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Almost
     

Almost

3.7 3
by Sean Michael
 

Hammer let Lane drive him away, but now he’s determined to make Lane the one who almost got away.

Lane lost his legs while saving his unit overseas. It’s been two years and he’s doing his best to come to terms with things, including the fact that he dumped his lover to free the man up from being stuck with a gimp for the rest of his life.

Overview

Hammer let Lane drive him away, but now he’s determined to make Lane the one who almost got away.

Lane lost his legs while saving his unit overseas. It’s been two years and he’s doing his best to come to terms with things, including the fact that he dumped his lover to free the man up from being stuck with a gimp for the rest of his life. Luckily, Lane inherited his Gramps’ cottage—it just needs some renovations to make it wheelchair friendly. He’s determined to make the best of what he’s got.

Hammer was one of the men Lane saved…and his lover while they were in the Army together. He let Lane drive him away back when the man first got hurt, but now he’s hunting Lane, determined to make Lane the one who almost got away. Will Lane be able to see past his injuries far enough to realise Hammer’s in it for the long haul?

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781781849798
Publisher:
Totally Entwined Group Ltd
Publication date:
03/14/2014
Sold by:
Barnes & Noble
Format:
NOOK Book
Pages:
39
Sales rank:
119,139
File size:
515 KB

Related Subjects

Read an Excerpt

Copyright © Sean Michael 2014. All Rights Reserved, Total-E-Ntwined Limited, T/A Totally Bound Publishing.


Lane got himself into his wheelchair, rolled himself to the back porch and started doing pull-ups. His eyes were on the lake, on the water right outside his porch as he worked his arms, his abs. He’d spent his whole fucking childhood in this lake house, fishing with his gramps, swimming, goofing off. He loved this place and now Gramps was gone and it was his to do what he wanted with.


Hell of a trade for a pair of legs.


Up. Down. Up. Down. Eyes on the water. Don’t think about sand, bombs, enemy fire. Just the lake. The water. The burn in his arms.


The snap of a twig sounded like a shot.


He stopped, frowning. It was late winter. People didn’t come out here in the winter and he hadn’t found himself a dog yet. “I have a .38 and I know how to use it.”


“I sure as hell hope so. It wasn’t your head you injured.”


Jesus fuck, that sounds just like Hammer.


Lane lowered himself down onto his chair. No. No way. He hadn’t talked to Hammer in almost two years. Hadn’t seen him in longer than that.


The owner of the voice appeared beside his deck from the side of the house. Tall, stacked, haircut high and tight over a strong, square jaw and mismatched eyes. He’d only ever met one man with one hazel eye and one green, and that was Hammer.


Lane immediately, instinctively rubbed his shaggy beard that hid the scars on his face. “You lost, Sarge?”


“I was thinking I might be, then I turned a corner and found you, so no, I’m not lost.” Hammer wore a pair of jeans, a T-shirt with a leather jacket over it and had his bag slung over his shoulder. Fuck, he looked good.


Lane was in nothing but a pair of sweats, the sweat cooling on his bare chest making him shiver. “You want a cup of coffee?”


“I do. I was hoping you’d invite me in, too.”


“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Come on.” He wheeled himself into the kitchen, which was in the middle of a remodel, and grabbed the coffeepot. “Excuse the chaos. I’m working on the place.”


Hammer followed him in, work boots ringing on the deck. “You doing it yourself?”


“Yeah. Gramps left it to me. I’m staying here full-time now. Fixing it up.” Making it as accessible as he could.


Hammer looked around but didn’t say anything, his face unreadable. Finally those mismatched eyes met his again. “I’m sorry about your Gramps.”


“Thank you. He liked you a lot.” He wheeled over to the sink, filled the coffeepot.


“He was a good man.” Hammer unshouldered his bag and left it by the door, out of the way.


“He was. How long are you on leave?”


“I got some time.”


Meet the Author

Often referred to as "Space Cowboy" and "Gangsta of Love" while still striving for the moniker of "Maurice," Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organising his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and pursuing the kama sutra by channelling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to "Chicago". A long-time writer of complicated haiku, currently Sean is attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate spinning and soap carving sex toys. Barring any of that? He'll stick with writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark.

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Almost 3.7 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 3 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Loved the story it could have mad a great full book. Im pissed that I spent 3 dollars for 40 pages
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
A very short, sweet and sexy story. Sean Michael can write a great story whether it's a short story or a full-length novel - they are all very enjoyable and this one is no exception!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago