Embrace the Fire

by Felice Stevens

  Brandon Gilbert has spent years in hiding, but he’s finally accomplished his dream of working as a public school teacher. When offered the chance to help bullied children, there was no way he could say no. Not to mention that meeting Dr. Tash Weber, the psychiatrist who helps them, a sad yet sexy older man, ignited a spark inside Brandon he’d never had before.

  Though five years have passed since the death of his lover, Dr. Sebastian “Tash” Weber has no interest in relationships or love. But young, enigmatic Brandon awakens his heart and his desire. Despite Tash’s best efforts to push him away, Brandon unlocks the passion for life Tash thought he’d lost forever.

  Falling in love wasn’t part of the plan for either Brandon or Tash, but neither family disapproval nor self-doubts can stop them from embracing the fire that burns between them. And when Brandon returns home to fight for a future he never imagined possible, he and Tash discover that the one thing worth fighting for has been with them all along.

  Embrace the Fire (Through Hell and Back – Book 3)

  March 2017

  Copyright © 2017 by Felice Stevens

  Second Edition

  First released in March 2015

  EPUB Edition

  Cover Art by: Reese Dante

  www.reesedante.com

  Cover Photography by: Varian Krylov of Strangeland Photography

  Edited by: Flat Earth Editing

  Proofreading by Dianne Thies of Lyrical Lines

  All rights reserved

  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 written permission from Felice Stevens at www.felicestevens.com.

  Published in the United States of America

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely conincidental.

  Dedication

  This is dedicated to all the teachers who helped and encouraged me. Your guidance and devotion have never been forgotten.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you so much to my wonderful editors, Hope and Jess from Flat Earth Editing, and the lovely, Dianne Thies from Lyrical Lines Proofreading. The journey for these men has been an arduous one, but I loved every minute re-reading, and writing more of their stories. And stay tuned….you never know when they might all pop up again. I have a hard time letting go of my characters.

  And of course, thank you, the readers for all your emails and messages about Ash and Drew, Jordan and Luke and Brandon and Tash. I’m thrilled you fell in love with them as much as I did.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other titles by Felice Stevens

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  Embrace the Fire

  Felice Stevens

  Chapter One

  Seven years earlier

  In a futile attempt to shield himself from the pouring rain, Brandon Gilbert lay huddled in a doorway near the Port Authority Bus Terminal in midtown Manhattan. Thoroughly soaked and shivering, he squeezed into the corner of the large, now waterlogged cardboard box. The once-protective box sagged over his head, allowing the cascading water to run like a river down his back. At six feet, Brandon had a hard time finding any place to keep dry, and it seemed at this point, the battle had been lost.

  Why he’d thought coming to New York City was a good idea, he couldn’t remember. Perhaps it was the anonymity he needed or the fact that he could reinvent himself now that he had papers and a new identity. But nothing had prepared him for the stark loneliness of this huge city; he had no steady source of food or shelter or anyone to talk to day after day.

  Brandon shifted in the box, and a fresh torrent of rainwater poured over him. The dank smells of the city coupled with the uncaring stares of people as they rushed by caused unwelcome tears to spring to his eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He and his foster brothers were going to stay together, take care of each other. The three musketeers, that’s what they’d laughingly called themselves.

  Until Ash unexpectedly disappeared, leaving Brandon and Luke behind, never to be heard from again. Then after a night of frantic upheaval he still didn’t understand, Brandon found himself on the road to a new life, ripped away from the only person he knew truly loved him—Luke. Where was Luke? Brandon remembered long ago how his brother had dreamed of coming to New York City to live, so when he first got to the city, he’d foolishly tried to locate him. He went looking for a phone book but couldn’t find any. The few times he’d gone to the public library to use their computers, he’d searched for Luke Carini, but there were no listings with that name. Discouraged, he’d stopped.

  And now he was alone. Not a single person cared about him, plus he could never go home again. Why did he even bother? If he was smart, he’d go to the river and jump in. No one would notice or care.

  A tall silhouette holding an umbrella loomed in front of him, cutting off the dim light of the gray, dripping skies. Terrified, Brandon shrank back farther into the dark corner of the doorway.

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m not here to hurt you.” The figure squatted in front of Brandon, and the face of a middle-aged man came into view. His smile radiated warmth and peace, emotions almost alien to Brandon.

  “What do you want?” Brandon clutched his thin jacket around him. “I don’t have any money or anything.” At that moment, a gush of water sluiced down over his face. In his eighteen years, Brandon had never felt so alone and lost.

  “I don’t want anything from you except your promise to take my help. I’m with an organization that aids runaway youth.” The man’s calm smile miraculously settled Brandon’s racing heart. “You have no place to go; am I right? Let me take you someplace where you’ll be safe and secure.”

  “Who are you?” Although hope flared hot and bright in Brandon’s chest, he knew enough to be wary of men offering help.

  “My name is Gabriel, Gabriel Heller. I’m a New York City schoolteacher, and I volunteer on the weekends with the Department of Homeless Services.” He pulled out an ID and a pamphlet and offered it to Brandon. “Here, see?”

  With some trepidation, Brandon took the laminated card and the pamphlet the man offered, after brushing a hank of wet hair out of his eyes. The identification checked out as the man had stated. Gabriel Heller worked for the Department of Education. A teacher. Brandon bit his lip as he read over the mission of the organization and how they planned to help.

  “He
re.” He handed back the items, his thoughts racing.

  All his life, Brandon had wanted to be a teacher; school had been the only outlet he had to escape his home life. Teachers had been his saviors, and until that last, horrible night with his foster father, his plan had always been to go to college and get a job teaching young inner-city children.

  “So, have I passed the test? Will you come to the shelter with me?” Gabriel’s lips curved in a wry smile. “This isn’t a night fit for even a New York City rat to be outside. I’ll set you up with a social worker and get you a place to stay. What’s your name?”

  A yearning Brandon had thought dead burst to life, almost choking him with its intensity. Things like this, good things, never happened to him. “Randy. My name is Randy.” Close enough to his real name, Brandon, Randy was the name he’d chosen when he’d run away, making sure no one could find him.

  “Okay, Randy, come on. I’ll get you out of those wet clothes, give you a hot meal, and a place to sleep.” Gabriel stood and held out his hand. “You don’t have to figure out the rest of your life tonight.”

  The force of the pelting rain lessened, and the gray of the sky shifted to a lighter haze. Brandon stood and pulled off the wet strips of cardboard clinging to his hair and body. “I don’t have any money to pay, and I don’t take charity.” Some vestige of pride he’d thought long gone emerged. “I’ll work for whatever I have to.”

  A smile crept over Gabriel’s face. “How old are you?”

  “Almost nineteen.”

  Brandon heard Gabriel sigh. “What’s wrong?” Was he too old? Now that the chance was in front of him, so close he could reach out and brush it with his fingertips, Brandon wanted it. Desperately.

  “I don’t suppose you have your high school diploma?”

  “Yes, I do.” His chin lifted. “I was going to go to college.” He slanted a quick look at Gabriel through the wet strands of hair that hung in his eyes. “I wanted to be a teacher too.”

  They’d reached the van Gabriel had left parked down the block and they climbed inside. Another man waited behind the wheel.

  “Antonio, this is Randy.”

  “Hey, man. No night to be outside. You don’t know how lucky you are Gabriel found you. He’s a life changer.”

  Brandon’s eyes met Antonio’s in the rearview mirror. Something tight loosened in his chest, allowing him to return the smile. “Yeah?”

  Antonio nodded. “Yeah. Last year I was in your shoes: no home, no job, and no place to go.” He started the engine and put the windshield wipers on to clear the windows. “Today, I got a place to live and a job helping Gabriel getting guys like you off the streets. I’m even going to college now.” His voice rang with quiet pride.

  Gabriel slid into the front seat next to Antonio, and the van bounced along the street on its journey downtown. Water dripped from his clothes onto the seat and floor of the van.

  “I’m glad you came with me, Randy. You have the opportunity now to help yourself and hopefully, help others in the future.” He turned around to give Brandon a gentle, reassuring smile. “The first step is the hardest, isn’t it? But it’s all worth it in the end.”

  The warmth of the heater finally began to penetrate his wet clothes, yet Brandon shivered. The enormity of the second chance he was being offered overwhelmed him. If these men had faith in him, there was nothing he couldn’t accomplish. Could he do it? Could he start over again and achieve his dreams?

  As Gabriel spoke, Brandon forgot his wet clothes and empty stomach, and listened.

  Present day

  Most people loved the rain. They waxed poetic about its warmth and how it cleansed them, turning everything fresh and new. Brandon, remembering many nights spent hungry, wet, and miserable, hated it. There was nothing fresh and beautiful about soaking-wet clothes and feet. As he walked outside PS 100, also known as the JFK School of Urban Development, Brandon grimaced, glancing up at the sheets of water pouring from the gray, forbidding sky. It splashed down onto the already streaming streets, creating puddles that made it almost impossible to navigate crossing at each corner.

  Brandon pulled his hood over his head and narrowed his eyes, attempting to calculate when the light would change, so he could make a mad dash for the subway station. He hefted his backpack onto his shoulder, wondering why it was so light.

  “Damn.” A quick glance inside it proved his fear correct. He’d left his laptop in his classroom. Well, he had to go back for it. Even though the rooms were locked, he couldn’t leave it there overnight until he returned the next day. He gave a rueful glance up at the dark sky. Maybe by the time he came back out, the rain would be lighter. He trudged up the steps of the school and went back inside.

  Look on the bright side, Brandon. That’s what you’ve learned in the past seven years.

  Upon re-entering the building, the absolute stillness in the air amazed him. No children’s shouts nor laughter echoed off the cement walls; no bells sounded in the hallways. Although the staff attempted to liven up the walls by hanging children’s artwork, it couldn’t hide the overall institutional atmosphere of the hulking brick-and-cement building.

  The swarms of children exiting the school had diminished. A few remained behind for after-school programs and clubs, but most couldn’t wait to leave and go home to watch TV, have playdates, and hopefully do their homework. Brandon hadn’t been at this school long, only about three months, but already he loved everything about his teaching assignment.

  After he graduated college, he’d applied for the NYC Teaching Collaborative program and was accepted. There he was able to partner with a mentor teacher and work as an apprentice in one of the city’s highest-need areas. It was a hands-on, practical program that allowed him to work directly with an experienced teacher and the students, and after eight months, he’d received his teaching degree. Paying it forward, helping the ones who needed it so desperately, had been his mantra for the past seven years since Gabriel found him cowering in that doorway. Tears burned behind his eyes as he remembered the man who had changed his life, and how he’d died from a heart attack without any warning.

  After Gabriel’s death, Brandon had dedicated himself to the single-minded purpose of becoming a teacher. To making Gabriel proud. To proving he could fulfill his lifetime dream.

  He loved his sixth graders. They were still eager to learn and able to see beauty in the world around them. Brandon wanted to gather them all in his arms and protect them from what he knew waited to hurt them outside. They deserved everything good the world had to offer. Safety, stability, and hope. Everything he’d never had, Brandon was determined to give his kids.

  Brandon took the stairs to his second-floor classroom, praying he’d find his laptop still there. He tested the doorknob, glad to see it hadn’t been locked yet, which would have necessitated a trip to the custodian to get the keys. Two students sat in the back of the classroom; they jumped up when he entered the room. A book clattered to the floor between them.

  “Hey, guys. What’re you two doing here after school?” Brandon knew these two kids, even though they weren’t his students. Best friends and equally studious, they had each other’s backs and stood up to the taunts and teasing from the other kids who made fun of them for getting good grades and being bookish. The tall boy’s name was Wilson; the shorter and more slightly built boy was Dwayne.

  “Sorry, Mr. Gilbert.” Wilson bent to pick up the book. “We were going over the reading assignment Mrs. Forsch gave us.”

  Every student should be like these two. “No problem. What are you reading?”

  Wilson showed him the book. “The Three Musketeers.”

  Brandon’s stomach twisted. The name Luke and Ash had always called the three of them. “One for all and all for one, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Dwayne glanced at him. “You all right, Mr. Gilbert? Your face looks kind of funny.”

  Brandon forced a weak smile. “I’m fine. You guys should go on home.”

  They grabbed
their backpacks and left the classroom.

  To his immense relief, his laptop sat in the desk drawer where he’d left it. With his starting salary, he could ill afford to replace it.

  For a second he stood at the front of the classroom, thinking about the three musketeers, his mind spinning back in time. Of his oldest brother, Ash, he had only the hazy memory of a tall skinny boy with black hair, silver eyes, and a sad smile. Brandon never understood why one day Ash was there, tucking him in after reading him a bedtime story, and the next he was gone. After several weeks of them both waiting for Ash to return, Luke told him to forget Ash, that he was never coming back, and held Brandon tight as he cried.

  It had been over fifteen years since Ash left, and Brandon barely remembered him now. But Luke? Losing Luke crushed him. Brandon had never forgotten that last awful night of screams and chaos. And the next morning, Brandon was gone, speeding off to a new life, with never another mention of the brother he’d left behind. Any questions he’d had about Luke were answered with a backhand to the face or a belt across his back.

  Brandon long suspected his foster father had abused Luke somehow; Munson delighted in hitting Brandon on occasion but saved his real violence for Brandon’s poor foster mother. Too many nights Brandon had lain awake listening to Munson yelling at her—for a perceived wrong he thought he’d suffered at work that he blamed her for or for something so small as dinner being late. His mother would go silent; then Munson would leave the house, stomping out his fury, and drive away, tires spinning on the gravel.

  In the morning, his mother would show up in the kitchen to give him breakfast, her eyes reddened and face haggard. When he grew older he’d told her he’d report Munson to the authorities for abuse, but she balked and refused to admit to it, claiming she’d hurt herself when he pointed out a fresh bruise that hadn’t been there the day before.