Grand Adventures

by Dawn Kimberly Johnson

  Copyright

  Published by

  Dreamspinner Press

  5032 Capital Circle SW

  Ste 2, PMB# 279

  Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Grand Adventures

  © 2014 Dreamspinner Press.

  Edited by Anne Regan

  Foreword © 2014 S.A. McAuley.

  An Unexpected Thing © 2014 John Amory.

  The Twinkie Ignition © 2014 J.E. Birk.

  When Friendship Becomes More © 2014 Sophie Bonaste.

  Isle of Waiting © 2014 Sue Brown.

  The Jogger © 2014 KC Burn.

  Holding Court © 2014 Cardeno C.

  For Dear Life © 2014 Mary Calmes.

  Under the Full Moon © 2014 Ellis Carrington.

  Stripped © 2014 Shae Connor.

  That Place Across the Hall © 2014 C.C. Dado.

  Mistaken MD © 2014 Phoenix Emrys.

  Cops and Comix © 2014 Rhys Ford.

  Last First Kiss © 2014 LE Franks.

  Tomorrow © 2014 John Goode.

  From Fantasy to Friends © 2014 CR Guiliano.

  Witness Protected © 2014 Dawn Kimberly Johnson.

  Water Under the Bridge © 2014 Mia Kerick.

  A Gentle Shove of Human Kindness © 2014 Amy Lane.

  Air (Roads #1.75 million) © 2014 Garrett Leigh.

  An Atheist and a Yoga Instructor Walk into a Bar © 2014 Rowan McAllister.

  Stalking 101 © 2014 Moria McCain.

  Simple Desires © 2014 Tempeste O’Riley.

  Object of Care © 2014 Zahra Owens.

  Kid Confusion © 2014 Madison Parker.

  Fall Train © 2014 Jaime Samms.

  The Exhibition © 2014 Andrea Speed.

  What You Will © 2014 Tinnean.

  Prologue © 2014 Brandon Witt.

  Cover Art © 2014 Paul Richmond.

  http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com

  Cover content is being used for illustrative purposes only

  and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Harmony Ink Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or publisher@harmonyinkpress.com.

  ISBN: 978-1-62798-995-4

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-62798-996-1

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  March 2014

  “Stripped” previously published in the Never Say Never anthology by Silver Publishing, February 2011.

  Table of Contents

  Foreword by S.A. McAuley

  Prologue by Brandon Witt

  An Unexpected Thing by John Amory

  The Twinkie Ignition by J.E. Birk

  Simple Desires by Tempeste O’Riley

  What You Will by Tinnean

  Air (Roads #1.75 million) by Garrett Leigh

  Object of Care by Zahra Owens

  Water Under the Bridge by Mia Kerick

  From Fantasy to Friends by CR Guiliano

  That Place Across the Hall by C.C. Dado

  Mistaken MD by Phoenix Emrys

  When Friendship Becomes More by Sophie Bonaste

  The Exhibition by Andrea Speed

  Holding Court by Cardeno C.

  Cops and Comix by Rhys Ford

  For Dear Life by Mary Calmes

  Witness Protected by Dawn Kimberly Johnson

  Fall Train by Jaime Samms

  Stripped by Shae Connor

  Stalking 101 by Moria McCain

  Under the Full Moon by Ellis Carrington

  Isle of Waiting by Sue Brown

  An Atheist and a Yoga Instructor Walk into a Bar by Rowan McAllister

  Last First Kiss by LE Franks

  The Jogger by KC Burn

  Kid Confusion by Madison Parker

  Tomorrow by John Goode

  A Gentle Shove of Human Kindness by Amy Lane

  Foreword

  S.A. MCAULEY

  IT BEGAN with a book review.

  And one week later, a reply.

  Relatively new to the gay romance genre, I was one of those readers who picked up a copy of Woke Up in a Strange Place because of TJ Klune’s recommendation. I’d read Bear, Otter, and the Kid only days before and fallen in complete smit with every word TJ wanted to offer us. What I discovered in Eric’s writing was nothing short of the masterpiece TJ claimed in his review.

  What all of us—including TJ and Eric—couldn’t have known in September 2011 was that this one glowing review would be the spark that lit the match, that burned the rope, which opened the trapdoor and sent two ornately intricate and beautiful marbles through a series of obstacles, falls, and crashing blindly through barriers to their ultimate goal….

  Wait a second.

  Did I did just compare TJ and Eric’s journey to love with balls careening out of control?

  Well, I suppose the metaphor is inappropriate as much as it is accurate. That’s the magic of the duo who has been affectionately nicknamed Klarvin: they swing from poetic to sardonic effortlessly.

  Together (whether writing, making a video, or just relaxing), they have a penchant for seeing just how far they can gleefully jump over that imaginary line of propriety—all with fiendish smiles lighting their faces.

  Balls careening out of control, indeed.

  Eric writes books that explore the surreal and the unseen. He weaves tales that create entirely new worlds. His prose conjures a new reality into existence and evokes emotions we feel in our bones and yet have no name for.

  TJ is a masterful guide. He cradles his readers and sweeps us into journeys we can’t anticipate or prepare for. He leaves us restless, breathless and in tears. So many tears.

  They both maneuver through sadness and angst with grace. They illustrate the beauty of the world through characters that are flawed, struggling to find their way, and yet active participants in their own fate. Individually, their stories—whether dramatic or comedic—are memorable. It’s the true test of a writer. To produce stories and characters that refuse to be forgotten. Refuse to be ordinary….

  Just as much as TJ and Eric, in real life, refuse to be ordinary.

  While all of us fell in love with them on the page or on a Kindle screen, TJ and Eric were falling in love with each other behind computer screens. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say they were falling in lust (but that’s a scandalous claim that would leave TJ swooning with feigned shock and Eric seductively waggling his eyebrows). Anyone who saw pictures or met them at GayRomLit in New Mexico quickly saw just how enamored they were with each other from the start.

  Over the last two years, they gave us a peek into their adventures. A chance to see them as they really, truly are. Flaws, brilliance, humor, impropriety, and all. Giving us such unflinching access into their private lives was both brave and a calculated risk.

  When Eric went into the emergency room in December 20
13, we learned just how risky.

  TJ became a general: coordinating the details of Eric’s care, making decisions with family, maneuvering through the complexity of balancing his day job and Eric’s needs—all while pouring his heart into maintaining a connection on social media with the readers and fans who had become friends. While Eric fought, TJ rallied the troops, garnering support for his fiancé from all corners of the globe.

  Eric survived the surgery to his brain stem to remove a cavernous hemangioma that was slowly taking his breath and his life. TJ turned his focus to bringing Eric home as soon as he could. Neither of them could see any other option besides finding a way to continue this incredible journey they’d started together.

  When asked what one word they identified most with TJ and Eric, their readers, fans, and friends overwhelmingly answered love. Then forever, strong, devotion, soulmates… I think you see the pattern.

  The events of the last three months will change TJ and Eric’s lives. But they won’t ever change that blinding smile Eric gives when he sees TJ. Or the exasperated sigh TJ offers when Eric asks for something, followed by TJ promptly giving Eric whatever he wants.

  The bond between them is one that cannot be mistaken. Cannot be broken.

  What TJ and Eric have isn’t a fairytale. It isn’t the happily ever after we read about so often in romance novels.

  What they have is even better than that.

  A strength that is born of darkness. A wisdom that only comes with true appreciation for what they’ve found in each other. Of just how unique and powerful their journey, this grand adventure, really is.

  Prologue

  BRANDON WITT

  Eric,

  There are not words to thank you enough for your pivotal role in making my dreams come true. It was your kindness, sweetness, and encouragement that opened up the doors for me to become an honest-to-goodness author. Thank you for your genuine and giving spirit. AND—thank you for your epic contribution to our world of Gay Literature. I cannot wait to read your next novel.

  TJ,

  I loved you as soon as I read Into This River I Drown, but my awe of you—your humanity, bravery, transparency, and love—continues to grow as I watch you in this journey from afar. You are the best of us! I pray I can measure up to the man you have proven yourself to be.

  I look forward to meeting you both face-to-face one day. Until then, you have all my love, respect, and devotion.

  ROOTS TUMBLED over one another, causing moss-covered ground to look like waves in slow motion. The gnarled veins twisted and braided, then plunged back into the soil before resurfacing great distances away. The woven earth stretched as far as the eye could see. Numberless trees soared toward the sky, each unique, each seeming to sing as the breeze danced through their leaves.

  She stepped tenderly over a tangle of roots and approached the willow nearest her. Never had she tripped, caught the hem of her flowing skirt, nor stubbed a bare toe. She was as much a part of the landscape as the trees for which she cared—the only creature that moved or breathed. Alone. Never lonely. In a fluid motion, her wizened hand stretched up and lovingly grasped the pod, pulling it toward her with enough care that the spiraling branch bent but didn’t break.

  Breath caught and held as she inspected. Even as she watched, a purple hue began to spread out from the stem over the taut green skin of the capsule. Her cloudy eyes crinkled at the corners as she brought the pod to her lips. A kiss for bravery. It was nearly time. It was the first produce the tree had offered. With just a little courage, it should ripen and blossom. A new world coming into existence.

  Letting go of the pod, she watched as it lifted to be partially concealed once more in the leaves of the willow. She took a step away, then looked back. This was her favorite part. She never tired of a tree’s first bloom. It would be like no other tree’s offering before or after.

  Even as she stepped out of the willow’s enclosing boughs, the old woman’s thoughts continued to linger on the newly maturing fruit. She could feel the human’s awareness begin to grow. She could sense the questions begin to form, as well as the doubts and fears, all laced with the delicious thrill of anticipation as the quest’s voyage drew nigh.

  Still, there were others, countless others, to which she must tend.

  In effortless grace, her feet sank into the cushioning moss, then lifted over more writhing roots, never needing to glance down to avoid their shifting progression. She lifted her eyes instead to the sky, watching the glistening sun spiral slowly, its heated rays burning away the trail of the moon and stars that spun in their endless rotation.

  She was beyond time; she knew it not. She was as old as the first human consciousness, and she would remain until the last. Until souls and words faded alike. She and her trees. She and the swirling sun and moon in the sky. She and the crashing waves in the distance. The only semblance of time in her eternity was the birth of new trees and the abundance of their fruit.

  Pushing the newly ripening pod from her thoughts, the lady paused at an insignificant pine, the green of its needles yellowing and brown. With a scowl, she reached out and plucked its dried pod, a crackling snap breaking the serenity. She lifted it for closer inspection. Her lips tightened and grew thin as she slipped her thumbnail into the seam of its skin and lifted it open. She was not aware of the tear that made its way over her wrinkled cheek. She’d thought this might be the one. Hoped. There’d been some before on this tree, but none had ripened as fully. Her eyes narrowed as she peered closer. Indeed, she could make out the forms inside. What seemed like a malformed face here and there. Even as she watched, what was left of their golden hue faded to gray.

  This would be the last. There would be no more fruit from the pine. Though not gifted with clairvoyance, she could read the signs. Soon the tree itself would have no more substance than the pod she slipped into the pocket of her dress. The pod rattled as it fell against the other dead worlds she kept there. Nothing would emerge from this tree. Whatever events had transpired in the life of the connected soul had smothered out the tale that had been meant to be told, the words that had been slated to flow.

  She’d seen it countless times before. Watched as a tree struggled to survive, to grow. Agonized as its fruit labored to form, only to fade away. From fear? Possibly heartache? Maybe just from life. What did she know of a soul’s existence?

  Maybe there was a flaw in the creator’s design.

  The woman shoved the thought from her mind before it fully formed. It was not her place to question. Not her place to cast judgment. Her purpose was to care for the trees that grew from human souls and nourish their fruit as best she could.

  Patting the hard shells of the pods in the folds of her skirt, she stared off into the distance, to where the moonlit mountains emptied into the sea. As if bidden, her gaze traveled of its own accord past the jutting crags and to the malevolent land farther to the west. She would have to journey there soon. Give the worlds that failed to form over to the darkness. The old woman had never known fear, but its kin traced down her spine every time she laid the pods to rest.

  She’d never stepped more than a few paces inside that shadowy place, no further than necessary to bury the untold tales, and she knew not the how or why, only the must. It was not her place to question nor discover. Only tend, only nurture, only give.

  With a brisk shake of her head, sending the silver strands of her hair tumbling about her face, the guardian abandoned the mountains, the sea, and the dark place, all three, and turned back to her eternal hills of trees. Already the pine had begun to crumble and decay, returning back to the soil. Making room for the next soul’s tree to emerge and to enrich the roots of others as they burrowed by.

  Even as she watched, two roots broke the surface of the soil, twisting around each other before plunging deep once more, each burrowing in a similar, yet varying, direction.

  Stepping spryly, she closed the distance in moments and knelt by where the exposed roots intertwined. Closing
her hands over the twists, she felt the life that surged from the joining. A contented groan escaped her lips as they curved into a smile. She didn’t have to follow the roots back to their source; she knew by their feel. Her gaze found them. First an old, monstrous oak. It had offered many worlds since it blossomed so long ago. Some of its fruit had been dark and held forms of evil, but much hope and kindness had been issued as well. These trees were the ones she loved the most. The souls that required the greatest outpouring of her love. Craning her head to see past the larger tree, she could make out the thin form of a recently sprouted aspen. As she watched, both trees grew, seeming more alive and full. Even from their distance, their flowering fruit shone more lush and vibrant. The worlds produced by both trees would be filled with words of greater passion due to this connection.

  Almost reluctantly, she let go and stood once more. She continued, as she always had, and always would. Meandering among her trees. Caressing the branches and leaves that reached for her. Singing in nearly incoherent softness to the roots. Stopping every so often to whisper encouragement to the pods as they ripened.

  On and on she walked. Plucking another withered fruit. Another shattered world. Another glance toward the dark place.

  On and on she worked. Loving the souls who birthed the trees. Inspiring the words that streamed forth. Pruning back leaves so the fruit might find the sun.

  She returned to the willow. It was time. She’d felt its call from acres away. Before stepping inside the curtains of it cascading leaves, she removed the dead pods and placed them tenderly on a mossy mound. She’d not take chances. Not with a tree’s first fruit.

  Her joyful laugh sounded as she pulled on the branch, drawing the fruit closer. It was indeed time. There was no green to be seen on the pod; its skin was a deep violet, and fierce crimson colored its seams.

  When met with no resistance, her thumbnail punctured the closure and slipped inside. At her beckoning, the pod burst open, and the amber petals of the flowering world inside unfolded with dewy leisure, revealing the golden forms at its center. As she’d expected, a few of them were of a darker hue. The vast number, though, were unblemished and gleaming. The best fruit had both. She’d known she loved this willow a bit more than usual.