It`s time for Tuesday Tales.
Today we have an excerpt from Where the Pines Kiss the Sky, a standalone M/M contemporary romance releasing August 14th.
Please do bear in mind that these snippets are unedited so please be kind if you find any mistakes.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
“What do you feel, Elias. Tell me. Son, I only want to help. You know that I don’t care that you’re gay.”
“I know, Dad, I know.” And I did. Deep down I’d known he would be okay with my being queer but something always held me back. Some vile voice in the back of my head that whispered that he would only love me if I were the man the studio had crafted me into being. That man was who everyone wanted. Elias Lake, action star, man about town, women love him and men want to be him, the last bastion of pure machismo and proud of it. If they only knew. Well, I guess they did know now. My safety net was gone and I was free falling. “I just…I’m sorry. I should have talked to you about it years ago. I was scared, I guess. And now it’s just a fucking mess.”
“Sure, sure, I understand being scared, Son. I surely do.” That was true. He’d been terrified of being a single parent after my mother had died. I’d been a little tot, five years old when she’d gone out boating with friends and drowned. Horrible accident the cops had said, leaving us to cope with a life now void of her warmth and humor. “There were years where I stumbled around this old inn in absolute horror.”
I had to smile at his accent. Thick as chowder it was. Pure Maine. Christ, I had worked so hard to lose that accent with my voice coach when I’d come to LA years ago. Now I longed to hear more of it. I yearned to run back to Kesside Isle, ask Portman Keyes the harbor master – a title he had bequeathed to himself forty years ago – to swing the tiny metal, mechanical bridge that linked our island to the coast of Maine near Jonesport open. The choppy seas called me as they had when I had been a boy running wild over the island. I could smell the brine, taste the salt water on my tongue, hear the wind whispering through the pines that dotted the rocky coast. God, yes, I wanted to return home, to my old room, and hide from it all. I wanted my father so badly it hurt to breathe.
“Dad,” I asked with trepidation making my voice waver. “Dad, can I come home?”
“Yes, son, of course. You are always welcome here. Come home, my boy. We’ll sort this whole mess out together.”
©Copyright V.L. Locey 2023