Page 1 of Coming Clean

CHAPTERONE

Jeremy

Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this son of York

—William Shakespeare, Richard III

It sure as hell had been a winter ofdiscontent, the worst semester Jeremy had experienced in the fouryears he’d been teaching at Wentworth College for DirectionlessHipsters. He’d yet to see such an abundant crop of arrogant prickswith zero writing skills as the ones fate, or the registrationcomputer, had thrown his way. Occasionally, he needed to remindhimself how lucky he was to have a job. Not many English PhDs witha concentration in nineteenth-century British poetry foundemployment in their field, and even fewer had the freedom to directtheir own research as he did.

After slogging through months ofdisinterested students and hostile co-workers, another blow came.The office of Chilcote and Bergman, his aunt and uncle’s lawyers,called to inform him that they were dead, killed instantly whentheir car slid on a wet road and slammed into a tree. Yes, that’show much the rest of the family thought of him. He didn’t evenwarrant a personal call about his former guardians’ passing. Notthat his aunt or uncle had held him in high esteem either. In fact,he hadn’t talked to them in ten years.

They’d done their duty by him, raising himafter his mother died. They never mistreated him, but they alsonever loved him. Once he turned eighteen and came out, they’dparted ways, barely civil. Jeremy hadn’t even made their Christmaslist. Now they were gone, and despite their differences, he grievedmore than he would’ve expected.

After the funeral, he returned to life asusual. How long can you mourn someone who hasn’t been in your lifefor years? Then the lawyers contacted him again. This time theysummoned Jeremy to the reading of the will. He hadn’t expected tobe named in it. What would they leave him, a copy of ThinkYourself Straight by Homophobe Wanker? However, curiosity and asummons printed on high quality legal stationery were more than hecould resist.

And thus it was that the winter of hisdiscontent was made glorious summer, or at least glorious May. Heinherited nearly all of his aunt and uncle’s considerable savings,a small fortune, and not just by the standards of a poetryprofessor. Their enormous home in a highly desirable Ashevilleneighborhood also became his. Apparently, they’d been sorry for howthey’d treated him. It would have been nice if they’d been able tosay so face-to-face but a posthumous apology was better thannothing.

Jeremy was no billionaire, but he waswell-equipped to take a sabbatical and actually write the book he’dbeen snatching moments to work on for the last year, a novel abouta fictional Victorian poet. Sure, he had a huge house to sortthrough and put on the market, and pissed off relatives to ignore,but none of those worries really mattered now that he had moremoney than he’d ever expected to have. As soon as he wrapped up thesemester, he’d have at least seven months to figure out his nextstep.

****

Connor

Oh, I am veryweary,

Though tears no longerflow;

My eyes are tired ofweeping,

My heart is sick ofwoe

—Anne Brontë,Appeal

Connor had seen enough hellin the desert to last him the rest of his life and on into thebeyond. No one, not even Mario—his best friend, the man who’d savedhis life, and who’d given him the courage to risk it in the firstplace—could’ve convinced him to re-up when his second tour ended.He’d come home. Well, he’d come back to the states. He didn’treally have a home since his stepdad thought he was worthlessdespite having served eight years as a Marine, four of those on arecon team. Instead, Mario’s sister Sabrina had invited him to staywith her until he figured out what to do next. The problem was thathe hadn’t a clue.

He’d gone straight into theMarines after high school. His stepfather had made his life hellwith his strict rules and expectations set so high no one couldmeet them. And when Connor didn’t please him, he was good with hisfists. Connor had been desperate for a way out, because a future ofworking at his stepfather’s garage was all he had to look forwardto—the man sure as hell wasn’t going to pay for college, andConnor’s mother had taken to escaping by drowning herself inliquor, so he wouldn’t get any help from her. When a Marinerecruiter came to Connor’s school, he jumped at a chance to makehis own future. Thus, he went from one strict master to another,but unlike his stepfather, the Marines gave him confidence andshowed him what he was capable of instead of making him feel liketrash. It turned out he was capable of a hell of a lot. But hislast mission… it was enough to say he’d pushed himself as far as hecould without something breaking inside, although it was damnclose.

So there he was, back inthe US, crashing on Sabrina’s couch, staring at the walls andwondering how he was going to function in the civilian world withno orders to guide him, more lost than he had been during the firstfew days of boot camp. Many guys in his position would find a jobin security or apply for the police academy, but Connor was donecarrying a gun every day.

He didn’t have a lot ofother options though, not with only a high school education. He’dlearned a hell of lot of things in the last eight years, butmarching twenty miles in the desert heat while carrying a hundredpounds of gear wasn’t a highly desirable job skill here in theregular world.

Then one day, while he wascleaning Sabrina’s apartment—partly because the lack of order wasmaking him twitchy and partly because it was a small way to repayher kindness—realization struck. He could earn money as ahousecleaner. Connor could make a room spotless, and he could do itfucking fast. That was one skill the Marines had taught him thatjust might be marketable in the civilian world. Cleaning houseswasn’t glamorous but it would earn him some good, honestmoney—enough to pay rent on a small place, surely.

CHAPTER TWO

Jeremy stood on the massivefront lawn, watching the movers carry the last of his boxes intohis aunt and uncle’s house. Or rather, his house now, though hecouldn’t imagine ever thinking of it that way. The movers hadparked in the center of the circular drive where they had astraight path to the front door.

He hadn’t visited the placein years but the lawn was just as he remembered it. Huge magnoliatrees dominated one side and a large oak tree sat close to the roadon the other. His aunt and uncle had owned the lot behind them andthe backyard was nearly as large as the front, with a small appleorchard near the back fence and a cluster of spruce trees to oneside. Jeremy had spent as much time as he could hiding among thosespruces when he was a kid, reading, building forts, and making upworlds where his mom was still alive and he was free to behimself.

The grizzly-bear of a manwho’d supervised the team of movers strode toward Jeremy while theother men hopped into the truck. “Well that’s the last ofit.”

All his worldly possessiondidn’t seem to amount to much when stacked in the large rooms ofhis new/old house. “Thanks. Do I pay you now?”

“Nope. The office will senda bill for the remainder. I just need your signature sayingeverything was delivered.”

Jeremy glanced at theclipboard in the man’s hand. The top page was a form with tiny typeand a space marked with an “x” where he was supposed to sign. Heknew he should look over it carefully. He could almost hear hisbest friend David scolding him for signing something he hadn’tread—David was a lawyer and a stickler for checking out the fineprint. But David himself had recommended the moving company, soJeremy scrawled his illegible signature on the line and thanked theman again.