Josh Lanyon's Blog, page 74

Five Things I Love

It's time for another Five Things I Love post. We do these daily in my Goodreads group, but I like to do them here seasonally on the blog as well. The last time was in the autumn and we've had plenty to love since then!

So as before, I'm giving away five audio books. This time it's The Dark Tide, the fifth and final (at least for the foreseeable future) Adrien English novel. Share five things you like about winter in the comments below to be entered for the audio book giveaway. I won't pick the winners until Sunday night.

Five things I love about winter:

1 - Rain



2 - The holidays. Yes, I'm glad they're over, and in all honesty this wasn't the best set of holidays ever given that I was working and/or sick through them, but I still love the holiday season. The holly and jolly, the hustle and bustle, the hurly and burly -- er, wait. Wrong holiday, that last one. But still!

 3 - Documentaries. True, I watch documentaries all the time, but I watch more of them in the winter. This week I watched Black Fish. Fascinating -- and let me just say I won't be sharing my tourist dollars with SeaWorld anytime soon.

4 - The feel of sunlight on my face. Somehow it's warmer, sweeter, softer in winter. Maybe it's the promise of spring.

5 - Reading. I read all year long, but reading is especially pleasurable in the winter, I think. There's something about wrapping yourself in a warm blanket and settling down in front of the fire with a drink and a book. Nothing beats it.

Now you. Five things you love about winter for a chance at winning The Dark Tide in audio.

Here's to 2014!!

Wishing you all the best in the New Year. May 2014 bring you health and happiness -- and the understanding that nothing else matters.

And the winners are...

Sorry for dropping off in the middle of a big giveaway. It was the double-whammy combo of holidays and being sick AGAIN.

But LB and I do have winners, lots of winners in our audio book giveaway.

LB's winners were:

Jane Wilkinson
Susan Haase
Another Susan
Reader Cat
and Carey

And my winners were:

cloudless 9193
Aussie 54
Mari Donne
Jen C
Cynthia H.


So winners, please contact us! You will be given a download code and you can use it on either book. It's up to you.

Christmas Coda 28

Nathan and Matthew from SNOWBALL IN HELL





 New Year’s Eve in the City of Angels.Not so many angels out and about that night, and Matthew and his squad were kept busy with a knifing, two shootings, and an attempted kidnapping. By the time Matt finally got away it was about twenty minutes till the Witching Hour. He made for the Biltmore Hotel, knowing Nathan would be there.


It was standing room only at the Biltmore, dames and gents alike in silly hats and tinsel tiaras, blowing plastic horns and paper fizoos in each other’s faces. Everybody was talking and nobody was listening. The floor was littered with soggy confetti. Champagne glasses were overflowing, and seeing that this was the Biltmore, maybe it really was champagne spilling down the fronts of party frocks and dress uniforms.
Matthew worked his way through the crush of people in the elegant lobby with its parquet floors and rich jewel-toned carpets and carved ceilings. He made it to the bar but couldn’t find Nathan anywhere.
He knew what that meant, and his heart sank.Well, what had he expected? He had thought things were different now, but Nathan had been honest about what he needed, and Matt would somehow have to learn to accept it.
And if he couldn’t accept it… Then he would be equally honest.
But he wasn’t there yet. Not by a long shot. Yes, he was disappointed and, yeah, it hurt like hell that Nathan couldn’t do without for a single night, but Matthew had entered into this knowing he was going to have to take Nathan as he was.
So he resisted the urge to search any further. Finding Nathan rolling around in the undergrowth at Pershing Squarewasn’t going to do either of them any good.

Matt left the party as midnight was chiming and drove home through the eerily silent streets. He tried not to think about Nathan or his own disappointment. He thought he was mostly successful, but when he reached his own street and saw Nathan’s Chrysler Highlander parked in front of his house, happiness and relief hit him in a warm rush.
And with it a little stab of shame that he had wronged Nathan. It was frightening to care so much about someone you knew so little.
He parked beneath the trellised carport and walked back to the street. Nathan was sleeping in his car, head tipped back, his hat over his face. When Matt tapped on his window, he jumped and then grinned sheepishly, tiredly.
Matthew opened the door and Nathan unfolded wearily.
“Come inside,” Matthew told him.
Nathan threw an instinctive look at the dark windows of Mathew’s neighbors.
“No. It’s all right. I just wanted -- needed -- to wish you…Auld Lang Syne. It wouldn’t have seemed right to start the new year off without seeing you.” He offered his hand.
Matthew took his hand, but didn’t release it.
“Come inside,” he said again.
He could see Nathan wavering, recognized the longing because he felt just the same.
Nathan said reluctantly, “Your neighbors are going to notice if I spend another night here.”
He was right, but Matthew just couldn’t bring himself to care enough to give up the pleasure of being together even for a few hours.
He placed his other hand on Nathan’s shoulder, guiding him toward the house. “Then we’ll have to think of some reason for you to visit. Don’t we share a Great Aunt Gertrude? How’s she doing these days anyway? How’s her lumbago?”
Nathan shook his head, but Matthew caught the whisper of his laugh.
Then he was unlocking the side door and letting them into the silent and dark house. The door closed behind them. Matthew felt for the chain, slid it into place, and took Nathan into his arms. Nathan hugged him back  fiercely.
“Happy New Year, Nathan,” Matthew said softly, and kissed him.

Christmas Coda 27

Finn and Con from LOVERS ANDOTHER STRANGERS
 
 
Christmas morning.
Finn knew he had to make an effort.
It was difficult though. Everything was difficult now. Ever since the autumn. Ever since Fitch…
He had been okay at first. Shocked and horrified, but he had been dealing with it. He had to deal with it because he knew Con would never put up with anything else.
But then the sand had started to slip out from under his feet. And suddenly he wasn’t okay. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Couldn’t stop imagining…
Couldn’t stop remembering…
Con had started watching him, frowning, starting to wonder what was the matter with him, starting to question why they were together.
Con denied it, of course. But it was right there in his eyes.
Finn was denying it too, but of course he was thinking the same thing. The only reason they were together was because of Fitch. And that wasn’t a good enough reason. In fact, it was a really bad reason.
He missed Fitch desperately. Which was bizarre because he hadn’t let himself think of Fitch for three years. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about him.
He couldn’t work. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep.
His brain wouldn’t turn off. His thoughts were stuck on a loop. A terrible, terrible loop.
“I need some time on my own,” he had finally told Con.
“I don’t understand,” Con had answered. His face had been guarded, giving nothing away.
“I don’t understand myself,” Finn had said. “But I need to be alone.” What he meant was, I need to be away from you.
Maybe Con had read between the lines. “Why don’t you go back to The Birches,” he had said finally. “Maybe you can work there. I’ve got this book due anyway.”
So it was just exactly what Finn had thought. Con was only too glad to be let off the hook.
He went back to The Birches and he did try to work. He tried to pretend everything was normal. But Martha and Uncle Thomas had seen something that Con didn’t or wouldn’t.
Clinical depression. That was the official diagnosis, and the recommendation was a brief hospital stay “just to get stabilized.” Finn had panicked. Rescue had come from an unexpected quarter. Con.
When Uncle Thomas had phoned to let Con know the situation, Con had shown up within the hour with an alternate plan. He would move into The Birches and lend a hand around the place until Finn was feeling more like his old self. It was a casual, low key offer, more neighborly than loverly, it seemed to Finn. But it had stopped him panicking. He even agreed that maybe he did need a little help.
Con and Martha and Uncle Thomas — and the little pink tablets — had seen him through the worst of it. And now Finn was…trying.
Better.
He was better. A lot better. They could all see that. Though it was still difficult.
And today, this morning, was Christmas and he needed to make an effort. Needed to show everyone that he appreciated everything that had been done for him. That they did not have to keep putting him first, did not have to put their own lives on hold.
Finn had finally shaken off his preoccupation last night to ask Con about his new book, and Con had said the book was on hold. Said it absently, indifferently.
That was when Finn had finally, belatedly realized just how much trouble everyone was going to in order to keep him glued together. He had been so dismayed, so ashamed he had nearly gone into another tailspin. But this morning, he’d woken to the determination to stop monopolizing everyone’s time and energy.
This morning, when Con had kissed him as he did every morning and said, “Merry Christmas, Huckleberry,” Finn had really looked at him. Con’s was not a kind or friendly face. In fact, he looked like one of those impious Renaissance priests. He had high, elegant cheekbones and a mocking mouth. His eyes were pirate eyes, dark and enigmatic. He wore his pale hair longer these days, and he did not bother with anything but jeans and baggy wool sweaters. He had always looked so tailored and fashionable, even working at home. Something had changed inside Con too. That morning his smile had been reassuring and the expression in his eyes was attentive, grave and…
“Why are you doing this?” Finn had asked dully several times over the past weeks. “Why are you bothering?”
And each time Con had said simply, “I love you.”
This morning Finn had realized that it was perfectly true. The expression in Con’s eyes was love. That wasn’t complicated at all. That really didn’t have anything to do with Fitch. Or with anyone other than themselves.
Finn had smiled back at Con.
Con’s expression had changed. He had lifted his hand and brushed Finn’s stubbly jaw. And they had simply laid there for a few moments looking at each other. Not speaking. Finn’s brain had felt quiet, almost peaceful, as he considered the cool blue shadows in the corners of the white room. The patterned adumbration through white lace. The shaded dips in the snowy duvet and the bisque flannel sheets.
“What are you thinking about?” Con had asked softly.
Shadows and light. But he wasn’t going to talk about shadows anymore. He’d thrown enough gloom on his loved ones. Finn said, “Light. White.”
And Con had smiled, a very white smile, as though this was exactly the right answer.
He would be back in a minute or two with Finn’s breakfast which they would eat in the privacy of this room, as they had eaten breakfast for the last month. And then they would go downstairs and Finn would make a serious effort to be normal.
It was a good day to start because Christmas was always the same at The Birches. Lots of little traditions and routines to carry him through. Last night they had opened presents in front of the giant, flocked spruce tree in the front room. This morning there would be an endless stream of neighbors and visitors in for coffee and pastries, and this evening they would have Christmas dinner. It was a good day in its own right. The memories were happy. Almost entirely happy.
Finn’s stomach growled. Where was Con? It was taking him a long time to get breakfast together.
The door opened and Con was back with the breakfast tray. He was smiling as he set it down on the bed.
“You look like the cat that got the cream,” Finn said. The fact that he was noticing Con’s expression was probably another good sign.
Con did look satisfied with himself. He nodded at the tray and Finn looked down. White china. Oatmeal, milk, sugar. A white rose in a little glass of snow, a piece of driftwood, three smooth white and speckled stones, a glittery piece of white quartz, a white feather, and a wide, creamy silk ribbon. It was as though Con had been on a scavenger hunt.
Finn picked up one of the egg-shaped stones. It felt cool and grainy to the touch.
“Not quite fifty shades, but…white,” Con said.
Finn made a little face, put down the stone and picked up one of the tiny white berries rolling around the tray like waxy pearls.
“You can’t eat those,” Con told him quickly.
Finn rolled the bead-sized berry between his fingers. “No. What are they?”
“Mistletoe.”
Finn looked up. Con was smiling with uncharacteristic tentativeness. Finn began to smile too. He reached out his hand.
 

Christmas Coda 26

Glen and Nash from IN PLAIN SIGHT
 
 
Nash did not have any holiday traditions. He had holiday habits. Christmas dinner with his parents every couple of years. New Year’s parties with work colleagues. Gifts of booze to male colleagues and gifts of coffee to female colleagues. He probably hadn’t bought a Christmas tree since he’d had college roommates to help decorate it.
So that had been the first question. “Should we get a Christmas tree?”
Well, not the first question. The first questions had taken place while Glen was still in the hospital recovering. Those had been the big questions: where are we going to live and who’s giving up his job? A two-part question really. And he’d known the answer before he asked.
He would transfer to the Salt Lake Division and work out of Pocatello. He told himself Glen required every penny of his health insurance right now, so that meant Glen needed his job more, but the fact was, Nash was embarking on a new life and that meant from now on his job was just that, a job. He’d sell his house in Fredericksburg and move in with Glen.
“Are you sure?” Glen had asked more than once. As happy as he was, he was afraid Nash was making a mistake. And if Nash was honest, he occasionally wondered too. But then he would think of that terrible, terrible time when he had not known whether Glen was alive or dead, and everything seemed clear again.
His house was still on the market — it was not a good time to try and sell — and it had taken six months for his transfer to go into effect, so he and Glen had been living together for less than two months by the time the holidays rolled around.
They were still getting to know each other so they were a little careful with each other. Well, a lot careful.
Glen had admitted once, revealingly, “It’s like we’re doing this backwards.”
“Do you mind?”
“Compared to the alternative?”
That was exactly right. They were starting from the standpoint of knowing they loved each other and wanted to be together. But could you really love someone you didn’t know?
It seemed the answer was yes, because Nash did believe he loved Glen. More than he had ever loved anyone in his life. Every morning that he woke up beside Glen was a good morning. It just felt right. It felt like he was finally home. It didn’t matter who technically owned the real estate. He felt Glen’s smiles in his chest. He felt at peace listening to Glen’s quiet breathing in the night. And his not quiet breathing made him smile. He liked talking to Glen over breakfast and not talking to him over breakfast. They didn’t have enough dinners together, but he enjoyed those too.
He was regularly adding to the small store of everything he knew about Glen. He now knew that Glen liked basketball and photography and fishing and camping. He was an Independent, a non-church-going Protestant, and he did not want children. He did not care about marriage, but he cared very much about commitment. He was close to his family and generally spent the holidays he didn’t work with them.
Which brought them full circle.
“A Christmas tree? Sure,” Glen had said. And then, “I don’t have any decorations or anything. But if you want a tree…”
“I just thought maybe you would,” Nash said hastily. Now he felt silly. He never bothered with this kind of holiday stuff.
Glen had looked undecided, and then he’d said, “Well…”
Nash joked, “Are we the kind of guys who get a Christmas tree?”
Glen stared at him and then he’d seemed to relax. “I think we are. I think we should…” Then he’d stopped looking self-conscious.
“Should get a tree?” Nash said.
Glen had said, “Should start building our own traditions.” He’d looked so serious and hopeful that it had been all Nash could do not to grab him then and there.
That was it exactly. They needed to build traditions together. Their own traditions.
And just the process of picking their first tree was instructive.
“Real or fake?” Nash had asked.
“Real.” Glen had been definite.
“Do we chop our own or —?”
“What do you think?”
“I’m not a lumberjack.”
Glen had laughed. “That’s okay. I’ve had my fill of lumberjacks.”
Nash had spluttered, but moved on. “Flocked or unflocked?”
“It kills the scent.”
Nash had volunteered, “But it is pretty.”
“Flocked it is,” Glen had said easily.
“So. The important question. How big?”
Glen had met Nash’s eyes and started to laugh. Nash hadgrabbed him then.
Glen’s mother had supplied a handful of family ornaments that probably qualified as heirlooms. They had bought the rest themselves at the drug store. Pretty, frosted gold balls, ropes of shiny red beads, and a few silly things — glass balls with bewildered-looking moose and nervous reindeer.
Not every decision would be made as quickly, and not all the compromises would be as easy, but as Nash sat on the sofa in front of the fire that night, arm around Glen’s shoulders as they admired their handiwork, he felt truly at peace.
“God rest ye merry gentleman,” sang Josh Groban from the media cabinet. “Let nothing you dismay.”
Until that moment Nash had always imagined joy as something big and bright and noisy. But in fact joy was also as small as the gleam of firelight on two pairs of slippers, obscure as the reasons for love, and quiet as two people who did not need words.
 

Merry Christmas!

Christmas Coda 25

Keir and Rick from IN SUNSHINE OR IN SHADOW




It rained Christmas day.Rick originally had the day off. So had Keir, but the resigning and then unresigning had cost him his place on the holiday roster, so Rick gave up his spot too. At least that way they could share the misery.And it was miserable. It started out mildly miserable, dragging their weary asses out of bed and into the station. The final day of four twelve-hour shifts. But things cheered up a little there. Some of the guys and gals had brought in cookies and cakes and fudge. There was decent coffee for once. And Santa gag gifts. Rick got a mug that said Good Cop. Keir winked at Rick and whispered, “Does that mean I can be Bad Cop tonight?”Keir got a T-shirt that read Undercover Cop. Rick had murmured, “Under covers duty, huh?”It was all talk anyway. They knew they were both going to be too tired to do more than fall into bed and kiss each other goodnight.So much for the good times. The day turned seriously miserable with a domestic dispute that deteriorated into a homicide. Deke Johnson, 45, violated his restraining order and shot his ex-wife Harriet, 40, before their three kids and the family dog — right in front of the Christmas tree, no less.The sad truth was, in addition to a rise in traffic accidents, family disputes and child custody battles, violent crime spiked around the holidays. Not just robberies and home invasions, but good old-fashioned homicide. Add a little melancholy and a lot of booze to the seasonal punch, and you had a recipe for one hellish witch’s brew. And the City of Angels had a bad habit of getting drunk off her ass every Christmas.Johnson didn’t deny murdering his wife, and he didn’t seem to care about being arrested. He did try twice to break free so he could explain to his hysterical kids why he’d had to shoot Mommy. The second time, Rick, who was royally pissed off at the idea of some self-centered asshole killing his ex in front of his own kids, knocked him down, and Keir leaped to intervene. The uniforms pretended not to see anything, and Keir hustled Rick outside.The night was cold and smelled of smog and rain and eucalyptus. They walked past the crowd of neighbors and sightseers and crime scene technicians, around the side of the house, stepping over the dog bowls and tricycles.Rick leaned back against the dripping siding and drew a couple of deep breaths.Keir kept one eye on Rick and one eye on the wet, shining walkway, to make sure they were not disturbed. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Rick knew exactly what he was thinking, and he knew exactly how Rick felt.“Sorry,” Rick said finally.Keir shrugged. “It’s a fucked up night. Even if it is Christmas.”“Sometimes it feels like we’re just garbage men. We’re just here to clean up the mess.”It was startling to hear that from Rick. Keir was usually the one the job got to. He said firmly, “No way. We’re the guardians at the gate. We’re keeping the wild things out tonight.” Not all the wild things, but they were only human. They did what they could. He hooked his arm around Rick’s neck and brought their heads close together. Their warm breath mingled. Keir said softly, “And tomorrow we start three days off.”Rick nodded. The rest of their shift was mostly uneventful. It was ten o’clockby the time they stopped off to eat on their way home. A Chinese Restaurant in Van Nuys. The place was dimly lit — emergency and Christmas lights only — and nearly deserted. Christmas music was playing. They got a booth way in the back. They ordered their dinner and then quietly, circumspectly, held hands across the table until the waitress started down the aisle with their meals. When she left, they went back to holding hands.Every time Keir looked across the table, Rick’s gaze met his, and they smiled tiredly at each other. Not the best Christmas ever. But they were together and somehow that went a long way toward keeping it from being the worst Christmas ever.Rick broke open his fortune cookie, read the little piece of paper, and laughed. He nudged Keir’s foot under the table.Not the best Christmas ever. But looking good for the best day after Christmas ever.

Christmas Coda 24

Today's Christmas Coda features Ethan and Michael from SORT OF STRANGER THAN FICTION. You can read it over at the  Live Your Life, Buy the Book blog .

I hope you enjoy it!

DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR - Simple Gifts

We interrupt the codas (we'll resume on Monday) to bring you a holiday giveaway. LB Gregg and I thought we would get together and gift a few of copies of Simple Gifts and The Dickens With Love audio books. There's nothing nicer than listening to an audio book as you labor long over those holiday chores. :-)

We're each giving away 5 copies, and all you have to do to be eligible for the giveaway is read the excerpts and comment on both blogs.

Pretty simple, right?

So without further adieu, an excerpt from one of my very favorite LB Gregg stories, Simple Gifts.

BLURB:
A former ward of the state, Jason Ferris is fiercely protective of his carefully guarded private life. When he's felled by a rogue lawn ornament at a Christmas party, Jason finds himself in the care of his first and most devastating love-- dark, dangerous, and equally damaged Lt. Robb Sharpe.
 
Newly returned from years away in the military, Robb's homecoming isn't exactly the stuff of fairytales. Now thrust together after a ten year hiatus, Jason and Robb discover that perhaps some things are worth waiting for.

EXCERPT:


 
“Jason? Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. Quick question. Do you like astronomy?”
“What?” Robb closed the distance between us and I caught a whiff of spice, pine, and wool. He smelled like a lumberjack, not a soldier. He’d left his parka down in the bar, and his sweater sleeves were pushed to his elbows, his shirt collar lay open, and the sight of his pale Adam’s apple had me biting my lip.
His finger brushed the back of my hand and I fumbled the key. Sick or nervous or not, the fleeting contact snapped across my skin like an electrical shock. His touch thrilled me.
“Jase?”
I stared at his fingertips, familiar yet strange, and the air between us shrank until I couldn’t breathe to speak. Honestly, with a single stroke, he robbed me of thought.
I pulled away, but he said, “Hey. It’s okay,” in a disturbingly husky voice that I recalled too well. He took the key from my palm and I almost fell down the goddamn steps. I wanted to bolt — living up to his expectations — but he grabbed my borrowed shirt in his fist and my heart fluttered against his knuckles. His breath warmed my cheek. “Steady.”
Mother. Fucker.
A smile hid inside the rough tones of his broken voice and the sound eased my troubled mind while stimulating other less troubled areas. I knew that voice. I’d heard it before — in the dark of night, in the back seat, under the stars, in the boathouse, in his bedroom, behind the bleachers. And I’d hear him say steady again in the dark tonight, as I lay alone in my cold bed.
And, bang, I knew why he wanted to see me. He still wants me. He hasn’t let go, either. He came to see me.
I would have stumbled a second time, but Robb had me. Jesus, he had me good. “You need to lay down.”
I really, really did, but I could not for the life of me move to unlock my own front door.
“You good?”
“Yup. Fine.” I squeaked and he let me go. Robb fit the key into the lock and I stifled a groan.
What the hell kind of drugs had they given me at that hospital? I swear I’m tripping.
The sound of my apartment door swinging free sobered me. “No, wait! My cat—”
In a flash, Norm vanished into the stairwell, but that was the least of my worries.
“What the hell...?” Robb blocked the doorway. “Holy crow. Are those stars?”
I froze at the threshold of my home, not that Robb noticed. He wandered in, face tipped heavenward to better see the strange beauty of my apartment’s contrived night sky. Above his head paper starlight shimmered down from a black-lit galaxy. Orion, Sagittarius, Ursa Major, Canis Minor, Scorpius, Gemini — the constellations hung in painstaking precision, glowing on purple pinpricks, lighting the darkness.
Accurate and overly detailed, I’d crafted every star, made each scrap of paper and creased every fold. The project had taken years but, Voilà, origami universe.
Robb wandered, and the stars led him through the apartment, straight toward my bedroom as if they guided a wayward captain home after years at sea.
I shook that idiocy from my head and on leaden feet I trailed after my overnight guest. Hot blood colored my cheeks. “I know my apartment is a little odd.”
“No.” He turned to look at me and I banged into his chest. “Did you make all of these?”
“Well, yeah. Who else?”
“I swear, the sky looks exactly like this in the desert. Clear and wide and the stars go on forever. Only not as colorful, or so close.” He tapped a tiny pointed star and it spun on a delicate silver thread. “This one was done in pieces, right? How the hell did you make them so small?”
“Practice.” I left him marveling over my freakish masterpiece and flipped the bedroom light switch. There were a couple pair of jeans on the floor, and the simple maple bed lay unmade, but otherwise, a portion of the Milky Way flowed from my window, over the bed, and disappeared in the closet. Pretty much business as usual.
Robb followed me, nosing into my private life with ease. “Where did you learn to do this?”
“I thought you remembered everything?” I wouldn’t bore him with a retelling, but the only real memory I had, before I became a ward of this fine state of Connecticut, was making my first paper crane when I was maybe four or five. We were in a bus station, my mother and I. We’d gone inside to keep warm and to pass the time, and she showed me how to crease those tricky paper folds. I could still see her blonde hair falling across my cold fingers as she worked. Make a wish, Jason baby.
***

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