Kia Ora...

I have now shifted down the other end of the country... sort of. By that I mean I'm currently at the southern end of the country but all my belongings except what I could fit into a suitcase and carryon are in storage back at the other end of the country. And everything will stay there until I get a roof over my head that isn't me crashing with friends and family.

But with shifting my routines are all up in the air, however that doesn't mean I'm not writing... just maybe not marketing my books as much as I'd like, and visibility is definitely key to finding new readers.

But when I'm not writing or reading, I'm getting out for walks amongst the countryside...

Updates

Naomi Aoki

• Have started working on Devotion (Nagoya Crimes 3) the final book in the Nagoya Crimes Trilogy. It's very much in the write a few words, rewrite them, and then rewrite them again stage as I try to build the right atmosphere for it.

Mandy Greenwood

• Working on Running for Home (Switch Hitters 1) for the newsletter
• Started working on another sports romance for newsletter swaps... will be a standalone baseball book, at this stage.

MJ Green

• Promoing Until Death (House of Bolton Prequel/5) as much as I can.
• Next up under this pen name will be two MF books - Love Unpicked (Connor and Teri's book) and All That Glitters (Rosa and Calvino's book)

Bookfunnel Promos

• I Can't Get Enough Of Them (MM)
• New In January (M/M Releases)
• Standalone Love: One and Done Romance

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Running For Home - Chapter 7

The awkwardness that marked their first few conversations since the first one slowly ebbed away as the fear of unintentionally starting an argument faded. Phone calls became a daily routine that Mike liked forward too… the normality that sprung at being able to share a joke with Jordan or to lecture him about slacking off during training just as he’d done in the past. 

Normal… but also not quite. 

Nothing could take them back to the way it had been between them in the past.  

They lived in separate houses…went to sleep alone…and they no longer played on the same team. Conversations that were once held face to face were now done at a distance and it only pushed home the distance that remained between them. A massive chasm created by his walking out on Jordan two years ago, and Mike was the only one who could bridge that gap. But Mike still believed he didn’t have that right…too afraid to reach for the hand Jordan persisted in holding out to him. 

If their roles were reversed, Mike didn’t know if he could be so forgiving. 

Then again, Mike didn’t think he should be forgiven. 

And none of that explained what was happening between them now or why Mike was slaving over a hot stove preparing dinner for him and Jordan—a man who he’d abandoned without a second thought, or at least not until his mind had cleared of the anger he’d directed at everyone around him. 

His body hummed with excitement and nerves as though this was the first time they’d ever shared a meal together…as though all those years of domesticity that came with living together had never happened. More than that really. Jordan had always been a part of his life. Before he’d become Mike’s husband, Jordan was the annoying little brother of his best friend who’d followed him around like a devoted puppy long before either of them understood attraction and love. 

Mike huffed and stared at the meal he was preparing. All of Jordan’s favourites, and dishes that he’d made so many times in the past that Mike knew the recipes off by heart. And it was a lot of effort to go to for a man whose loyalty, unwavering devotion, or forgiveness Mike didn’t think he deserved. 

* 

“Fuck, is that… am I smelling curry?” Jordan exclaimed as entered the apartment. 

“Well, yeah,” Mike replied, shrugging his shoulders while also trying to hide the smile creeping onto his face. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to smile, a genuine one that was, and not one used to allay everyone’s concerns about his mental health. His cheek muscles already ached, and Jordan had barely been in the apartment sixty-seconds.  

Mike ushered Jordan further into the apartment and closed the door. He glanced over at the small kitchenette reminding himself of what still needed doing. Not much really, the large pot of curry sitting on the stove needed to simmer until the sauce thickened and didn’t require Mike hovering over it. Except Mike was nervous about having Jordan in his space and stirring the curry would give him something to do with his hands. 

“I’ve missed your cooking,” Jordan said, dropping his wallet and keys onto the kitchen table as he followed Mike into the kitchen, leaning against the bench next to where Mike stood. “Especially your curries… no one does a Japanese style curry like you do.” 

His breath stuttered as memories of their past surged into his mind, dragging intense emotions from the depths of his soul and played out in full guilt-inducing technicolour. Memories of moments they’d shared just like this… Mike preparing dinner while Jordan leaned against the bench and chatted. The situation might be similar, but this kitchen wasn’t the same. Familiar and yet terrifying. A problem that only grew worse when Jordan pushed off the bench and moved to stand behind Mike, arms slipping around his waist and head resting on his shoulder like they’d done so many times in the past. 

But the past was gone. 

Mike tensed at the contact and a soft, frustrated sigh escaped Jordan as he pulled away. It was lonelier without the man’s warmth bleeding through to his skin and yet Mike understood that it would be dangerous to pretend that nothing had changed between them. Wrong to act as though the past two years of his being gone hadn’t happened. They weren’t a couple anymore, despite Jordan’s refusal to sign the divorce papers Mike had sent him. Weren’t the same people anymore… and they’d only invite further disaster and grief if the believed they could simply pick up from where they’d left off. 

So, why then did Jordan think it was okay to act so familiarly with him? 

“Sorry,” Jordan muttered, moving to stand on the other side of the bench. “I shouldn’t have done that… wrong I know on so many levels… but old habits die hard, I guess.” 

Mike nodded and swallowed hard. He didn’t trust his voice to give a verbal response. Didn’t trust that the words he spoke would line up with the emotions wanting to strangle them, and only one of them would be expression of the truth. Denial would be easy to utter, but the truth was that he’d enjoyed the fleeting touch of his husband regardless of how much it had freaked him out. He’d missed Jordan over the last two years, had often found himself reaching for his husband when the nightmares struck… hated himself for it too, knowing that when they’d still shared the same bed reaching for Jordan was the last thing he’d do. 

But Mike couldn’t allow himself to forget why seeking comfort in Jordan’s arms was no longer possible.  

Guilt had become his firm friend along with self-loathing and a sadness that just wouldn’t quit. And it was taking all the strength that Mike could muster to not breakdown in tears in front of Jordan now.  

And he couldn’t afford for Jordan to realise the affect his presence was having on him. 

Then again, maybe Jordan already knew. Maybe he could see the pain etched on Mike’s face despite his attempts to keep it hidden. Or maybe he saw nothing at all. It was hard to tell when Jordan sat on the other side of the bench and chatted away to Mike as though nothing had happened…as though this was an everyday occurrence.  

Jordan’s playful smile was one Mike was used to seeing…but it was wrong. All wrong. It felt as though Jordan was choosing to forget what happened in the last two years…pretending that Mike hadn’t walked out of the house they’d shared with little more than a note left behind. And regardless of whether there was a chance for them to recover what Mike had tossed aside as though his marriage vows had been worthless…this wasn’t how it happened. They couldn’t ignore the past. Couldn’t ignore the pain and suffering Mike had caused otherwise the foundations of anything new they built would be nothing more than an illusion. 

“I don’t want to pick things up from where we left off, Jordan,” he said, platting there food and setting it on the table. 

“Then what do you want?” 

Mike rubbed at his jaw and chewed on his answer. He wanted to be clear with his response while also ensuring Jordan wasn’t given hope for something that might never eventuate between them. “Friendship. I want us to be friends, Jordan… that’s all I have to offer you right now… and I can’t promise you that we’ll ever be anything more than that.” 

Jordan didn’t respond. Not verbally anyway with words. Gave nothing more than a noncommittal hum while pushing his food around on the plate. A tense silence filled the apartment and one that left Mike uncertain of what would happen next. The answer might not have been the one Jordan had wanted to hear, but it was the only one Mike could give him… and what happened next was entirely in his ex-husband’s hands. 

“Friends?” Jordan hissed. “I don’t want to be only friends with you Mike. I have no problems picking up where we left off two years ago.” He stared straight at Mike, determination and frustration swirling in his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home every day for the past two years. And truthfully? I wish that’s where you were living…at home with me, and not here.” 

“Two years, Jordan… I’m not the same person as I was back then, back before my injury. You might be able to, but I can’t pretend that it didn’t happen.” 

Jordan shrugged, the dismissive action only reconfirming what Mike suspected…that Jordan didn’t understand how his career-ending injury had changed Mike’s life…his whole sense of being. 

“I don’t care that you were injured! Do I wish that you still caught every ball I pitch? Then, yeah, I do… but I thought our marriage was more than our partnership on the field.” Jordan drew in a deep breath and released it slowly.

“You are my husband…will always be my husband… and I just want you to come home.” 

“This is my home now, Jordan,” Mike hissed while gesturing at the tiny apartment that was a far cry from the upmarket home he’d lived in with Jordan. “I can’t pretend to be anything more than a friend.” Sighing, he leaned back in the chair and shoved his hands through his hair. “Maybe…maybe it’ll be a friendship that will develop into something more…something closer to what we had before”—gesturing this time at his knee— “but those aren’t promises I wish to make.” 

Couldn’t make without risking his own fragile heart on a possibility that had more chances of not coming true. Mike wasn’t the same man Jordan had married, and despites Jordan’s protestations that he still considered Mike his husband…still loved him…the man Jordan talked about was one from the past. 

“So…what you’re saying is that if I want to spend time with you, it can only be on the proviso that I don’t expect anything more than friendship.” 

“Yes. Exactly that.” 

“I’m not sure I can agree to that, Mike,” Jordan replied, his voice soft and yet the anger underpinning each word was unmissable. “Friendship might be okay in the short-term, but”—drawing in a deep breath before releasing it slowly and shaking his head— “you are my husband… will always be my husband…and I can’t conceive of a time where that isn’t case.” 

Mike narrowed his eyes at Jordan and gripped the edge of the table tight as he leaned forward once more. “What are you saying, Jordan? Explain it to me.” 

“If friendship is all you’re offering…then I don’t want a bar of it.” Jordan pushed back his chair and stood up. “I want more, Mike… will always want more from you.” 

“Does that mean you’ll finally sign the divorce papers?” his voice cracking as he asked. 

Jordan huffed out a laugh. “Nope. I won’t give you that satisfaction either.” 

“What satisfaction?” Mike snapped. “I never asked for the divorce for me! It was always about you…about giving you the freedom to move on with your life without having to worry about my broken arse.” 

A strange sadness swept through Jordan’s eyes, one that looked suspiciously like pity. “I never once thought you were broken…just lost. I think you’re still lost, Mike, but there is nothing I can do if you don’t want to be found—” 

“Then sign the damn papers and leave me be!” 

“You know what?” Jordan snapped bitterly while striding toward the door of the apartment. “I might just do that!” 

Anger rippled through Mike with an intensity that shocked and confused him. Despair crashed into him too as the darkness Mike thought he’d escaped tried to drag back into its dangerous depths. He wanted Jordan to leave him, wanted him to sign those damn divorce papers…and yet a part of him didn’t. A part of Mike still clung to the hope that Jordan wouldn’t give up on him. And that hope wasn’t fair on either of them. 

“Fuck. I can’t believe I waited two years for you…wasted my days, my nights wishing for you to walk back through our front door begging for forgiveness.” He sucked in a sharp breath and dropped his gaze to the floor. “And it was a forgiveness I would’ve given willingly.” Jordan lifted his head, heartbreak and anger burning in his eyes. “I’d say see you around, Mike…  but I’m not sure if I want to anymore.” 

And then Jordan was gone, leaving Mike alone once more just like he deserved.

******

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