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Here is a short sample from the book:
an excerpt from chapter 4.:
Harris didn’t know exactly what to do. He’d tried to face this as a simple formula: admit you’re wrong, apologize, make amends. But that had only resulted in these strange silent tears, and so had probably done more harm than good. The sight of this strong man sitting shattered before him was heartbreaking. He wanted to comfort Jackson somehow, but had no skills to do so. He couldn’t even walk over and put an arm around his shoulder because of the stupid ankle injury.
“I don’t know what else to say, Jackson. I’m sorry. I forgive you, if it matters. I’m sure most people have forgiven you by now. Have you spoken to your family?”
“Not in six months. Thanksgiving, I went home. But I stayed here for Christmas. They say they understand, they don’t ever mention the accident, except to joke about it like it’s old news. Mostly, they’re upset about me living here. I can’t bring myself to care, since they abandoned me when I needed them.” The tears had ended, but his eyes still glistened and his voice was soft and raw.
“I understand. But you might want to give them another chance, someday. Everyone makes mistakes.”
That brought a small smile, and Jackson looked up at Harris, his eyes clear. “Yeah.”
Jack leaned over and picked up two more thick logs from the neat pile, then placed them into the fireplace. Jack moved around the small room, tidying as he went. Harris felt awkward and uncomfortable, laying there immobile. His ankle throbbed dully, even with the double dose of Tylenol Jackson had given him, and he wondered if it would really be all right to walk on tomorrow as Jack predicted.
Jack stifled a yawn, and Harris mimed him. “Are you tired?” He found it strange to have no idea what time it was. He could have checked the time on his cell phone: even if there was no reception, the clock would work. But he’d turned it off and placed it on the floor near his shoes, to save the battery.
“Yeah, I am pretty tired, I guess.”
Jack’s eyes scanned the room and lingered on the pile of folded quilts. It was obvious what Jack was considering. Guilt made Harrison’s face warm. He’d needed Jack to save him three times already, blown his secret identity wide open, and now he was stealing the poor guy’s bed.
“Hey, Jackson? You could share the bed with me.” Harris knew the chances Jack would say yes were slim. There had been a current of desire simmering between them all day, and sharing a bed now might force it to come to a boil. Not the best idea when Harris was injured and Jackson was feeling guilty about his past, but he had to at least offer.
Jackson met Harris’ eyes for a long moment, and then he nodded. “Sure. That’d be good.”