The Philanthropist and the Paratrooper
Bradley Harrington had it all with his wealth and material possessions. Despite his riches, there was something missing, but he had no idea what it was. Leaving his wealth behind, Bradley sets out on a cross country journey to find his missing path in life.
Trace Jennings was a soldier first and foremost. As part of Fort Bragg’s 82nd Airborne division, Trace thought he’d fight for his country until his dying day. Those plans were forever changed when a career ending injury rendered him permanently disabled.
A chance encounter brings the two men face-to-face as Bradley takes an unexpected detour through Purgatoire Valley, Colorado. Though their initial meeting is anything but pleasant, soon things change and two men find themselves getting to know one another over a couple of beers. With a connection that is undeniable and strong, the two begin to realize that what they both may need the most is the very last thing they were looking for.
Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), Contemporary
Length: 34,927 words
THE PHILANTHROPIST AND THE PARATROOPER
Taylor Brooks
EVERLASTING CLASSIC
MANLOVE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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IMPRINT: Everlasting Classic ManLove
THE PHILANTHROPIST AND THE PARATROOPER
Copyright © 2013 by Taylor Brooks
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62740-831-8
First E-book Publication: October 2013
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
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DEDICATION
After writing anything from contemporary to suspense and even shifters, I felt the urge to write about some of our military heroes. This hero is not your ordinary cookie-cutter one, though. He has scars and an injury which forever changed his life. Now, as he tries to rebuild a future he comes across someone who may just take him on a path that he never thought he’d cross.
I invite you to kick off your shoes and prop up your feet because there are many stories to be told in this land, stories that I hope you enjoy reading as much as I’ve loved writing them.
This book, as with all of my others, wouldn’t have been possible without the support of my friends, my family, and the wonderful staff at Siren Publishing.
Thank you, one and all.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About the Author
THE PHILANTHROPIST AND THE PARATROOPER
TAYLOR BROOKS
Copyright © 2013
Chapter One
Bradley Harrington sat on the ledge of his balcony with his feet dangling in the thick and humid air. There were twenty stories between him and the traffic below. The soft hum of automobiles filled the night as the dots of street and taillights illuminated the grid he looked down on.
The sounds of the city used to comfort him, but those times were long gone. His life was no longer what it once was. Even the penthouse he used to love so much didn’t appeal to him.
All of the money and time that he put into decorating it had been for nothing. It didn’t matter that his place had been featured in two local magazines for its style and design, or that he was the envy of just about everyone he knew. It used to be a home, a beautiful and vibrant home filled with life and so much love.
Not anymore though. Now it just seemed drab and ugly. There was no heartbeat or soul amidst the walls that he used to relish in coming home to. He no longer noticed the soft leather which covered his furniture, or the expensive art which adorned his walls. All he saw now were memories. Memories that he wished he didn’t have, and tried desperately to escape, yet somehow couldn’t help himself from never wanting to forget them.
“Here’s to the memories.” He lifted his flute of champagne and raised it to the night sky, offering a toast before he took one final swig.
The crystal shimmered in the moonlight. It should, he mused. The Reidel crystal which adorned his butler’s pantry had cost him thousands of dollars. The least they could do was sparkle. They didn’t do much else. They certainly didn’t make his bottle of Armand de Brignac taste any more spectacular. As far as he was concerned he could be drinking a ten dollar bottle of bargain booze and it would taste just as good.
There was a time when he had the palate for all things extravagant. He could tell the difference between the finest wines and cheese by mere taste and sometimes even smell. His taste buds had long since changed along with everything else in his life. This champagne was more proof of that.
He�
��d hoped that this one final toast would make it a little bit sweeter, but he was wrong. He no longer sensed the superior tones of various fruits with a hint of nuts and toast. All he tasted now was the bitter stench of betrayal. The type of betrayal that left scars which even the past twelve months had yet to begin to heal.
“Sir? Are you ready?”
Bradley turned his head to see Alfredo standing at the glass doors that led into his bedroom. Always a loyal and trusty companion, he was going to miss the old man who always had a sweet story or a clever anecdote about married life. Being married for over thirty years, Alfredo Caracho never ran out of words or tales to tell.
“Not quite, Alfred. I think I need a little more time. Take my bags down to the car. I’ll be down in a little bit.”
The disconcerting look on Alfred’s face was unmistakable. He knew that his butler of twelve years was worried, but Bradley was running out of ways to reassure him that everything was going to be okay.
“What is it, Alfred?”
“You don’t have to do this, you know. I’ve told you before you can stay with me and my Celia. We’d be honored to have you, and she would just love to fuss over someone else besides me. She’s been lonely ever since our youngest left the nest.”
Bradley let out a calming sigh. He didn’t want to be curt with the man who had been the one constant in his life all these years. Still, his patience was running thin on this subject. He had heard Alfred’s offer at least a hundred times in the past month. Ever since he made his decision and started to tie up all his loose ends, that was all he’d heard from Alfred at least once a day.
“Alfred, I know you mean well. And I believe that I’m welcome with you and Celia. But, please try and understand. This is something I just have to do. I was blindsided by everything that Paulo did to me. I was so caught up in the pomp and circumstance of my everyday life that I stopped really living. Everything was about price tags, or status quo. Nothing was really about me. Nothing was done by my choice, as much as I felt like it was some sort of an obligation. I can’t do it anymore. I won’t. I made up my mind, and I am not going to change it.”
“Yes, sir, I know how driven you are once you’ve made your mind up about something. It’s just, well I worry about you. You may be my boss, but you’re more than an employer to me. I worry about you. I can’t help but not worry.”
Bradley swung his feet over the ledge and hopped back down onto the balcony. He knew the man was speaking from the heart. He walked over to Alfred and wrapped him up in a hug, not one of those formal and cordial ones that people do at charity galas, but a real honest to goodness hug, the kind that came from his heart.
“I know you do. And I promise you that I’ll keep in touch. You won’t need to worry about me because you’ll hear from me often. Besides, I can’t very well ignore Celia now can I? You and I both know she won’t have any of it.” Bradley pulled away and looked into Alfred’s eyes. “If nothing else, I’m too selfish to stay away for too long. I love you both.”
“And we you.” Alfred turned on his heel and quickly retreated.
Bradley had seen the moisture pool up in Alfred’s eyes. It was obvious he was trying to get out of there before the waterworks turned on. While he may have appeared to be tough at times, Bradley knew he had a soft side. It showed in his eyes whenever he spoke of his wife, his children, or grandchildren.
Alfred had been his right-hand man for over a decade now. Their bond had surpassed mere employee and employer many years ago. As trusted as he was in his duties of butler, Alfred oftentimes treated Bradley more like family than anything else.
It was a rare occasion if a morning passed and Celia wasn’t sending fresh baked goodies over with Alfred. It was always some freshly cooked containers of food. They always claimed they were leftovers, but sometimes Bradley wondered if they didn’t just always make extra to send his way.
In some ways the Carachos were more like family than his own parents were. The thought actually surprised him. He hadn’t lent a thought to his parents in years. They hadn’t even spoken to him for much longer than that.
As he looked out over the city one last time, he remembered that night he’d stood in their living room, hoping against hope that they would love him just like parents should love their son.
He had been quite wrong, but the strange thing was, he wasn’t all that surprised really. A part of him had known that when he came out and admitted his homosexuality to his highfalutin and holier-than-thou family they wouldn’t understand.
His mother was a devout catholic and thought just about everything under the sun could send you to hell, while his father was more concerned with success and the almighty dollar than his own son’s happiness. Not to mention they were both adamant in their chiding of him, claiming he was being selfish for even attempting to embarrass them in such a way.
His mother had used the word horrified, while his father opted for a more dreadful adjective such as mortified. After hours of arguing that the son they raised and cared for all of those years had better do the right thing by marrying a sweet young debutant and then have lots of babies didn’t work, Bradley finally threw his hands up in the air and gave up.
He knew he was never going to change them, and they certainly weren’t going to change him. He was gay. So what? It wasn’t like he had nailed Jesus to the cross himself. Although from the way his mother carried on about it in countless voice mails and letters for months after months he sure would have thought he was guilty of crucifying our Savior.
With a frustrated breath he shook the memories free from his head. There was a reason he didn’t think about them often, and he was starting to remember why. He could already feel his face heating up and his blood pressure starting to rise. Even after all of these years, the pain that he wasn’t good enough still stung. He didn’t necessarily expect them to understand, but he hoped that at the end of the day they’d love him anyway. Wasn’t that what parents did? Didn’t they love their children in spite of their choices in life? Whether they agreed with them or not, wasn’t that a parent’s job, to love their child unconditionally, above all else?
He glanced down at his watch and saw that it was nearly ten o’clock. Originally he thought he’d stick around until midnight, just to see the anniversary of the worst day of his life through to the very end, but now he knew it didn’t matter. What was done was done.
If he left now, stayed another two hours, or lived here for another year, nothing was going to change what Paulo had done to him. That type of betrayal didn’t just wash away with a clean change of clothes or a fresh shower. It stayed with him, it lingered, clinging to him like a bad rash that refused to go away.
Bradley walked back into his bedroom and closed the double doors. He clicked the lock and pushed up the lever that bolted it along the top frame. The chances anyone could possibly break into his penthouse from twenty stories up was slim to none, but Bradley had always prided himself on being cautious. At least he thought he had. That was until Paulo came into his life two years ago and made him forget every rule he ever had.
Things sure had changed once Paulo swept into his world. It was strange really. Even looking back on it now, Bradley couldn’t pinpoint or place the one moment when he began throwing his common sense out the window. It just seemed like one minute he was smart, and the next minute an idiot.
He may have been stupid enough then. That was the past though. If Paulo’s betrayal had taught him anything, it was that he may have been fooled once, but he would never be fooled again. Mistakes of the past were just that. He wouldn’t revisit them. They were stepping stones to his future. He’d use them to learn and watch for the signs before they showed themselves.
That was how he’d come to his epiphany a month before. If money made people such horrible vultures, then he wouldn’t have any.
All of his millions of dollars hadn’t bought him anything but fancy things he didn’t need, and heartache he didn’t want. This change wasn’t just s
omething he was eager to try. It was something that was necessary.
In the end, money didn’t mean anything. Money had kept his parents from accepting him. Money had been the bait for Paulo to betray him, and money hadn’t bought him anything of real value.
Now he would see what was out there in the world. With only one thousand five hundred dollars to his name and a small duffel bag of clothes, Bradley was going to begin a new life, a life that had no beginning, no end, and a purpose he’d yet to find.
Chapter Two
Trace Jennings lifted his Remington off the porch and aimed it toward the brush in the distance. He lined his sight up with his instincts and put his index finger on the trigger. He waited for the tall grasses to sway once more and then finally squeezed.
The sound of the shotgun shell exploding cracked through the silence of early morning hour. Geese and quail from all around flew up and away, far from the sound that had frightened them.
Trace watched and waited once he fired the round. If he had missed, he’d surely have seen a rustle of the brush as his prey fled into the woods. The tall grasses didn’t move though, not a single inch. He’d clearly made the shot.
He set his shotgun back down beside him and grinned with satisfaction. Four years after being out of the Army and he still had it, that dead eye which told him where to fire without even seeing where the target was lying in wait. Sure the enemy in this case was only a little fox, and certainly a far cry from the enemies he had been fighting against in Afghanistan. Still, it made him feel good to know that he hadn’t lost all of his skills since he was forced into early retirement.
The Philanthropist and the Paratrooper (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) Page 1
