Grayson
The Wordsmith Chronicles—Book 3
By Christopher Harlan
Grayson
Book 3 in the Wordsmith Chronicles
By Christopher Harlan
Cover design and Formatting by Jessica Hildreth
Beta-Reading by Lauren Lascola-Lesczynski
Proofreading by Laura Albert
This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to anyone who did not purchase the book outright. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or any other means not listed specifically herein) without the express written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. All people, places, and events contained herein are a product of the author’s imagination and are completely fictitious.
Warning
This book is intended for those 18 or older. It contains explicit sexual content and adult situations. Discretion is advised.
Dedication
Once again, to the indie book community, thank you for reading my words.
For Amy Horton, who named the Wordsmith book inside this book in a reader challenge!
As always, to my wife and children, without whom none of this would be possible, and for whom I do all this.
Author’s Note On Future Wordsmith Books. . .
The book you’re currently reading, Grayson, brings to an end the initial three book series of the Wordsmith Chronicles. If you haven’t already, I highly recommend that you grab yourselves a copy of Knight (book 1 in the series) and Colton (book 2 in the series). The Wordsmith Chronicles was intended to be just that—a chronicle of three male indie romance authors and the women in their lives. However, if you’re a fan of the series, you know there are a lot of other characters who are more than worthy of their own full length novels—and they will be written! Those stories, which will begin with the publication of True North in 2019, will all be subtitled “A Wordsmith Chronicles Novel” Think of them as standalones that are highly related to the original series—there will be drop-ins from characters you know and love, settings that are familiar, along with completely new stories for you to enjoy.
But before all that, Grayson. Thank you all for taking the time to read what will be close to 1,000 collective pages by the time you’re done. I hope you enjoyed the first run of the series, and that Knight, Colton, and now Grayson are some of your favorite characters. I know they are for me. I can’t wait for you to see what’s coming next!
Stay tuned, and thanks for letting me tell you my stories.
—Christopher, October 2018
A Wordsmith.
Rowan. My love. The one who sees into my soul. Your name lives in my heart and echoes in every word that leaves my lips. You came into my life unexpectedly, and we’ve become much more than the friends we began as. You reached out when I was at my lowest point, and now I begin a new chapter in my life, unsure of exactly where I’m headed. You gave up everything to follow me on that journey, offering me a hand when I was down, but the future is uncertain.
You offered me a hand when I was down, and when I took it, I felt alive again. My heart began to beat anew, and my lungs took in air like I’d been reborn.
DRAMA HERE
We all have a story. Let me tell you ours.
“I think potential collects dust inside of us all. And we go through heartbreaks and disappointments so we can bring it to the surface. Heartbreak accompanies loneliness and disappointments accompany fear. And they gang up and they rip us open. But in that openness, we find potential. And we’re saved from getting what we thought we wanted. Because potential comes out of hiding.
Wants are different from needs. And we need to find our full potential before we can live a fulfilled life.”
—Matthew Robert, aka “Colton” – Facebook Post, August 2018
The Wordsmiths
Grayson Blackman
Author of the Rom-Com series Benefits for Friends and the Dark Romance “Stolen” series
Co-author of the Wordsmith Chronicles Anthology
Co-author of the upcoming Graceful Cocky Knockout—a Wordsmith Collaboration, along with Colton Chase and Michael Knight.
Colton Chase
Author of the MMA themed Battle Tested series featuring alpha bad boy Aidan Paul. Book 1 is titled “Fist.” He’s currently working on book 2, “The Gentle Art”
Co-author of the Wordsmith Chronicles Anthology
Co-author of the upcoming Graceful Cocky Knockout—a Wordsmith Collaboration, along with Michael Knight and Grayson Blackman.
Michael Knight
Author of Into Your Eyes, the Lost Lovers series, the bestselling ForEver, and an upcoming new series (TBA)
Co-author of the Wordsmith Chronicles Anthology
Co-author of the upcoming Graceful Cocky Knockout—a Wordsmith Collaboration, along with Colton Chase and Grayson Blackman.
The Brotherhood
KL Steiner
Roland Rays
Johnathan Logan
Authors & Models
True North
Author of The Furious Pricks series, The Rotten Scoundrel series, along with 50 other novels, most of them bestsellers
Greg Olden (‘G. Olden’)
Author of the Flexed series/renowned photographer/fitness model
Owner of Fierce Fotos Photography Studios
Brody Charles
Famous indie romance cover model, currently featured on the cover of the Wordsmith Chronicles Anthology and over 30 covers this year
Prologue
When the rubber meets the road. . .
It’s a metaphor, of course, an expression that describes when theory and practice intersect, but in my case it’s literal. For me, the rubber of my Jeep hit the road two days ago. I had nothing but a few outfits, my computer, and an unexpected passenger. It’s nighttime now, and the gorgeous woman in my passenger seat is lying back in an awkward recline, a hoodie folded haphazardly behind her head as a pillow. Even though she’s in a terrible position she looks peaceful, and whenever it’s safe to look away from the road for a minute, I turn my tired neck to gaze at her sleeping next to me. I’ve imagined her sleeping next to me a thousand times since we met, but I never thought this would be how it happened for the first time. I pictured our naked bodies under the sheets of my bed—sweaty and blissful from a night of pure passion. But life is funny sometimes. . .
There’s almost no light on the road at this time of night, save for my high beams and whatever other cars may pass me by. It’s peaceful. I’ve been a traveler my whole life, but it’s always been a solitary pursuit. Before I went to school full time I’d up and hit the road in my parent’s car—destination anywhere—with no care as to where I ended up. California, Canada, Europe, it didn’t matter.This doesn’t feel like traveling in the same way that I used to travel. It feels like I’m escaping, only now I have an escape partner by my side. Who knows what she’s running from.
Rowan.
It’s hard to keep my eyes on the road with someone so beautiful lying angelically next to me, but I do my best. In a previous life, my thoughts were usually enough to keep me occupied while I was driving, but now those thoughts aren’t so soothing. That’s the reason I made such an impulsive choice to leave everything behind for a while. In hindsight I’m not sure it was the best move—at least not how I did it—but I felt like I had to. My career as an author hasn’t been going the way that I thought it would. That’s an understatement.
I’m a Wordsmith—at least that’s what me, Colton, and Mike have been calling ourselves these last few months. What started as a college experiment quickly became our full time gigs, and at first the idea of being struggling artists was fun, and we all did it at the same time, supporting each other along the way. But then I started to have some success. If careers were a competition, mine would have taken an early lead in the race between all of us. I was always the most organized, the most professional, the most forward thinking in terms of building a following and having a strong social media presence. But what happened to me is what happens to all early leads in races—they fall behind eventually as other pass them by.
For whatever reason my last few books just haven’t connected with my readers, and I’m struggling to be okay with that. Romance writers are prolific, and I’ve written a lot of books, but hitting a skid of bad releases has been disheartening. It’s robbed me of my enthusiasm and confidence. I’d put a lot into my last book, Her Story. I finished it just as the Wordsmiths were becoming what we are now, and finishing it felt like a triumph. I did it under the radar, in the shadow of Colton’s legal drama, and I can still remember how it felt to write that last word and email the file to my editor. It was like I’d just won a battle I didn’t realize I was fighting. It felt like winning.
I also remember the feeling in the parking lot of the Blue Bay Diner, when Roland Rays made that snide comment about my book rank. When I finally saw what he was talking about something inside me just snapped, and here I am, driving across the country because I’m too chicken shit to face reality, because reality might mean that this writing thing isn’t for me. I’m not in a good place right now. But seeing how Rowan just decided to come with me, without any hesitation to what she was leaving behind, made me feel like maybe what I’m doing isn’t so wrong after all. It touched my heart that she was willing to do that for me.
But even though she’s here with me, I’ve never felt so lost or so alone. Even though I have an exact destination, I don’t really know where I’m headed. I guess I’ll find out soon enough. This is my exit.
Chapter 1
Grayson
“Wait, what’s epilepsy porn?”
Rowan woke up early. Probably a combination of sleeping in such a terrible position all night, coupled with all the damn potholes that lined the road this morning. The car felt like a rollercoaster. When she woke up she asked me what I’d been up to while she was asleep, and I told her that I was busy checking out ‘epilepsy porn’ just to get a reaction out of her. She looks at me like I’m nuts, which was kind of what I was going for, so I explain just to keep the shock going a little longer.
“That’s my own term. Sometimes I call it headache porn. I switch back and forth between the two, depending on my mood.”
“I’m less interested in what epilepsy porn is than I am in the fact that you were driving and watching porn. I’m a little worried about that. I’m guess I’m lucky you didn’t kill us both.”
“I’m just joking,” I tell her. “Although I am a good multi-tasker. But I’m not that much of a porn guy.”
“Well that’s a relief, on both counts. But you still have to tell me what the hell epilepsy porn is. Please tell me you’re not watching some naked chick pretend to have a seizure or something twisted. I might need you to drop me off somewhere if that’s the case.”
“God, no,” I say, laughing at the thought of some degenerate whacking off to that. “But I’m sure that kind of sick shit exists out there in Internet Porn Land. But, no, that’s not what I mean by the expression.”
“Then what?” She asks, looking genuinely curious.
“It’s my expression for POV porn.”
“I’m sorry, you’re talking to a conservative Irish Catholic girl here,” she jokes. “If you’re going to use porn vernacular, then you’re going to have to educate me a little on some of the terms.”
“Right, sorry. POV stands for ‘Point of View’.”
“So that’s where. . .”
“Like a guy holding his phone while he. . .”
“I got it,” she interrupts. “But why do you call it headache porn, or whatever?”
“Cause it’s usually so shaky that I feel like I’m having a seizure when I watch it. Half the time you can’t even tell what you’re looking at. I think I jerked off to an elbow one time when I was like eighteen thinking it was a boob.” That gets a loud laugh out of her. I wonder if it’s because she thinks I’m joking just to make her smile. That shit really happened, but it’s probably better that she thinks I made it up.
“I got it,” she says. “Thank you for being my porn professor.”
“You’re very welcome, happy to educate. And I think you just named my next book!”
“What?”
“The Porn Professor. Come on, we’ll make millions!”
“You’re an idiot!”
I can’t believe I just brought up my writing. It’s the last thing I want to discuss, even in a joking manner. I remember reading about this condition once in one of my psychology classes in college. It was called a ‘dissociative fugue state.’ It’s weird to remember these things years later, when most of what I learned in college went right out of my brain the second they handed me that diploma. But I always remembered that condition. It’s a state where people disassociate from who they are, and they travel without knowing where they’re going. One guy who had it had a missing person’s report filed for him by his wife, who found him six months later living in a different state. It’s fucked up that I wish I had that condition right now. Unfortunately I remember exactly where I’m coming from, even if I don’t really know where I’m going. One thing I do know is that we’re not going far with that smoke bellowing from under the trunk.
“That doesn’t look good.” Rowan says, seeing the grey smoke clouds sliding out from under the hood and filling the air around the car.
“It’s a shame you never became a mechanic.”
“Shut up.”
“But, seriously, I need to find a shop.”
“I fully support that idea.”
This car is a piece of shit—something my dad would have called a lemon, but it was the most I could afford on what I make. And, honestly, I get around Queens and the city as much by walking and public transportation as I do in my car. The geography out here is a little different. We used to come to Arizona to see my uncle during the summer for vacations when I was a kid. We came pretty much through middle school, so I’m familiar with the area, but it’s been years since I’ve been around here.
Driving though this terrain reminds me that I’m a city boy, through and through. I hated coming here as a kid. The heat, the lack of things to do, and all in a pre-internet world. But I do have some great memories of just spending time with my family. It’s weird being back here, but I’m welcoming how different this all is from how I usually live my life. We just crossed into Gobi, a little rural town about fifteen miles outside of Phoenix, and Rowan is looking around like we just crossed squarely into Narnia. “This is different.”
“It is different,” I agree. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”
“To be determined.”
Shep’s Auto Body Shop is only a few blocks away. My dad used to bring our family car there in the summers whenever we’d get a flat—which was at least once per trip, if I remember correctly. Even with the smoke I think we’ll make it. The place looks exactly the same. But I guess not a whole lot changes in a town like this. “We’re going to that place over there. Shep can fix anything.”
“I’m just fascinated that you know someone named Shep. That’s very impressive.”
“Well, in about two minutes you’re going to know someone named Shep, too. It’ll seem like less of a big deal then.”
“Nah, I’ll still be excited.”
The smoke is getting pretty bad, but Shep’s is down the block. I park on the street to no small amount of stares from people wondering if the car is on fire. We get out and I t
ake my first deep breath of Arizona air—then I start gagging on all the fumes.
“Everything alright?” A woman walking her baby past asks me. I forget that outside of New York people are actually friendly to strangers.
“No, we’re alright, thank you! I’m sure Shep will fix it right up.”
“Doubt that.” I hear from behind me. I turn around to a guy about my age who looks vaguely familiar, and who’s covered almost head to toe in grease.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Thomas,” he says. “I’m Shep’s son.”
“Thomas? Jesus, you grew up?”
“Do we know each other?”
“Not really,” I say. “Sort of. I used to come here when I was a kid. My dad was in the shop a lot. I knew your dad. Where is he?”
“He died,” Thomas says matter of factly. “About three years ago. The place is mine now, I just kept the name to remind me of him.”
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry Thomas. I loved your dad, he was a great guy. He always gave me lollipops when I’d come in with my dad.”
“Yeah, dad was great.” He sounds like he’s heard this more than a few times. He’s got those rehearsed, thank you for your condolences phrases memorized. But his dad really was a great guy. “But I can help you. Looks like you need it.”
“What gave you that idea?” Rowan asks, looking at the bellowing smoke. I shoot her a look that says tone down the sarcasm, we’re not in New York anymore, then go back to my conversation with Thomas.
“The car’s a total piece of shit, but it’s never started smoking like this before. We drove here all the way from New York.”
“New York!” Thomas shouts. “Damn, I’ve always wanted to go there.”
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