Kevin stepped softly in front of me, and I had confidence that he wouldn’t get us lost on the day we had to drive back home. He knew Big Bend well from living so close to it as a boy. On Thursday afternoon, after we’d arrived, we’d driven all over the park, showing each other the places we remembered from our visits when we were younger. That’s where my sister and I saw the bear. Here’s where we came across a pack of javelinas. I found a tiny fossilized bone by the river. Do you know about the archeology dig? It’s over on the other side of the mesa.
Half an hour of walking took us to a ridge that rose from the desert floor perhaps forty feet. By then the sky was brightening and dawn wasn’t far off. We scrambled up to the top, an easy climb, and sat down cross-legged, side by side, facing east.
I wasn’t immune to the symbolism. Probably Kevin wasn’t either. A new day trembled on the edge of being as we watched. When the first sliver of sun appeared, Kevin put his arm around me, and I leaned against him.
We watched in silence for a while. The stars disappeared. The desert appeared. Tonight the cycle would reverse itself, and then it would repeat in the morning. Over and over. I couldn’t sit within the midst of that reality without knowing how incredibly lucky I was to have broken the cycle that had defined my life.
“Tell me something about yourself,” I said. “Something I don’t know already.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Anything.”
He turned to me, his eyes serious, and he took my hand to hold between us. “All right. I’ll tell you this. I fell in love with you from the start. Right away. Did you know that?”
I shook my head, but on the edge of my thoughts I realized maybe that wasn’t so much of a surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Kevin said roughly. “I don’t even believe in love at first sight. I barely knew you, but there you were, and there I was, and I was a fool for you right away.”
“You mean in Houston, right? The second time?”
“Right.”
“You hid it well.”
“I might have been besotted, but I wasn’t a total idiot. You were so hard and fierce on the outside, and I could see there was this… this neediness in you, but you weren’t admitting it, no way, no how. I think that’s what first caught my attention. That combination of strong and vulnerable.” He drew a breath. “You were so tough on me, leaving the way you did. I cursed your stubbornness all the way home.”
“I regretted leaving you like that before I was twenty miles away.”
“And then there you were at Channing’s high school. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven to see you there.”
“I sometimes wondered if you maybe had found me. You know, tracked me down?”
The rising sunlight caressed his face. “I would have if I could have, believe me. But I didn’t believe you when you said your name was Smith.”
“Just an ordinary name.”
He let go of my hand and stroked a thumb across my cheek instead. I couldn’t believe that I would have the pleasure of looking into his eyes like this from now on. “Now you do it,” he said quietly.
I was losing myself in him, in the sight of him. “Do what?”
“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
That was easy. The words had trembled on my lips for days. “I love you.”
His smile warmed me more than the sun ever could. He’d warmed my arm, after all. “I know that.”
“But I haven’t said it yet. I love you.”
We came together in a kiss. Not a passionate kiss, not one that made promises, but a kiss filled with the moment: I loved Kevin. He loved me. Here and now, today.
“Give in to love or live in fear,” the kids had sung in the finale to Rent. “No other path. No other way.”
JENNA HILARY SINCLAIR used to tell her siblings stories about a headless knight who rescued rabbits in the woods. Mom was grateful, the kids were unaccountably absorbed, and somehow this morphed into writing gay romance. Life is strange, isn’t it? Now Jenna dreams of a little cabin in the woods with a big back porch, a hanging swing, and a laptop that never loses power. There, she won’t sneeze from her allergies, her husband will be happy with an enormous garden, her children will visit—but only at the most convenient times—and words will flow from her racing fingers all day long. Most of all, characters will cooperate!
What she has instead isn’t so bad. As a matter of fact, it’s wonderful. Making a happy fool of herself dancing at a Queen + Adam Lambert concert. Hiking and camping at Rocky Mountain National Park, hefting a backcountry pack for the very first time. Touring through the gorgeous American Southwest with her beloved spouse and their incomparable friend.
Jenna will probably always dream of that cabin, but she’d trade it in a second for marriage equality—and respect for all differences—across the United States.
By JENNA HILARY SINCLAIR
Admit One
Mysterious Ways
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
With greatest love
to both the families we were born to
and the families we have created.
A Note from the Authors
WHEN WE first wrote The One That Got Away, it was for fun, meant to be posted on our brand-spanking-new blogs. Nothing angsty, nothing harsh. Just a light, enjoyable, sexy romance with the requisite happy ending.
We had no idea what we’d created.
It seemed like the people who read it on our blogs really liked it. When we looked at its publication potential, it didn’t occur to us that people would miss it when it was gone. So when readers wrote us to ask about the story, it was sort of in limbo as we looked it over. We did think, briefly, about expanding the story at that time. It came in at about 52,000 words, a little short for a novel. But to us, the story was done. We’d written it from beginning to end and there it was, complete. Yes, call us naïve; we loved the story enough that we didn’t want to mess with it. So we cleaned it up a bit and submitted it for consideration as an eBook.
Then it was published. And holey moley. Readers loved it.
Sure, we expected people would like it, but not so much! Our inboxes were again full of mail, these glowing reviews started popping up, and we heard the inevitable question: why isn’t The One That Got Away available in paperback?
And that leads us to now. This story was ridiculously popular, so popular that it surprises us to this day, and Dreamspinner offered us this incredible opportunity: a second edition. A chance to review the story, fix what we didn’t like, polish what we did, and add another 15,000 or so words to flesh out the story of Trace and David’s romance… and have it published in paperback.
We spent a lot of time trying to figure out what to do: Revise or rewrite? Polish or recast? Elaborate or plot? After several aborted starts, we decided to leave the bulk of the story intact. It’s the story readers love, after all, and if we rewrote it, it wouldn’t be The One That Got Away anymore.
So, if you read it in the first edition eBook, we hope you’ll find this the same story you know and love—think of it as a director’s cut with additional scenes. If this is the first time you’ve read The One That Got Away, we sincerely hope you enjoy it.
Lots of love, Rhianne & Madeleine
Chapter 1
DAVID CARMICHAEL groaned when the bright sunlight hit his eyes as he walked from his office to The Mirror’s parking garage. His light blue eyes were sensitive anyway, and, today, when he needed them most, he’d left his sunglasses on the kitchen table. The fever and headache had started during the morning editorial meeting. By the time the news and features assignments were agreed on, he could barely focus. He hadn’t suffered a migraine in almost a year, but he remembered the symptoms well. Telling his assistant he’d be out of the office for the rest of the day, he grabbed his keys and briefcase and headed home.
Pulling into his driveway, David folded himself out of his car, ho
lding onto the door until the dizziness passed. He’d had to pull over twice on the way home to throw up and wanted nothing more than to pass out in a cool, dark room. Praying that he had some of his old prescription pills still in his medicine cabinet, he groped his way into the house and down the hall. He hadn’t even bothered to bring his briefcase and cell phone inside. There was no way he was getting any work done today.
Ten minutes later, dressed in nothing but boxers, David ran a frustrated hand through his short blond hair, leaving it spiked up messily. Tearing open the bedside drawer, he plundered the contents, condoms and cigarettes and more falling to the floor. No medicine. “Fuck!” he swore. He could call the doctor and get some called in, but there was no way he could drive to the pharmacy.
Collapsing on the bed that was just too tempting to ignore, he reached for the phone. First he called his doctor’s office. The nurse promised to call in a fresh set of refills for his prescription. Second, after a few moments’ thought, he phoned Trace. If you couldn’t call on your best friend to bring you medicine, when could you call him?
Trace was driving down Seaside Drive with the top down when his phone rang. He hit the button on his Bluetooth headset. “Trace Jackson,” he said.
“Trace,” David rasped. He rolled over so the phone was pressed between his ear and the pillow. He was too drained to hold it up. “I need your help.”
“David? You sound like shit,” Trace said, voice tinged with concern.
“Yeah.” David shifted and swallowed down another wave of nausea. “I’ve got a migraine… bad.”
“Hell. Been a long time since you had one of those. You got your meds? Where are you?” Trace asked.
“No, no meds. Can’t find them, or I threw them out. It’s been so long. The nurse called some in. Walgreens on Eighth.” David paused to catch his breath. Even his own voice in his head was too loud.
“David, man, go lie down. Put a wet washcloth over your eyes or something. I’ll pick up the meds. Anything else? Gatorade?” Trace asked as he pulled into a parking lot to turn around and head back to town.
“Already lying down, but the fuckin’ bed is spinning. Just get me drugs.”
“All right. I’ll be there soon,” Trace said, hitting the button to end the call and focus on traffic. He wanted to get there as soon as possible. It had been a long time since David had had a migraine, but when he got one, it was usually a doozy.
Half an hour later, Trace pulled his cobalt blue Mustang convertible up behind David’s sporty sedan and hurried to the back door of the well-kept house, prescription bag in hand. Using his key, he went straight into the kitchen, tossed the bag on the counter, and filled a glass with cold water from the fridge dispenser. He tore open the bag and fumbled with the bottle, cussing the childproof top under his breath. Pills in hand, he grabbed the glass of water and headed back to David’s room.
It was dim inside, the forest green drapes blocking out almost all the light, and Trace could see his friend curled up on the bed. “David?” he said softly, walking over to perch next to him on the edge of the mattress.
David moaned as the bed rocked. Cracking one eye open, he looked up at the tall, broad-shouldered man looking down at him, brows drawn together in worry. “I’m not dying,” he croaked. “No matter how much I might wish it.”
Trace winced. David’s sunken eyes clearly reflected pain, and the laugh lines around those eyes and his mouth were heavily creased. “Here,” Trace said quietly. “I bring pain relief.”
“My hero.” David reached for the pills, lifting up on his elbow to accept the glass and gulp down the water.
Nodding, Trace waited to take back the glass. After setting it on the nightstand, he ran his hand lightly over David’s forehead. “You’re hot too,” Trace said. He stood up and went to the bathroom, wet a cloth with cool water, and brought it back to gently settle it over David’s eyes.
David hissed as the cold cloth hit his overheated skin. His entire body shuddered. “Covers,” he said, struggling to get up so he could get under the blanket.
Frowning, Trace took the cloth back and reached to pull down the sheets and quilted blanket while David slid his tense body under them. Trace pulled up the covers and tucked them around David’s shoulders. “Sorry, man,” he murmured. David looked really miserable.
“Thanks for playing errand boy. I’m sorry I interrupted your day. Go back to work. I’ll live. I’m too ornery to die.” David chuckled at his own joke and then winced as stabbing pain shot through his head until he was gasping. “Fuck,” he panted, lying limp.
“I think I’ll stick around, just in case. I’ve not seen you hurting this bad in a long time,” Trace murmured as he resettled the cloth on David’s forehead. “Humor me, okay?”
David would have glared at his friend if the muscles in his face didn’t hurt so badly. Instead he settled for a small frown as a complaint and reached up to tug lightly on the tail of dark brown hair brushing over Trace’s shoulder. “When was the last time you cut your hair, Jackson?” It was petty, but doing something as normal as picking on his friend’s habit of wearing his hair so long it brushed below his shoulders made David feel just slightly better. It was a longtime tease; Trace didn’t mind. He drifted to sleep with one corner of his mouth crooked up.
Trace’s mouth quirked as David ribbed him. He held the cool cloth against David’s face for a while and then set it aside. Sitting there, he decided he might as well work on his current project, so he went out to the car and got his laptop and notes. Once inside, he headed back to the bedroom to be close in case David needed him.
He kicked off his black dress shoes, shed his suit jacket, and pulled his tie loose, tossing it onto David’s dresser. He snapped on the small shaded lamp on the nightstand and climbed onto the opposite side of the huge bed from David, booted up the laptop, slid his horn-rimmed glasses on, and settled in to work.
DAVID WAS kicked back in his upholstered office chair with his feet propped up on his desk, mostly asleep, and he could hear his assistant busily typing away on her keyboard. He decided he’d better get up before his back ached and started to move, but his feet were tangled in twisted-up phone cord. He started to fall….
Waking with a start that jarred his head as his eyes popped open, David cried out in pain as he attempted to sit up, his legs thrashing in the blanket wrapped around him.
As soon as David started moving, Trace dropped his pen and notebook and reached over, trying to calm him down. “David. Hey, you’re okay,” he said, trying to pull at the blanket so David wouldn’t wrap it any tighter around himself. He held onto his laptop with his other hand, trying to keep it from sliding off his thighs.
Trace? What the fuck is Trace doing in my office? The two men had been friends for ages, but since they worked for rival newspapers, they never visited each other at work. “Trace? What? Why?”
“David,” Trace said patiently. “C’mon. Wake up. You’re hopped up on pain meds, man.” He squeezed David’s shoulder gently.
David blinked his eyes as the dimly lit room started swimming into focus. Trace was half-leaning over him. “Oh, wouldn’t The Mirror just love to get a picture of this: Warring newspaper correspondents found in bed together. I can see the headlines now. Katherine would have her panties in a serious twist,” David said, the words coming out sort of garbled. “Fuck, I’m thirsty. I feel like a circus train’s traveled though my mouth.” His head rolled to the side, landing against Trace’s firm thigh instead of the thick, downy pillow usually there, and he yanked it back, causing a spike of pain and wave of dizziness.
“Careful,” Trace cautioned, reaching out to help steady him. “You still look like hell. Hang on. I’ll get you something to drink.” He set the laptop down on the bed and stood up gingerly, trying not to jostle the mattress. “Stay put,” he ordered with a pointed finger before leaving the room.
“Like I have a choice,” David muttered, sinking back against the pillows gingerly. Glancing at the alarm cloc
k on the end of the dresser, across from the foot of the bed, he mentally calculated. He was at the supposed peak of the medicine’s effectiveness, and the headache was still there—not as bad, but still there and strong. That didn’t bode well. The prescription worked, but not for the full six hours before he could take another dose. And if two and a half hours in he still had symptoms this bad, it would be back with a vengeance in another two. He needed to try to eat while he might be able to keep food down, and it was probably foolish to try something that required a decent amount of balance, but he really wanted a shower too.
TRACE REENTERED the room carrying a tall glass of the decaffeinated iced tea David kept in the fridge. “Try this,” he suggested, sitting on the edge of the bed near him. Sometime over the past couple of hours he’d pulled his hair loose of the band he used to tie it back, and he was wearing his glasses, something he hated doing around other people. But David had seen them before.
David smiled at him, that funny half-smirk. Trace knew it was another poke at his disheveled appearance. He had a self-styled, swanky, fashion-plate reputation that he wasn’t living up to at the moment. It was one of the things that made their friendship so genuine—Trace was willing to look sloppy around David.
Reaching for the glass, David swallowed half of it in one gulp before his stomach lurched in protest. He set it carefully on the nightstand. “Thanks.”
Nodding, Trace leaned on one hand on the mattress. “Pills not helping, huh?” Trace followed his eyes as David glanced at his reflection in the mirror across from the bed. Normally blond and hale and healthy, David’s face had a gray tinge, and his eyes looked clouded. It was a big change.
Dreamspinner Press Year Three Greatest Hits Page 111
