Ian Cully locked up his house—ex-house—one last time and contemplated throwing away the key.
Nah, quitting his job, selling his home, and moving the hell out of California was probably symbolic enough.Instead he just watched the brass glint in his hand.Then he stared at the deadbolt and the knob.
It isn’t too late to go back to the department and drive a desk.That thought triggered a sudden and visceral flash of scraping his back on the asphalt and the sound of his skin sizzling.
Yeah,fuck it.He wanted the hell out of California.Wanted to live around family heliked.Put some distance between him and his dad.
“That’s it?”his cousin Jurgen asked from behind him.
He should probably stop standing on his porch—former porch—staring at the locking hardware.“Uh, yeah.”
“C’mon then.I want to get moving before dark.”Jurgen’s feet scuffed on the wood as he turned, and then Ian felt the boards give as he thudded down the steps.
He stared some more.Jurgen didn’t say anything else, even though he was probably waiting by Ian’s truck, back crammed full of stuff, ready to take off after the moving van that had left a half hour ago.Leaving the porch had been to give Ian space, although he knew damn well Jurgen wanted to get home to his boyfriend.
Still, Jurgen’d probably wait half the day if Ian needed the time.
Ian turned around, shoving the key in his back pocket, and headed down the stairs.Yeah, it was time to leave.Get rid of the last of the old life, because he was sure the hell ready for a new one.
When he reached his truck, Jurgen didn’t move to climb inside.Instead he reached out and gripped Ian’s shoulder too hard, pinching a nerve, but Ian didn’t let himself flinch.
Jurgen looked him straight in the eye.“You’re doing the right thing.”
Ian nodded, held there by Jurgen’s hand.“I am, yeah.”
“Gets you the hell away from the chief.”
Ian had to look away.“Yep.”
If Jurgen didn’t stop the personal sharing shit, Ian might have to rethink the moving near him thing.
Oh, wait.He was supposed to practice expressing his emotions now.He shoved his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat.“Yeah, uh ...It was stupid, you know?The accident.But I guess it kind of straightened out my priorities.”He stepped back from Jurgen, until his hand fell off Ian’s shoulder.
Jurgen tipped his chin at Ian and turned toward the passenger door of the truck.That must have been enough bonding time for Jurgen.And thank God, it hadn’t even been that hard.He could do this; all of it.No more being a firefighter, no more telling his dad he sometimes dated women, “just to make sure.”
Yeah, the previous thirty-odd years hadn’t worked out so well, but now he was pretty much free of that old life.Next step was to figure out what the fuck it was he actuallydidwant out of the world.How hard could it be?
Sam took a shortcut through a park located smack between the campus bookstore and his place, walking all over leaf-strewn grass he probably shouldn’t have, clutching the book he’d hidden under his plaid shirt-jacket.He just needed to get to his apartment before he saw someone he knew.
If he ran into someone he knew, they’d expect him to stop and talk, because that’s the kind of guy he was: the smiley, friendly, talky kind.Then, because he didn’t have his backpack—mental note, bring backpack next time—they’d want to know what he was clutching away so furtively,guiltily, under his jacket.And—in spite of aspiring to an MFA in writing—he could never seem to come up with a plausible lie in truly dire situations.
At which point he’d have to make a break for it.Dammit, he was wearing those cool lumberjack boots he’d bought the last time he’d visited Nik in Whitetail Rock, and—newsflash—they sucked for running.
They looked good with plaid shirt-jackets, though.
A shouted “Hey!”interrupted his riotous thoughts.
He knew, he justknew, they were shouting at him.And he had a romance novel hidden under his shirt.A romance novel with a lurid cover featuring a bare-chested, kilt-wearing man on horseback, clutching a saloon-girl-cum-fair-maiden to his brawny chest.
“Hey!Get the hell off the field!”
Crap.Sam ran, hunching to protect the book, stumbling in an ungainly sideways sort of run.
He looked back over his shoulder.A whole pack of brawny Highlanders was chasing him.Sure, they had jeans on, and only some of them were bare-chested, but they all had that meaner-than-hell-Scot look in their eyes.It wouldn’t have surprised Sam in the least if their knobby-yet-manly knees had been flashing under yards of plaid.
The leader of the clan made Robert the Bruce look like a little nellie boy.He was tall, thickly muscled, and light haired, with scruff Sam could see from ten yards away while running and looking backward over his shoulder.He had one of those brows that bordered on hairy Neanderthal, but somehow looked macho and sexy.His mouth was open, screaming some kind of battle cry, and he was gaining on Sam.Reaching out to grab him.
Sam slowed, considering the merits of letting the sexy Highlander catch him.Then his self-preservation instinct kicked in.He faced forward, clutched the book tighter, and put on some speed.
