Then a familiar face rocks his world. Joshua isn’t dead. He’s back in Seattle to make peace with his dying father, with a new name, a new accent…and old feelings for Chris that are alive and well.
Forgiveness doesn’t come easy for anyone, but just as Chris is accepting that the man he loves isn’t going to run away this time, their families threaten to pull them apart all over again…
Warning: Contains two lost boys who need to make up for a hell of a lot of lost time. There’s also a military uniform, a tuxedo, and a knife. In the same scene. And yes, it’s that kind of scene.
Enjoy the following excerpt for No Distance Left to Run:
“Well, this is the place.” I waved a hand at the interior of my apartment.
Joshua—Julien—set his rucksack down beside the door. “It’s nice. No…” His eyes lost focus, and he made a frustrated gesture. “Uh, no… Fuck, what’s the word?” He snapped his fingers. “Roommate. You don’t have a roommate?”
“No roommate.” I smirked. “Relearning English, are we?”
He laughed, and his cheeks colored. “You’d be amazed how quickly another language takes over.”
“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, you who were practically fluent in Spanish while the rest of us were still trying to remember how to say ‘water’.”
Julien chuckled. “Still, it’s different when it’s all you’re speaking. It was hard at first, but before I knew it, I was even thinking in French.”
“Wow.”
Our eyes locked.
God, so many questions.
Before I even realized I was speaking, I whispered, “Why, Joshua?”
He lowered his gaze and ran a hand through his short hair. “Would any explanation I gave you change anything?”
“It might make things a little easier to stomach.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I lost my best friend.”
“I’m back now.”
“For how long?”
He didn’t answer.
Sighing, I pressed my shoulder against the wall, just looking for some support since my knees weren’t all that reliable when he was around. “I lost my best friend. I… God, I lost my mind after I found out.”
He flinched. “I’m so sorry, Chris. That’s… I don’t know what else I can say.”
“Just tell me why.”
Without looking at me, he said, “It wasn’t you.”
I blinked a few times, wondering how the hell to take that. “It wasn’t me? Except it was me—and everyone else—you left behind.”
“I know. I know I did. And—” He made another frustrated gesture. “I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve never even made sense of it myself. I just… I couldn’t do it anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Any of it.” He exhaled. “Being the perfect son, the perfect Mormon, the perfect student, the perfect…the perfect everything. I had to be the best at everything, Chris.” He turned away, rubbing his neck with both tanned, weathered hands. “I couldn’t just graduate, I had to be valedictorian. I couldn’t just be on the football team. I had to be the star quarterback. And whatever career I pursued? I had to be at the top. Always. Always, Chris. It was just too fucking much pressure, and I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was I couldn’t anymore. And when I met some guys in the Legion, it was a chance at a different life where no one cared that I was Joshua Hawthorne.” He faced me again, and when he met my eyes, there were tears in his. “No one even knew that was my name. To them, I was just another soldier.”
I swallowed hard. “But… God, Joshua, we—”
“Julien.” His voice wavered slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “My name is Julien.”
“Okay, okay.” I showed my palms. “Look, I’m still getting used to the idea you’re even alive. You’re going to have to cut me some slack if I’m not used to calling you by a different name.”
He seemed to deflate a little and leaned back against the front door.
A hundred emotions simmered beneath the surface, and a mix of grief and anger reached the top first. “Your family had a funeral for you,” I said through clenched teeth.
Julien grimaced. He looked up at the ceiling, his Adam’s apple jumping as he swallowed.
I forced my voice to stay even. “They wouldn’t let me go.”
“What?” He looked at me again, eyebrows up.
“I was still on my mission, and I couldn’t—” My voice cracked, and I coughed quickly to recover. “They wouldn’t let me go.” I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering how that town in South Korea had suddenly closed in on me, how the homesickness I’d felt for the last few months hadn’t held a candle to my sudden desperate need to get on a plane and—
The gentle touch of a warm, rough hand on my cheek startled me. I stumbled back, but the wall stopped me.
Julien was so close now. Close enough to touch me. Even closer than that—a breath away from being against me. Oh God, he was Joshua now. The man who’d been even closer to me than this the night before we’d gone on our respective missions.
His hand met my cheek again. “I never meant to hurt you, Chris. And you might not believe me, but…that was one of the hardest things for me to cope with. Knowing I’d left you behind while—”
I kissed him.
I didn’t know what else to do. Every word he said hurt, and he was…damn it, he was there. And alive. And kissing me back.
He was startled at first, hesitated, but then relaxed against me. He slid a hand around to the small of my back, the other up into my hair, and holy fuck, he didn’t kiss like a scared Mormon virgin anymore. Oh, how things changed in six years. I couldn’t even pretend we were back where we’d started, two terrified kids who’d finally given in and kissed in the back room during a pre-mission farewell party. We both knew too much now. Julien wasn’t so timid, encouraging my lips apart with his tongue, and I opened willingly for him, without all the nerves I’d had back then.
I ran a hand down his back and pulled him closer so his cock rubbed against my—
Oh my God, what are we doing?
I broke away, pulling back as much as the wall would let me, and our eyes met. His were wide, the same question written across his face—what are we doing? That kiss was nothing like the first one all those years ago, but this moment was pure déjà vu. I couldn’t remember how we’d gotten to this point and had no idea where we went from here. Last time, we’d kissed again, and then we’d fumbled our way through the only sexual encounter that had ever haunted me, that sweet, nervous sex with another virgin, that first and last time with a friend who’d be gone before I could make sense of it.
This time…
This time I didn’t know what to do.
And there were no rules for this—none. It wasn’t friends-with-benefits. I didn’t even know if he still qualified as a friend, or if I cared about the benefits enough to take the risk that he’d reconsider and be gone tomorrow when I woke up. He wasn’t a one-night stand, because I knew him (and yet I didn’t at all), and he sure as hell wasn’t a boyfriend. He fit none of the boxes. Back then, he’d fit all the fucking boxes, apart from being gay, did everything people expected him to do, but none of that applied anymore, and I was completely adrift.
And it would be easy to fall into bed with him now and see what else had changed.
No man—and no heart—left behind.
The Only One Who Matters
© 2014 Cat Grant and L.A. Witt
The Only One, Book 2
Months after a bullet ended his SEAL career, Senior Chief David Flint doesn’t know which is worse: struggling to adjust to life as a civilian, or watching his lover, Lieutenant Commander Josh Walker, leave for one deployment after another.
Missing the career he loved—and knowing all too well the danger Josh faces—doesn’t help. And as Josh walks out the do
or for another assignment, David can feel their relationship cracking under the strain.
With so little time between assignments, Josh has no idea how to fix things with David. One thing he’s sure of, though…if they don’t find a way to resolve the rising tension between them, there’s a storm coming they might not be able to weather. But he plans to give it his best shot—when he gets home.
Assuming he makes it home alive…
Warning: Contains plenty of smoking-hot sex between two dudes who just wanted to be SEALs, not deal with all this romance crap. They went and fell in love anyway, and now have to figure out how to make it work while saving the world and teaching their puppy not to beg.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Only One Who Matters:
Coming home was always weirder than it should have been.
With every completed mission, Lieutenant Commander Josh Walker thought that feeling would go away, but it didn’t. Sliding into the driver’s seat of his Mustang—after blasting the A/C to cool it down after four weeks in the sun, of course—felt like climbing into the cockpit of an alien ship. Feeling the seat belt through his shirt reminded him he was no longer wearing a protective layer of body armor. When he glanced in the rearview and side mirrors, he was so caught up in checking for insurgents and IEDs, he nearly forgot to check for pedestrians and passing cars. He remembered, though, and just in time not to back over a pair of civilian contractors.
He paused, elbow on the steering wheel, and rubbed a hand over his jaw. Even his goddamned face felt weird, with a few weeks’ worth of scruff now absent, replaced only by about twenty-four hours of stubble. He was so used to his hair tickling the back of his neck, it was strange to feel cold air on it now. The haircut, the air-conditioning, the lack of the Middle Eastern sun—welcome home, Josh.
Home. That thought brought a smile to his lips.
He checked the mirrors again, this time for passersby and cars instead of phantom insurgents, and backed out of the parking space.
Traffic was lighter than usual, thank God, and he sped past the familiar-but-strange scenery. It was good to see a landscape that wasn’t desert, and, even better, something that wasn’t the drab, bare-bones inside of a cargo jet.
He parked in front of the one-story rental house, killed the engine and got out. He didn’t even bother pulling his rucksack out of the trunk. He’d carried men who outweighed him by a good hundred pounds through hellish conditions, but just the thought of picking up that bag made him tired. Between the long, miserable flights home—it took a hell of a storm to make a dozen SEALs airsick—and this afternoon’s debrief, he was exhausted.
Though the ground floor had been picked out for other reasons, he was sure thankful for it today. If he’d had to drag his ass up any stairs, he might’ve just napped in the damned car.
As he was putting his key in the door, a neighbor’s dog started barking. Josh rolled his eyes. Great. All he wanted to do was sleep, and now there—
He opened the door, and a huge German shepherd rushed at him.
“What the—”
“Major! Down!”
The dog instantly dropped onto its haunches but whined softly as it wagged its tail so hard it almost toppled itself. Josh stared at it for a moment.
Then he raised his gaze, and in spite of his surprise at the strange dog in his house, grinned.
Leaning heavily—but not nearly as heavily as a month ago—on a cane, David returned the grin, green eyes shining just right to make Josh almost forget how exhausted he was. “Hey. Didn’t realize you’d landed already.”
Josh shrugged. “Thought I’d surprise you. I just, uh…” He glanced at the dog. “Wasn’t expecting Cujo here.”
David laughed. “Major, go lay down.”
The dog whined again, but then trotted over to the recliner and lay beside it, head on his enormous paws.
Josh kicked the door shut and closed the distance between him and David. Damn, it had been a while, hadn’t it? David was obviously getting around better now. His sandy blond hair was a little longer—still within regs, even though he’d been retired for months, but longer than when Josh had left.
“God, I missed you,” Josh whispered, wrapping his arms around him.
“Missed you too,” David murmured and kissed him. He put one arm around Josh’s waist and rested the other hand, the one still holding the cane, on Josh’s hip. His kiss was soft, not as demanding as it could be when he was turned on, and Josh was grateful for it. Sometimes he came back from missions and wanted to fuck until they couldn’t move, but sometimes, he… Hell, he already couldn’t move.
David broke the kiss and touched his forehead to Josh’s. “Tired?”
“Very.”
He drew back enough to meet Josh’s eyes. Then he nodded down the hall. “Why don’t you go get some sleep?”
“I will.” Josh touched David’s face. “But I want—”
“Josh.” David gave him a look that took Josh back to the days of SEAL training, back when they’d been Chief Flint and Lieutenant Walker. “I could tell the second you came in the door that you were dead on your feet. Just go get some sleep.”
“But you—”
“Will be here when you get up.” He nudged Josh toward the bedroom. “Go.”
Josh wanted to argue. He hadn’t seen David in a damned month. He wanted to catch up. Just be with him. Find out how his physical therapy was going and his leg was healing and…
And he was too fucking tired.
He kissed David softly. “Just a few hours.”
David smiled. “Enjoy it.”
Josh startled awake in a pitch-black room. Heart racing. Panic running through his veins. Fear. Adrenaline. The cool air didn’t feel right. Not on sunburned skin and—
No, he wasn’t sunburned.
And the sand in his mouth was gone.
The dream faded. He couldn’t remember what he’d dreamed about, only that he had, in fact, dreamed, and his blood was still pumping from it. Whatever it was, it was over.
Except that Josh was immobile. The sheet draped over his body from the waist down was tight. Heavy. What the hell?
He squinted in the darkness as some faint light spilling in from down the hall illuminated his familiar surroundings. The mismatched silhouettes of a couple of Craigslist dressers. The outline of the footboard. The dark rectangle that he finally recognized as a framed print his mom had given them as a housewarming gift.
Home. He was home.
And the warm, solid shape beside him was David, sound asleep, snoring softly, and safe. Josh closed his eyes and exhaled. A few fleeting images from the dream flashed through his mind, and he remembered being back out on the last mission, except this time, David was with him. Still a SEAL. Still running like the best of them, or crouching along a wall as they crept into a building, or carrying one of the guys. Then there’d been a grenade.
Josh shuddered. All the dreams were different, but the recurring theme was the same—David was healthy and mobile, and then he was down, and then he was gone.
But he was okay now. Josh was home, and David was asleep beside him, his cane probably propped up against the nightstand and his leg scarred from the bullet that had ended his career.
Josh started to roll toward him so he could put an arm over him, but the sheet was still pulled tight. He couldn’t move. Something heavy was pressed up against him. What the fuck was going on here?
He felt around, and his hand met thick, coarse fur.
The dog. Right.
Wait, the dog was in bed with them?
He pushed himself up onto his elbows, and sure enough, the dog—Major, wasn’t that what David had called him?—was sprawled out beside Josh, his paws hanging over the side of the bed. Seriously?
He dropped back onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. Then he rolled over, whic
h was a challenge when he was between David and Major, and draped an arm over David’s waist. David stirred a little, grumbling something in his sleep, and put a hand over Josh’s.
Closing his eyes, Josh kissed the back of David’s shoulder. This felt so weird. The dog was new, of course, but even sleeping in his own bed with his arm around David was…strange. Warm skin against warm skin made him feel vulnerable. Much like the seat belt against his thin shirt, David’s body against his reminded him he no longer wore that protective shell of Kevlar and trauma plates. The blackout curtains over the window behind his back didn’t make him feel any less like a pair of eyes or a sniper scope might peer through it. The air tasted strange without the coppery tinge of blood or the sour bite of sweat.
Sleep was a very real possibility here. No dreamless catnaps whenever he could get them. He could fall asleep. He could dream. Pressed against David, he shuddered.
He was home, damn it. Home and safe.
Why the fuck did he feel like he’d landed on another planet?
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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No Place That Far
Copyright © 2015 by L.A. Witt & Voinov Aleksandr
ISBN: 978-1-61922-569-5
Edited by Linda Ingmanson
Cover by Angela Waters
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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