by Sam Elswit
Always Mine
A Gay Romance
Sam Elswit
© 2017 Sam Elswit - All rights reserved
Disclaimer
Information in this book shall not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author. However, reviewers may quote brief passage in reviews. This book is copyright protected. This is for your personal use only and shall not be amend, distribute, sold on your behalf without the consent of author. Legal actions will be pursued if this is breached.
This work is a fiction. Names, places, characters and events are all fictitious for the reader's pleasure. Any similarities to real people, places, events, living or dead are all coincidental.
Personal Note
Hey,
I am Sam Elswit a lover of romantic literature. Writing these captivating love stories is a passion of mine. Sensual, stimulating, heart wrenching and sensational is what my books are filled with.
First and foremost, I would like to thank you for taking interest in my book. Saying how grateful and appreciative I am of you wanting to read my book does no justice. I just hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Aside from passion, you are absolutely the reason why I continue to create these stories, I find great importance in sharing what you love. So from the bottom to the top of my heart,
Thank You.
For your reading pleasure, I have gifted you with a free book at the ending of this book as a bonus.
Are you ready to be completely drawn into this book? I can’t wait for you to begin!
Sam Elswit
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Sneak Peak
More Steamy Romance Books By Sam Elswit
Chapter 1
Isaiah
Phillip’s arm draped over my chest lazily as the sun poked through the crack in the drapes. I traced my finger down his cracked and sun-beaten skin. His doughy frame left much to be desired, but I’d grown fond of him and our early morning routine. However, it seemed that lately he’d been getting too attached.
He chuckled under his breath.
“What?” I asked plainly.
“Nothing,” he replied. He paused for a second to think. “Well… you know the offer still stands if you want to … I don’t know, move in.”
I let my head fall back to the pillow and let out a long drawn-out sigh. Again, he wanted me to move in with him. Doesn’t he know why I’m here?
“Phillip, you know why I can’t,” I said, staring at the rafters of his room ceiling.
“Right,” he replied as he leaned off the bed, setting his feet to the floor. He hesitated at the edge of the bed, letting his head slump down between his shoulders.
I knew what he wanted, but it wasn’t what I wanted. He wanted to have a life where the two of us were together all the time. But, I knew better, out where we lived, that was practically a death sentence.
“In any other world I’d be willing,” I said, “but out here? I’m not so sure.”
Phillip eased onto his knees, his small belly protruded in front of him as he pulled on his jeans. His short, scraggly blond hair twisted wistfully on top of his head. He ran a hand through his hair to tamp it back into place but it was too unruly to listen. He scratched at the five o’clock shadow that darkened his square jaw, and pulled on his flannel button up.
“Why do I even bother,” he said, reaching for the handle to the bedroom door, “I might as well not even try.”
I quickly leapt from bed, unashamed of my nudity, and grasped hold of him from behind.
“Pickin’ is slim out here; do you really have much choice?” I asked, “Besides, you know I still care about you a lot.” I lied, as I pulled him around and into a kiss.
He looked me straight in the eye. The most gorgeous part of him, and part of the reason I even sleep with him at all, those perfect blue eyes.
“Isaiah,” he said, pushing me away, but still keeping me close, “Promise me you’ll really consider my offer. It gets lonely when you’re not around.”
I knew what it felt like to be alone, I didn’t want to wish that on anyone, especially not someone I cared enough about to sleep with. The way he looked at me, those soulful eyes just yearning to be held, I started to melt.
“Dammit, Phillip. It’s impossible to say no when you look as cute as you do,” I replied.
He lit up, and my heart sank. I didn’t want to move in with him, not now or ever. But, he was the only one I could trust right now. The thought of losing someone I was so close to was enough to force a decision, and probably not the right one.
“We’ll talk about this more later,” I added, “I need to get back to work.”
I started pulling on the scattered clothing that draped across the floor. Phillip stared at me as I did from the rocking chair in the corner of the room.
“Again, back to work,” Phillip said, “I’m starting to wonder if that old man isn’t working you too hard.”
“He’s not working me too hard,” I replied.
“Then why do you have to be back so early?” he wondered.
“Because the Prodigal Son is returning today, so his dad wants me to kill the fatted calf,” I replied, rolling my eyes.
“I didn’t think they had cows on that farm,” He laughed.
“They don’t, it’s just an expression. Didn’t you ever go to church?” I asked as I tugged on my boots.
“I used Sunday’s to sleep in, Isaiah. Just like today,” he replied.
I stood to my full height of just over six feet, raised my arms into a stretch, and cracked my back. It felt good to straighten out a little bit. I ran my hand through my hair to flatten out the bed head and scratched at the morning scruff that itched at my skin.
“A lot of people who went to Sunday school wish they could have slept in,” I said with a hand on the door, “but, if I’d slept in so much, I would’ve been a lot lazier.”
Phillip’s half smile turned into a playful scowl as he threw the throw pillow he’d been holding across the room but I dodged quickly and the door soaked up the blow. My boots clomped down the wood hallway.
The old man would be waking up soon and probably start wondering where I was. I doubt he’d believe that I’d been at the bar again. He was sharp as a tack and always saw right through me. Maybe I should just be honest with him. Then again, honesty lost me the last two jobs. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Chapter 2
Joshua
Has it really been three years? Time seems to fly. I wondered how different things were, what the old farm looked like after all this time. Maybe dad had finally taken the chance to paint the old house that stood at the hill crest, or even fixed the picket fence that had far too many notches missing to really be a fence anymore.
I wondered if he’d trimmed back the old sycamore that shaded the bedrooms. I could remember slipping out from my room window to shuffle down that tree when I snuck out to visit my friends by the river. Or maybe it would be bes
t if he hadn’t.
I laughed to myself as the bus bleated out the burly cry of its engine down the mostly barren dirt road. Only four other people would have even heard me as I amused myself, but they were too lost in their own thoughts for it to really matter. Looking into their lonely distressed faces I started to wonder if they were going home to their sick parents to look after them. I guessed at what colleges or jobs they might have had to abandon to care for their family.
Or maybe it was just me leaving college before finishing the degree that I worked so hard for. Did that man know how much trouble he was putting me through? Part of me was glad that he was going to die soon. It would bother me less to think about his stupid rules, and constant need to always be right. I could still remember our last conversation like it happened yesterday.
“What the hell is this?” he said, holding out my college acceptance letter. The red of his face indicated the rage that bubbled just below the surface.
“I’m going to college dad,” I replied, snatching the letter from his hand. My bags were already packed and sitting beside the door. I could walk to the bus stop easily enough from our house. I was hoping to be gone in the morning before he realized I’d left.
“Why in the hell are you going off to college? We can’t afford that,” He said, half shouting.
I shrank under the power of his voice. His massive, hairy, bear-like arms were crossed in front of him and he occupied the entirety of the doorway. There was nowhere for me to run, I couldn’t escape out the window as I had in the past. I would have to stand my ground.
“You can’t, but I can,” I shouted back. I remember it was the first real time I’d found my voice. We’d yelled about things in the past, but he’d always won and I’d always end up in my room, pouting. “I got a scholarship to cover most of the cost and student loans to cover the rest. This is out of your hands, Dad.”
He fumed. A dull roar reverberated within the small room. It shook me down to my core. I’d been scared of him in the past when he boomed like that, but this was something else entirely. I stood my ground, however. My face stayed cross and I didn’t flinch. I was proud of myself.
“This is your life,” he shouted back, “this is your family. This is your farm. You can’t just up and leave it now. Think about what your mother would want.”
I’d thought about it enough times. What would she want from me? I thought about her smiling face, how kind it was to me as I’d look at her old photograph. He was trying to use her to keep me here, but I would have none of it. My mother would want me to be what I want to be.
“You leave mom out of this. She’s dead, but even then I know she’d want what’s best for me. I’m going to college. I’m going to become an architect. And, when I come home and wave my diploma in front of your face maybe then you’ll realize I made the right choice.”
I pushed him out of the way, grabbed my bags, and marched out the front door. I didn’t hear another word from him. He never called or wrote. He never even made the effort to come see me during school holiday. So, I did the same. If he can’t get over his pride, then I won’t bother trying to make amends. I wanted to return home as a victor.
Even deciding to devote myself to my studies, rather than partying. Every time I thought about slacking off, I’d see his face waiting with a smug look. I could never keep a girlfriend, never really got attached. But, it showed in my grades. Even if he never saw my diploma, at least I could rub that in his face.
I glanced down at my phone, 11:20 am. Another twenty minutes and we’d be at my stop, but staring at the glowing screen I became entranced by the subtle reminder of what family really meant. I’d always kept the only photo I ever saw of my mother, and now I made sure the background of my phone was a constant memory of her.
She had a kind face with a smile that lit up the photo, at her side was my father holding her tightly around the shoulders and planting a rough kiss on her cheek. Even I made an appearance in the photo in her pregnant belly, under the floral patterned dress that clung tightly across her stomach.
The thought of never having met her rang in my head, and as I came closer to the house the emotions were tugging at me stronger than before. I wanted to give in, break down, and cry my eyes out at the thought that soon I would have no parents left. I fought the tears that welled up.
‘A man never cries,’ I told myself. My father told me that enough. Real men don’t let their emotions get the best of them.
“Good Morning everyone, we will be coming to a stop at our destination shortly. Please have your things on hand and check your surrounding area to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything,” came the driver over the intercom.
Some things I wish I could forget. I brushed the remnants of a tear from the corner of my eye and cracked my neck. Nobody noticed me getting emotional, and for the best. When you’re a tall, strapping, young lad then people have a certain expectation of you; I tried to live up to that.
As the bus pulled in to a stop at the station, I lugged my large duffel over my shoulder and marched down the aisle toward the exit. My boots that’d I’d cleaned just yesterday found the dirt of the road covering them instantly.
‘Home sweet home,’ I thought to myself as I tried to smack some of the summer dust from my jeans.
It was nearly five miles to home from here. I wasn’t interested in taking a cab, and perhaps the walk would do me some good. Besides, there were maybe ten cars in the whole town. Who would really be that interested in driving an old country boy home?
I slung my bag over my back, shoved my hands in my pockets, and started on my trip. The sun beat down on my back, and the hot wind choked my nostrils. Sweat beaded at my brow instantly, a sensation that I hadn’t felt in years, and another memory I wish I could forget.
Chapter 3
Isaiah
The old man was quiet today. I think he knew that his son would be home soon. Whenever he got lost in his memories he’d go quiet as the night and stare off into nothing. I’d just do the only thing that I could do; chores. With all the morning routine accounted for, there was a mess of old tasks that needed doing. The first of which was fixing that old picket ‘fence’.
I found a hammer and a post-hole digger and went about the task. It was menial and not very demanding by any means, but it was honest and gave me time to think. There were only two things on my mind, the greater of which was Phillip.
He was a good man. I don’t know why I was so standoffish about moving in with him. He didn’t live far. But, moving in with him would raise some eyebrows, it might mean more people knowing who I was, what I was. Could I really fathom the ridicule of more people? My family already did that enough.
I drove another stake into the ground, beating hard with the large mallet. I could see the face of my two brothers on the head of the stake. Every strike brought with it seething anger and frustration. The bruises they left had healed in time, but the mental scars that came with them would stay forever.
I dropped the mallet after a moment. My muscles ached from overwork, but the sun was kind enough to hide behind the sycamore, offering me a brief respite from the summer heat. I pulled the handkerchief from my back pocket and dabbed at the sweat the formed on my brow.
Movement caught the corner of my eye and my head swiveled to see a man walking toward me down the road. He was tall, maybe a little shorter than I was, but not by much. His sharp cheek bones were covered in a thin layer of scruff from travel. His messy brown hair looked more fashionable than functional. As did his clothing. A pair of faded jeans sat low on his hips without a belt to hold them up. A half-sleeve shirt hugged tightly around his biceps, rolled up slightly to sit at his elbows. The top two buttons of his shirt hung loosely, revealing a thin line of a necklace around his neck.
If he were anyone else, I might have found myself more attracted. But, it was clear that it was Bart’s son. I’d seen enough pictures to know from the eyes; those somber eyes that had drawn me in when I first saw his hi
gh school graduation photos. My heart skipped a beat when I saw him in person for the first time. Could he really be Bart’s son, Joshua?
“Who the hell are you?” he shouted from across the street as he stamped over. A cloud of dust followed closely behind him, covering his city-boy clothing.
“Uhmmm,” I couldn’t find words. What was I supposed to say? ‘Hi, I was hired to run the farm since you were too chicken shit to stay’? I doubted something like that would work.
“I don’t know who you are, but if my dad gets word that you’re messing around on his property then he’ll be damn sure to greet you with his shotgun,” He said.
“Your father!” I said, “He hired me.”
“Hired you?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied, finally remembering myself, “He’s been mostly bedridden and needed someone to watch after the place.”
He eyed me up and down. I saw his gaze linger on places I wouldn’t have expected a straight man to stare. I pulled off my work gloves and offered a hand as an olive branch.
“I’m not buyin’ it,” Joshua replied, “My dad’s the kind of guy that would barely be able to stand upright but would still do his own work. He never mentioned there was someone else in his note.”
Joshua held up a hand-written letter. I recognized my handwriting. I’d been talking to the old man about getting in touch with his son. I don’t know why I went about sending him a letter, let alone not including myself as caretaker.
“I probably should have included myself in the letter,” I said.
“Yourself?” he asked, “wait, did you write this to me?”
“I did,” I replied, running my hand through my sweaty hair.
Joshua paused, staring at me, then the house, then back to me. He crumpled up the letter and tossed it on the ground, along with his duffel bag.