wants to see you. That should feel good, Ethan.”
“It does. Good but hard. It’s been over a year.”
“Are you going to go to Seattle like he asks?”
I nod. “I want to leave first thing tomorrow. Would that be OK with you?”
She moves to sit beside me. “Of course. He’s your brother. Do you want me and Noah to go with you to see Eric?”
“Yeah. I want you with me, babe, if you think Noah’s old enough to travel. But that’s not because I’m seeing my brother. I don’t want to spend a day of my life ever without either of you.”
* * *
“Eric Manzone”
I hit send on my text, shut off my phone, and immediately grab my gear and head to the church for a meeting.
Keep coming back. It works.
Don’t know if that’s true yet. I’m not completely sold on all the rehab bullshit. But it’s something to do to keep my mind occupied as I wait for an answer from Ethan.
It won’t surprise me if my brother doesn’t text back.
I’ve done a lot of shit to the people I love.
I’m working the steps.
But working them doesn’t always mean they turn out as I hope they will. I’m four people deep in the make-amends list.
Tara was first. That didn’t go well. She finalized the divorce and I’m a free agent.
Hugh was second. Hugh wouldn’t hear me out. “No fucking way am I ever listening to anything you say again” were his exact words before hanging up his cell.
My wife and best friend got me warmed up for number three on my amends list: my dad.
As I asked him to, Alan jetted up to rustic boot camp rehab from hell on the day I got my ninety-day chip and release. It hurt like hell that my mother wasn’t with him, and seeing my dad didn’t go how I fucking expected.
The entire visit wasn’t longer than three minutes.
Alan stared at me.
Hugged me.
Then said: “I love you, son. That’s why I’m not staying. When a man is in the abyss, that’s when he finds his character. I want you to find the man I see. The man I know you are. Your character is more remarkable than you believe it is, and I’d only get in the way of you realizing this. I love you. You’re my son. I’ll always be your father. But you’ve got to get the life you deserve on your own.”
And he walked out of the fucking room, leaving me with my jaw dropped and my thoughts screaming what the fuck is this?
That’s when I stopped working that step of recovery and headed to Seattle, and I’ve been here nine months. And today, I pulled out the list and texted Ethan.
Starting a new amends is enough to get me to sit through this fucking meeting. We’re in a nice area of the city so it’s mostly rich suburbanites on the cheap metal folding chairs.
The sharing circle is a forced fucking march. Hearing them whine about their cushy lives. Not because I resent them but because it makes me think oh fuck, is that me? Is this how I sound to other people? Complaining about my difficult world when others have real fucking problems.
Nothing like living on the streets—which I am at present, but there’s more to that story than I’m telling now—to get your grievance list in perspective.
The gorgeous blond with the luscious body and the fuck-me legs—who won’t give me, Eric Homeless Man, the time of day—is yap, yap, yapping about how hard it is to grow up with money. The pressure. The pain. Oh baby, you don’t know what money is.
She’s fucking hot, but an airhead.
Moving on.
Hank I sort of like.
He’s down to earth. A tech genius with a weakness for cocaine. Living on the streets like I am these days. Funny how quickly your life goes boom when you fuck over your employer by giving a competitor company secrets.
The minutes pass, but they keep me from checking my phone for Ethan, finding nothing, and the disappointment that could trigger me wanting to use again.
“Do you want to share today, Eric?”
Shit, they’re all looking at me.
I shrug. “Not today.”
And the meeting leader moves on. That’s the beauty of a meeting. No one makes you do shit here. I never have to share or sound like those wankers, not unless I decide to.
The housewife with the sex addiction clears her throat, and I perk up. She loves to go on about the crazy stuff she’s done, and I’m not getting any sex these days so why not have some mental pleasure from her regrets?
“I remembered something I hadn’t remembered before,” she says in her sexy kitten voice that sure as shit drove the FedEx man crazy on his daily deliveries at her house. “I think it’s my earliest memory…”
She’s going on and on about a dog she had as a kid. There’s not even an unhappy twist. It’s all about how cute it was and how much she loved dressing the dog in her clothes.
Time to tune out.
Fuck, my earliest memory is way more fucked up than putting a sundress on a poodle.
It’s from when I was six. Whenever I tell it, people always wonder, dude, how can you remember shit from back then? But it’s mostly people who don’t know my dad who say stuff like that. Anyone who knows Alan Manzone doesn’t question either the memory or my recollection of it.
It’s amazing that I do remember it, or rather that it’s the one that stands out in my mind from my childhood. A whole lot of junk happened to me by the time I was six.
My first dad, a chill guy named Jesse Harris, died and my entire world flipped over. We moved to a place where everything was different and no longer home. My twin, Ethan, was a mess. He’s sensitive that way so I pretended it was no big deal because I’ve always taken care of Ethan. But my world had been rocked just as much as his and, though I never showed it, I was afraid just like him.
Then Mom had another kid—more change. And a year later I had another dad—big change—only this time he was my real dad. Or that’s what they told me Alan was. At the time, I didn’t understand it, how some guy who just flew in and out of our lives was my birth father and now part of our family.
Then I was torn away from home without my mother for the first time, put on plane with a man who was supposed to now be my dad, and hauled around to new place after new place.
I didn’t want a new dad if all
this constant change was what it meant.
I didn’t want him—not because I didn’t like Alan. I didn’t know him, he was larger than life, so much so that Ethan was afraid of him, and he took me from Mom.
The summer before I entered second grade was an endless series of planes, unfamiliar cities, and him.
And that’s when it happened. The memory that always rises first in my head, in good times and bad. And, yes, it involves him. Everything about me involves Alan Manzone, from being on this planet to who am I now. No wonder it’s a memory of him I find inescapable.
We were in Mumbai—and, no, I didn’t know it was Mumbai then. I learned it later when I was older—the first stop on my dad’s farewell world tour with his iconic rock band, Blackpoll.
Long days of travel, of commotion, people, and sound continued into long nights in hotel suites of commotion, people, and sound. Eric and I tried our best to avoid everything, but it was hard to sleep in noisy hotel rooms and curiosity won out over caution and defiance.
Up to that point we were committed not to willingly be his sons, even though we could tell that’s what he wanted. We’d had a father. We loved him. No matter what the grown-ups said, we would not, ever, accept Alan as our dad. And that’s how we unitedly decided to attack this change in our lives.
But sounds filled our bedroom, sounds unlike the sounds of home, and with them came our father’s laughter. We both wanted to find out what was happening in the main part of our suite.
Ethan was too afraid of getting into trouble to climb out of his bed. So I snuck out of our bedroom without him.
I followed the noise. It led me to the terrace doors and I stared through the glass at my dad.
He was sitting on a lounger, surrounded by people, beneath a pitch-black sky brilliant with stars. His face looked different when he smiled and laughed, unlike any other time I’d seen Alan. Less mean, more like Grandpa Jack. Happy.
I tucked myself into the curtains not to be seen and watched the man Mom said was my father. When he smiled, he looked like my sister Kaley and I loved her, but I remained unsure what I thought of him.
Then in an abrupt change that startled and frightened me, his low raspy voice that even when quiet carried punch, jeered, “Don’t tell me what to do.”
A hush fell over the party and everyone froze to look at him as he argued with a man I didn’t know anything about except that he traveled with us from place to place and told people what to do.
I wasn’t sure what their words meant. He was angry about my father changing the schedule, and rattling off a list of things Alan was supposed to do.
My dad shook his head and his black eyes began to simmer. “I fucking own me. No one tells me what to do.”
That time my father’s voice made me jump, but I’ve never forgotten how it made him the center of that moment with every set of eyes on him, even my own, and I wondered if everyone else was feeling what I was feeling as I stared at him.
Then he spotted me watching from barely inside the suite and his intense black gaze locked on mine. The severe lines of his face melted into something that kept me from running back to my bedroom as he rose from his chair and crossed the patio.
“What are you doing out of bed?” he asked, his voice gentle and kind, and then he scooped me up in his powerful arms and kissed me on the cheek.
He tucked me into bed and settled beside me.
I stared up at him with what I’m sure was wide-eyed confusion. “What was that about? Why was that man yelling at you?”
He brushed back the golden-blond hair from my forehead. “Never mind.” He switched off the light and went for the door, pausing to look back at me. “Never let anyone stand between you and what you want. I love you and your brother and sisters more than anything. You’re the most important people in my life. Being your dad is my most important job and I won’t let anyone interfere with that.”
That caused me more confusion, since I didn’t have a clue why he was telling me that, but it didn’t matter, not with how he smiled at me before he shut the door. Like I was important. Like he really did love me. Like a dad smiles at his son.
But, oh, how he looked on the terrace.
I fucking own me.
That night, for the first time, I felt like his son because I wanted to be just like him.
“Keep coming back. It works,” the group shouts and pulls me from my thoughts to realize the meeting is over.
I grab my gear from beside my chair, stop at the refreshment table, shove some cookies in my pocket, and fill two cups of coffee. Now that I’m broke, I’m not proud, and that’s breakfast these days. It’s a long walk to my next appointment.
Before anyone can trap me in conversation, I leave the church and head across town. It’s good to have a schedule and “appointments” when you’re living abodeless. Slows down the unexpected popping up to knock you flat and makes survival on the street damn near no big thing.
The cold nips at my body, making me walk briskly to stay warm, and if I could change anything about Seattle it’d be the weather. The city is fantastic. Always a favorite of mine. But the fucking weather you learn to hate when you spend most of your time without shelter.
Ninety minutes later, I’m at work. The sun’s out—thank God—but the concrete still has a chill when I settle back against the wall on the sidewalk. I take out my guitar, leave my case open, and start to play while I keep my eyes out for her.
And, fuck, fine. Recovery is about honesty. I do enjoy the view of the world from the bottom because when I stare straight there’s an endless show of legs in every shape and form with an occasional great ass here and there.
A different view than from the top of the world: center stage where I used to rule. There my view was beautiful faces, lust-heated eyes, and great tits.
The view of the world isn’t worse from the bottom instead of the top. It’s just different. A different kind of wonderful.
I hear a handful of change drop in my guitar case and quickly smile to say thank you, and my gaze runs into those gorgeous brown eyes I wait for each day.
She’s the reason I sit on this cold concrete in what I’m sure is the worst place for a street musician to make money in Seattle.
But, fuck it, I don’t care.
A woman this incredible doesn’t cross your path twice in one lifetime. And I’m not here to earn a living playing for tourists.
I’m on this street because of her.
The End
Continue with Book 5 of the Sand & Fog Series with Eric Manzone in Gone Guy
Releasing Fall 2017!
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Parker Saga Books:
The Girl on the Half Shell
The Girl of Tokens and Tears
The Girl of Diamonds and Rust
The Girl in the Comfortable Quiet
Broken Crown
The Girl of Sand & Fog
The Girl in the Mirror
Ethan
Gone Guy (Releasing 2017)
Video Girl (Releasing 2017)
One Last Kiss
One More Kiss
One Long Kiss
One Forever Kiss
The Locked & Loaded Series: Get to know those hot and brave men who protect Alan Manzone and his family:
Dillon Warrick Books(M/F Romance):
>
Pistol Whipped
Take Down (Winter 2017)
Graham Carson Books(M/M Romance):
The Manny
His Man
All In (Summer 2017)
Skyler Mathews(M/M Romance):
Skyler
About The Author
Susan Ward is an award winning and #1 bestselling author in Gay Fiction, LGBT Erotica, and Rock genre, and top 100 bestselling author in Erotica Humorous, Coming-of-age, Contemporary Romance, Historical Romance, Regency Romance, Women’s Fiction, and Romance Sagas.
Her hometown is the inspiration for the Parker Saga which includes the Half Shell Series, Affair without End Series, and Sand & Fog Series. The mother of grown daughters, she lives a quiet life with her husband and her dog, Emma.
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Table of Contents
About the Book
Part One
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Part Two
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Part Three
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Epilogue