He wasn’t going to screw up the second chance the Fates had given him with Blake.
Returning to his spot behind the bar, he chatted with the other patrons and avoided his sister, who was talking to Dex and Blake. It was going to be a long three days until he could have Blake all to himself.
MICAH PARKED IN the driveway at Blake’s house. The last three days had been the longest of his life. At least, that’s how it had felt. Not even the discussions he’d had with his students had been enough to distract him from constantly thinking about tonight and how it could change everything.
He couldn’t undo the past, but he could damn well make sure that his future didn’t suck ass.
Grabbing the six-pack of beer and the bottle of whiskey he’d bought for the night, he climbed out of his car. The sudden loss of the a/c had him moving faster than he normally would have to get out of the oppressive heat. It was only May, and they were already nearing the one-hundred-degree mark, which meant this summer was going to be miserable.
People who’d never spent more than a weekend in Vegas had no clue just how miserable it was to live here. If it weren’t for the fact his family lived here, he’d never have come back after he left the Army. Though growing up in Vegas had prepared him a little bit for the heat of the Persian Gulf. Not a lot, but some.
Reaching the front door, he heard the pulsing beat of rock music. A smile creased his face; at least some things with Blake hadn’t changed. The guy still loved rock music. Back in high school, he claimed the only good music was rock music.
Not that he blamed him. There was something about the way rock music pumped through a person’s blood.
His finger touched the bell as the front door opened revealing Blake in nothing but a pair of shorts and flip-flops. The sight of him dressed like that transported Micah to another time when he’d answered the door in much the same way.
MICAH GLANCES AROUND his room, making sure he hadn’t missed any dirty socks or underwear on his floor. The only time he ever cleaned his room was when he was tutoring. According to his mom, if he cleaned it all the time, he wouldn’t have to do such a huge cleaning when he had someone coming over.
Of course, if his mom knew that half the time when he was supposed to be tutoring, he was making out, and sometimes getting as far as third base, she’d make him do all of his tutoring at the kitchen table. He wasn’t dumb enough to have actual sex while his parents were home. But feeling a girl up, getting a blow job, yeah those things happened, and he loved it.
The doorbell sounded, and he left his room, determining it was clean enough. Jogging down the stairs, he called out, “I got it. It’s probably Blake.”
Reaching the door, he pulled it open and grinned at Blake. Running in different circles at school, he knew of Blake, but until he’d been asked to help him on his project for Mr. Greenhalgh, he hadn’t paid too much attention to him. Looking at him now, though, he felt something go through him. He wasn’t sure what it was, or if he liked it, but that split second of whatever it was, had him hooked.
“Hey man, come in.” He stepped out of the way and let Blake in. Micah was wearing the standard dress of every teenage boy at their school, shorts, a t-shirt, and flip-flops. Even after three years in Vegas, he still wasn’t used to the heat. Which was why he very rarely wore a shirt unless his mom made him or he was going somewhere where he needed to wear one.
He didn’t miss the flick of Blake’s eyes to his chest. A chest he was very proud of. A thrill went through him at Blake’s blush at getting caught looking at him.
“Mom, we’re going to be studying for the next couple of hours in my room,” he called out, leading Blake up the stairs to his room. Closing the door behind them, he directed Blake to his bed. “Take a seat.”
Blake sat down on his bed and opened his backpack, pulling out his notebook and history book. Micah grabbed his from his desk and sat in the chair facing him. “So what do you need help with?”
“Honestly, I have no clue. I flunked the last test, and if I don’t pass this class, I can kiss my scholarship goodbye.”
“Okay, do you have the test?” The challenge of helping him understand how the government worked was like a fire in his blood. Blake handed him the test, and he winced at the grade.
For the next two hours, he walked Blake through all the steps of one branch of the government. When their time was up, Blake thanked him and set up the next time, leaving him with a handshake. For the life of him, he didn’t understand why that action irritated him. It was how all the guys he tutored left, but this time it bothered him.
At their next session, he sat on the bed, next to Blake. Trying to figure out what it was about this guy that had him thinking things he’d never thought before about guys…not just any guy though. Just Blake. When he left again, it was with a handshake hug. Once again, he was irritated at how he left.
When Blake showed up for their next session, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his shorts hung purposely low on his hips. When Blake saw him, his eyes lingered on the v of his hips, and that thrill that had run through him at their first session was back. Only this time, he recognized what it was.
Attraction.
This he could handle. This he knew what to do with.
He led him back up to his room and joined him on the bed. “Blake?”
Blake looked at him, and this close, he saw everything that Blake didn’t want him to see. He was just as attracted as Micah was. That was all he needed to know. He let his instincts guide him as leaned he over and kissed Blake.
With every girl he’d kissed, he’d had to temper his strength, but that wasn’t the case with Blake. Every ounce of blood left his body and pooled in his cock.
This was without a doubt the hottest fucking kiss he’d ever had, and he never wanted it to stop.
“ARE YOU GOING to come in or stand out in the heat?” Blake’s voice brought him back to the present.
All the nervousness he’d had about the night fled as he met Blake’s eyes. He’d had every intention of coming over to talk about what had happened ten years ago and start to pave the way for them to rekindle what he’d messed up, but from the look in Blake’s eyes that wasn’t going to happen. His cock swelled in response to the heat coming from Blake and he knew that while it was what he’d had planned, he had a feeling it was going to be one of the best fucking nights of his life.
Dear Reader,
What way to leave you hanging right? Trust me, it wasn’t intentional. When I started writing this story, I plotted out a simple short story about two high school sweethearts who run into each other and fall back in love. I should have known that it wasn’t that simple.
As I struggled to write this story…and trust me, it was a HUGE struggle, I couldn’t understand why in the heck these two guys were fighting me so much. Until I realized their story was anything but simple, and I was doing them a major disserve by not delving further into their history and why each had made the choices they’d made. Their story is so much bigger than what I could put in this anthology.
So I gave you the beginning. Finding Home tells the story of what happens once Micah walks into Blake’s house. And these two face what happened back then and struggle to find a future together.
About the Author
Heather has traveled all over the world, speaks several languages, collects romance books like they’re going out of style, and has multiple book boyfriends. Ok, she hasn’t been all over the world, except in her mind. She does however speak multiple languages and collect romance books. Her long-suffering husband and sons roll their eyes at all her book boyfriends. When she’s not busy on her next novel she can be found in her classroom where teaches one of those many languages, at one of her sons many sporting events or on twitter talking about what else, romance books.
Heather also teamed up with paranormal historical writer Laura Hunsaker to write paranormal romance under the name Kenzie MacLir. Their first book Change It Up came out in July in the antholog
y Icing the Puck.
To find out when the next book is coming out please join Heather’s mailing list, she promises to only send it out when she has a new book, at www.heatherlire.com
You can also connect with her on social media. Facebook Twitter Instagram
When I first started writing I thought it was a solitary thing I was doing, holed up in my bedroom, hiding from my screaming kids. Oh how wrong I was. Writing is never a solitary business.
First and foremost, I have to say a ginormous thank you to my husband and sons who put up with me hiding so I could finish this book. Second, I have to thank my agent Nicole who always tells me I can write whatever I want, so long as I write, and believes in me. Third, to our amazing editors who screamed at me when they got to the end who keeps asking when part two will be out. (I’m working on it I promise) Fourth, to the ladies who organized this amazing anthology, V.L. Lockey and Aven Gale, thank you so much for letting me be a part of this amazing book, and encouraging me when I wanted to quit because it was so hard to write. Lastly, to those who inspired me to write this book, those I went to high school who hid their sexuality, Mr. Ball, whose battle with A.I.D.S. impacted my high school years in ways I never realized until I started writing this book, and those family members I gained when I married Mr. Lire who forever changed the way I look at this community, and to all of my students, those I have currently, and those I’ll have in the future who are in the closet and those who’ve taken that bold step in coming out.
On Broadway
V.L. Locey
(3 Flaming Pucks)
Dedications
To my daughter: I am so very proud of your bravery, strength, and wonderfully wicked sense of humor. You're my best friend.
Blurb
Money. Skill. Looks. Fame.
Riley Zeally, captain and star center for the New York Nightwings, has it all. You’d think his nights would be filled with wine, women, and song, but Riley isn’t what the world thinks he is. He’s a closeted gay man living a lonely, solitary life in the biggest city in the world. The lights of Broadway may shine brightly on him but they certainly don’t keep him warm at night.
Fate intercedes one blisteringly cold morning and tosses Riley into the path of a beautiful young man in shabby clothes and ancient skates who captivates the superstar. Then, just as unexpectedly as he appeared, the man of Riley’s dreams disappears, swallowed up by the city that never sleeps. In a city of millions, can two men from different worlds ever hope to find each other again?
One
FOR THOSE WHO think that it never really gets cold in the city, you're wrong. It does. It gets damn cold. This morning, five days after New Year's Day, it felt as cold here in New York City as it had back on the farm in Sugar Lake, Minnesota. Maybe part of that was because it was early January. Another small reason might be that it was not quite six in the morning, which meant that sunrise was a good hour and a half away yet. I made a silent frozen vow to strangle my agent the next time I saw him.
Why he thought setting up a photoshoot for a new skate sponsor outside at the butt-crack of dawn when it was about five below zero was a good idea was beyond me. Guess it wasn't Bert standing out here beside Rockefeller Center's famous ice staking rink freezing his balls off, so what did he care? I was tired, cold, and a little grumpy. If I hadn't signed a contract, I would have left thirty minutes ago. It's one thing to be up so early for a charity event; it's another thing entirely to be so miserable for cash. Not even the immense and famous Christmas tree could lift my spirits. I was getting heartily sick of hawking stuff. I didn't need the money. I made enough playing hockey that I had been able to pay off the mortgage on my parent's house and send my sister to college. Sometimes I felt like a commodity instead of a person.
"Have some coffee. We can't afford to have any part of you freeze and drop off."
I looked from the ice to the large Styrofoam cup of hot goodness Otto Masterson held out to me. Otto had quickly become my best friend since the New York Nightwings drafted me four years ago. After turning eighteen, I had come to the Big Apple two weeks before the draft. Otto was my winger, put next to me to help ease me into the transition. With Otto on my right and Björn Adamsson on my left, our line did pretty well. People liked to toss certain words around to describe my skills. I didn't feel like any kind of wunderkind, prodigy, new face of professional hockey, or the epitome of a world-class center. I was just a kid from Sugar Lake who had a knack for hockey.
"Thanks," I murmured and turned from the ice and enormous golden statue of Prometheus that watched over the skaters. My lower back rested against a handrail. All around us flags snapped in the bitter breeze. I opened the lid and took a tentative taste. No cream and extra sugar slid over my tongue. "Perfect."
Otto nodded then slurped his own hot drink. Cocoa if I knew the man that aided me in grabbing those one hundred and twenty points last season.
"Check out the side," the tall black man said into his hot chocolate. With an eye roll, I lifted the extra-large Styrofoam cup and began turning it. Right beside the coffee shops emblem was a name and phone number. "Kelly is getting desperate."
"Kelly is barking up the wrong tree," I sighed and lowered the cup to hide the pretty barista's rather obvious attempt to get me into bed. She had no way of knowing that I was gay. No one did aside from Otto, my parents, and my younger sister. The only reason he knew was that he had walked into an ill-timed tryst on the road my rookie year when we were in Jacksonville. I assumed Florida would be far enough away from New York. I was nervous and in need of some kind of companionship. I had snuck a good-looking fan who came onto me in the hotel restaurant into our hotel room. The straight guys do it all the time. He had promised to be discreet. My secret would be safe. Wrong. Otto had come bursting into our room unannounced. But, as with most everything else in my life since becoming a Nighthawk, Otto stood by my side and kept the secret.
"Not her fault that you are so damned sexy," Otto chuckled into his steaming cocoa.
"Yeah, right," I muttered and took another sip. Kelly might be a little desperate but she sure did make a good cup of coffee. "She's probably way more interested in the paycheck and the status than she is in me."
"I don't know, dude. The chicks are all about getting some of that prime Riley Zeally dick. They tell me it's your dreamy brown eyes, soft brown hair, humble demeanor, and charitable attitude that wins their hearts." I made a sound of disbelief as I wondered where the photographer was. "At least that's what they say when you gently turn them down and they crawl into my bed."
"I hear you," I said. Otto snorted then drove an elbow into my side. Otto was so successful with the women because he was one of the hottest bachelors in New York City. Take about eight years off the actor Jay Ellis and put a hockey stick in his hand and you had Otto Masterson, right down to the goatee and sexy lopsided smile. If only Otto were gay…
Otto turned to look down at the ice. I stayed with my back to Prometheus so I could see if someone came jogging at us with a camera and an apology falling out of his or her mouth. I'd be grabbing a nap for sure before the game tonight.
"Hey," Otto whispered. I glanced over at him. His elbows rested on the railing. "Check out this dude on the ice."
"The rink is closed until eight-thirty," I reminded my friend.
"Someone better tell Fabio that."
I turned slowly. Otto had not been lying. Some guy with blond hair was speeding around the rink. Not only was the dude cranking out some serious speed on ancient skates, he was handling a puck with an old wooden stick with enough skill to put a certain center from Big D to shame. My jaw nearly hit the railing Otto was resting his elbows on. Not only did the man possess some impressive skill, his face was a work of art. I couldn't make out the color of his eyes, but I could see his features clearly enough. Nice cheekbones under clear pale skin, a tiny nose, and that hair, man, that hair was incredible. It looked as if it might be just a couple inches shy of his shoulders. I had a thing for longer hai
r on a man.
"Wow." That was all I could think of to say. I looked over at Otto. Otto looked at me. "Is he on the Brooklyn team?"
"I don't think so. No one over there has hair like that."
The man did have impressive flow. "Who is he then?" I leaned into the railing, my exhalations fogging in front of me. "Shit, he is good. Are you sure he's not on the Bombers?"
"Riley, I know all the guys from Brooklyn. He is not on that team. Oh man, looks like security has just pegged him." Otto motioned to a couple of beefy men heading to the rink. The dude with the amazing hands stopped, spun, and looked at security when they shouted at him. He then grabbed his puck from the corner and took off. Otto and I both had a laugh at the way the guy in the worn coat and ragged jeans left those two apes in the dust. It was close once when Skating Fabio had to stop and remove his skates then stuff his feet into street shoes, but he flew past the duo in uniform.
"Man, that was something," I murmured as I watched the mystery dynamo run out onto 5th Avenue and disappear amid honking horns and shouts. I began racking my brain, trying to match up a player on any nearby team who had that kind of glorious golden hair. I came up with nothing.
"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" Our photographer had arrived, looking as exhausted as I felt. "I was out last night and got on the wrong train," the skinny man with bright blue hair informed us. "Ended up way out in Queens," he panted as we shook hands. "Talk about culture shock. Shall we get set up? I want the sun coming up to tint your cheeks pink."
Off went Mr. Blue Hair, chatting to whoever would listen about the horror of arriving in Queens.
"My cheeks are already pink," I grumbled then quickly downed my coffee.
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