Cutting Cords

by Mickie B. Ashling

  Cutting Cords

  By Mickie B. Ashling

  Sloan Driscoll, who is smart, sassy, and a brilliant graphic artist—but also a pothead with severe body image problems—builds a relationship with roommate and former major league pitcher Cole Fujiwara that literally saves his life. But Trent Hamilton, model and established Dominant, offers Sloan another life choice at a time when that relationship is falling apart. Find out who Sloan ultimately chooses in this bundle of the Cutting Cords series by Mickie B. Ashling!

  Cutting Cords by Mickie B. Ashling includes

  When Sloan Driscoll and Cole Fujiwara become reluctant roommates, neither man is willing to share too much. Sloan is instantly attracted to Cole but knows it’s a hopeless cause; Cole has a steady girlfriend. But one night they share a joint, and Cole opens a window neither anticipated.

  A relationship may be impossible—both men are living with heart-breaking secrets. While Sloan is smart, sassy, and a brilliant graphic artist, he’s also a pothead with severe body image problems. Cole, a former major league pitcher, has his own personal crisis: he’s going blind. Sloan and Cole are suffering on so many levels, they might not realize that the ultimate salvation could be within each other’s arms.

  Sequel to Cutting Cords

  Five years into their relationship, Sloan Driscoll’s peaceful existence is suddenly upended. His lover, Cole Fujiwara, gives him an ultimatum: agree to a surrogate birth or break up. Noriko Evans, a beautiful woman of Japanese/American descent, is handpicked by Cole’s father to be the surrogate. At the same time, Trent Hamilton, model and established Dominant, sets his eyes on Sloan, offering him another life choice.

  Sloan is thrown off balance by this series of events he can neither understand nor control. He’d thought the topic of children had been laid to rest years ago, but with the advent of a new form of genetic testing, Cole’s fear of passing on retinitis pigmentosa, a disease that leads to blindness, has been greatly reduced. Noriko’s abrupt appearance threatens Sloan, as does Sloan’s attraction to Trent and a side of the BDSM world he’d never thought to explore.

  Will Sloan be able to muster the inner strength he’ll need to deal with one shocking revelation after another, or will he succumb to a dangerous coping mechanism? His decisions will either lead to salvation... or hasten the end of the relationship that literally saved his life.

  Sequel to Vessel

  On New Year’s Eve, Cole Fujiwara stands vigil at his father’s deathbed while his surrogate wife, Noriko, gives birth to twins. As Cole contemplates his future, he acknowledges that he’s living his father’s dream… and that he’s probably destroyed his chance at happiness with Sloan, the love of his life.

  Finding harmony in an emerging D/s relationship has not been without issue for Sloan Driscoll and his Master, Trent Hamilton. Their journey has been littered with mishaps, but their powerful love and sexual connection continue to bind them together—until Sloan comes face to face with Cole for the first time in nine months.

  The meeting means different things to each of them. To Cole, it’s the first step on the path to a reunion. To Sloan, it’s a terrible mistake, one he confesses immediately. As for Trent, the bitter realization that a connection between the former lovers still exists forces him to issue an ultimatum. Is Sloan willing to do anything to prove their relationship is worth saving, including becoming Trent’s 24/7 slave? And if Sloan stays with Trent, how can Cole ever hope to find happiness again?

  Sequel to Cleave

  Hours after stepping off the yacht where they had their mock wedding, real life intrudes, and arguments arise between Sloan Driscoll and Trent Hamilton. Seeking relief at his BDSM club, Trent bumps into an old army buddy who tells him things are different now that DADT has been repealed. Meanwhile, Sloan receives a frantic call from ex-lover, Cole Fujiwara, who tells him that his twins and ex-wife have been kidnapped. Cole asks Sloan for help but makes him promise not to include Trent in the rescue attempt.

  Trent considers the opportunity to resume a career cut short, and despite Sloan’s threat to postpone the wedding, he leaves for the Middle East as an independent mercenary while Sloan rushes to aid Cole.

  In Tokyo, disturbing revelations draw the former couple together, and old feelings are rekindled. Despite this new understanding, neither man makes a move. Sloan is focused on rescuing Cole’s family without jeopardizing his relationship with Trent, while Cole must prepare himself to survive disappointment if Sloan chooses to segue into married life as a military spouse.

  Cutting Cords

  This book is dedicated to three special people:

  To the young man who inspired this story

  and who continues to conquer his

  personal demons on a daily basis.

  To Jeannie G, my dedicated and tireless editor,

  friend, and Wailing Wall. Thank you for everything.

  To my publisher, Elizabeth North,

  for taking a chance on me and giving me a voice.

  1

  THE LINE of people snaked across the entire length of the lobby, curving around twice before ending at the security checkpoint. It was a typical scene at San Francisco International Airport, packed with travelers from all over the world trying to get in and out as quickly as possible. I watched dispassionately as a family of Filipinos gathered to say good-bye to some relative who was laden down with boxes of who-knows-what. There must have been at least ten people standing around the old man, crying and carrying on like he was going to his death, instead of a plane ride.

  My dad jabbed me with his elbow and admonished, “Stop staring.”

  I turned away, annoyed that he’d caught me doing my favorite thing: people watching. I’ve always enjoyed it—the artist in me picking apart every detail of a person or incident, keeping them tucked away in my brain somewhere for future reference.

  “Are you sure you’ve got everything?” Dad asked, trying to pull my backpack away from me to check the contents. I yanked it back roughly, angered by this invasion of my privacy. I don’t know why I was surprised, but every time it happened, it pissed me off. “Stop it!” I glared, daring him to say anything. I hated it when he treated me like I was a fucking ten-year-old instead of someone who had just turned twenty-three. Everyone around was watching to see how my father would react, but they lost interest when he did nothing except look at me.

  “I’ve got it under control, Dad,” I reiterated, in a whisper this time, putting my mouth close to his ear. “Stop freaking out!”

  He didn’t look the least bit apologetic. He just stood there, all six foot four of him, arms akimbo and puffed out like a Thanksgiving turkey. “I just don’t want you forgetting anything.”

  “Dad, I haven’t forgotten anything. Besides, I’m going to New York, not another country.”

  “You’re getting in late, Sloan. You don’t want to have to stop at a store in the middle of the night.”

  I sighed, exasperated by his concern, but I answered patiently. “It’ll be ten o’clock when I get there. I’m pretty sure that I’ll find a store if I need one.”

  He grabbed me and gave me one of his bone-crushing hugs, practically squeezing the air out of my lungs. My head barely grazed his chin, and I felt like I was trapped in the arms of a polar bear, his size always a formidable thing. Although I was rapidly approaching his height, he bested me by at least one hundred and twenty pounds, making me feel even scrawnier than normal. I wondered again if I’d ever get to be as big as him. I’d been hearing how I was going to start to fill out ever since I was a kid, but all I did was get taller and taller, not wider.

  “Now, you call me as soon as the plane lands, you understand?” he said, in a voice surprisingly gruff with emotion. I would have thought he’d be glad to get
rid of me. Out of sight, out of mind, I assumed, but I guess you couldn’t take away the parenting gene.

  “I promise, Dad. I’ll be okay.”

  “This is it, Sloan.” He pulled away and looked at me with eyes that were uncharacteristically moist. “No more second chances, kid. The Big Apple will either make you a man or break you.”

  I rolled my eyes internally, thinking it would take much more than New York City to make me the kind of man he was hoping for, but I opened my mouth and said, “It’s going to be fine, Dad. I wish you’d stop worrying.”

  “Can’t help it, son. You’re my boy and I’ll always worry. That’s my job.”

  One he was very good at, I might add. He’d taken worrying to a whole new dimension.

  The line started moving a little faster, probably because they’d added another person, and I was fast approaching the area where we had to open up our bags, take off our shoes and jackets, and walk through the metal detector. I could feel my heart banging against my chest and my pulse beating like a conga in my head. I was terrified suddenly, sure that they’d find my stash and embarrass me and my father. I could see the headlines already: Joe Driscoll’s son stopped at the airport with two grams of Northern Lights.

  Being a former San Francisco Giant had its advantages, but it wouldn’t save his son’s ass, if I were arrested. Dad had already used up all his favors in the last few years. The SFPD and I had become very well acquainted, and although they’d never formally arrested me, in deference to my father’s Hall of Fame status, they knew me on a first-name basis. They could make my life, and my father’s, a living hell, if they chose to.

  This was the reason I was being exiled to New York City. Not because I’d been accepted at Pratt Institute. I could have gone to the San Francisco Art Institute for a lot less money. The reason was to get me away from here, from everything familiar, to give me a fresh start. It was Ken Fujiwara, Dad’s best friend from his baseball days, who had planted the seed in my father’s head. Ken had a son who lived in New York City, and this played right into Dad’s hands. They’d made arrangements for me to go and live with Cole without even asking me. As usual, my life had been mapped out, planned, signed, sealed, and delivered without my input or consent.

  It was my turn at security, and the guards told Dad he’d have to go through the detectors as well, if he planned on staying with me until I boarded. I tried to dissuade him, but he was having none of it. He wanted to see me walk down the ramp and board that fucking plane to make sure I got my scrawny ass out of town. I took off my jacket and threw it on the moving belt, along with my backpack and my Nikes. I still had several layers of clothing on; an undershirt, a colored T-shirt, a light flannel in a faded blue color. The usual layered look I preferred, giving the illusion of a normal torso, when in reality, I had the build of a twelve-year-old.

  “Hey, Joe.” The guard who was attending to me recognized my dad, which was good in a way. It distracted him and he waved me through. “This your kid?”

  “Yeah, Sloan’s my oldest. He’s off to the Big Apple to become a famous graphic artist.”

  “That’s pretty cool,” the guard replied, signaling me to pick up my bags and stuff. “Are you going with him?”

  “No,” Dad answered, walking up to the metal detector, pausing to get the okay to pass through. He was waved on and he stopped to bullshit with the guard while I tied my shoes and gathered my belongings. “He’s off on his own.”

  “Well, good luck to you, son,” the guard said, rewarding me with a huge smile. “You guys are free to go.”

  Thank you, thank you. We walked away and headed toward the food court to kill a few more minutes. Dad bought me a latte, shaking his head in disapproval when I asked for an extra shot of espresso. I poured in at least three tablespoons of sugar and took a sip, sighing in relief that I’d made it through this far without any incidents. Now I just had to get rid of Dad and I’d be home free.

  IN NEW York City, Cole Fujiwara was about to go off on a man who demanded nothing but respect from his children. But Cole wasn’t going to let that deter him from speaking his mind. He was still angry that his father had made plans with his best friend before consulting him, telling Cole after the fact that he was about to gain a roommate. Did he honestly think I’d be okay with this?

  “Dad, would you please reconsider? I don’t want Sloan to come live here. I have enough problems of my own. I don’t need to take on anything else.”

  “Why are you assuming he’ll be a problem?” Ken asked. “Joe has assured me that the kid has cleaned up his act and wants to make a fresh start.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “Why shouldn’t I? I’m surprised by your attitude, son. I didn’t think you were so heartless.”

  “I’m not heartless, Father,” Cole protested. “I’m just being practical.”

  “You used to play with this kid. You were best friends!”

  “I haven’t seen Sloan since he was eight years old,” Cole countered. “I was eleven, for Christ’s sake—hardly his best friend!”

  “Calm down, Cole. You’ll give yourself an asthma attack.”

  “Dad, you know the timing of this sucks. I’m dealing with all my own shit.”

  “I know,” Ken said, in a voice filled with sadness. “I thought that maybe you guys could help each other out.”

  “Please tell me that he doesn’t know, or have you already primed him?” Cole spat out bitterly.

  Ken sighed heavily into the phone. “I haven’t said a word to anyone, Cole. Not even Joe knows. You asked me not to discuss it, and I’ve respected your wishes.”

  “Thank you. Eventually people will find out, but until they do, I want things to be normal.”

  “Maybe Sloan can help you around the apartment. Do some of the chores?”

  “Is that what the plan is? Make Sloan my seeing-eye roommate?”

  “Cole, stop it.”

  Cole swiped angry tears away. They were an automatic reaction to his father’s interference. Despair was warping the man’s judgment, his need to help so painfully obvious, but Cole had insisted on being independent. He had to learn how to cope with it, to become a disabled person and survive without anyone’s help. It was hard enough to deal with the reality that he was going blind, but he was determined to be self-sufficient and not become a burden to anyone. He’d been preparing for the inevitable for six months, learning to live alone and manage. Now, he was being thrown another curveball, expected to welcome Sloan with open arms when he had no idea who or what he was dealing with.

  Each morning Cole woke up thinking this was all a nightmare that would go away. But sadly, it wasn’t going anywhere, and the shadows got worse every day. It was that day he was preparing for: the day he’d wake up and see nothing.

  THE DOORS of the plane were shut; the engines revved and ready to go. I leaned back and plugged in my earphones, increasing the volume so that I could hear nothing but Queen blaring out Bohemian Rhapsody. I loved their music, even if it was considered old school by many of my peers. I loved their drama and their style, much to my father’s horror. One summer I even made the attempt to dress and talk like Freddie Mercury. It wasn’t that hard, since we had the same body type, not one ounce of fat anywhere. My little game was met with outraged disapproval, so that persona went back into the closet of my brain, along with all the other shocking thoughts that resided there.

  The plane finally took off, almost in sync with Freddie’s falsetto blaring in my ears. I removed my earplugs and unfastened the seat belt when the captain turned off the sign. It was time to go to the rest room and take care of business.

  The light in the tiny bathroom cast a yellowish shade on my normally pale face. I stared at the mirror, trying to see if I looked any different since my haircut, and my father’s attempts to make me look respectable. Everything appeared the same; my hair was still a boring brown, my eyes an unremarkable shade of gray. My mouth was a bit too full and too girly for Dad’s taste, but the
re wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. I wondered how long it would take for my hair to grow out again. I hated the feel of the cold air against my neck, although my tattoo was now clearly visible, the Queen logo a testament to my devotion.

  I started to strip, undoing the belt buckle and pushing down my jeans, past the scars on my thighs that showed in bright relief against the expanse of white skin. They were an angry hue of pink, which was normal for me and almost a non-issue. I stepped out of my pants and left them balled up in the corner. Next off were the tighty-whities and the sandwich bag with my stash. It had been held in its hiding place near my crotch, nestled nicely in between my boxers and the boring white underwear. I dumped the briefs into the wastebasket and pulled my jeans back up.

  I opened the bag and inhaled the pungent aroma of the high-grade weed, wishing I had the guts to light up, but I knew that all kinds of hell would break loose if I did. So I popped a Xanax instead, knowing it was a poor substitute but certainly better than nothing.

  I spent the rest of the flight in a hazy fog. Thanks to my age and the money in my pocket, I was able to buy a few drinks to add to my drug-induced high. That, plus the reassuring sound of Freddie serenading me, calmed me down. I passed on the food, shaking my head at the flight attendant, asking for more peanuts instead. I could hear my father admonishing me, telling me to eat and not skip meals or I’d stay scrawny, but I wasn’t buying into that plan anymore. No amount of food had ever worked to give me the kind of body I craved, so any time I was on my own, I ate whatever the fuck I wanted.

  I knew I was in New York as soon as the cabbie pulled up to the curb and looked me over without leaving his seat. “You want a ride, buddy?”