› C O M I N G S O O N ‹ Ultimatum Trifecta from ............................ › A V A I L A B L E ‹ |
|
Starting Over
Loose Id
Two years ago, Aaron lost his partner in a drowning accident. He's trying to move on, but letting go of the past, of the life they were building, is hard. One thing he knows he's not ready for is a new relationship, but Garrett and Dane are determined to change that.Lifepartners Garrett and Dane, a cop and an ER doc, bring Aaron home after an accident. They're happy in their light Dom/sub relationship, fulfilled and in love, but they've been keeping their eyes open for a third. It doesn't take long for them to decide that wounded, pretty Aaron is exactly who they've been looking for.
The three get along great, but Garrett and Dane have their work cut out for them in convincing Aaron there's a time for starting over.
Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play, BDSM (mild), male/male sexual practices, ménage (m/m/m).
Buy the eBook
A cherry red Mustang Cobra flew by his cruiser doing at least eighty-five, passing Garrett as if he’d been standing still.
“Son of a bitch.” He flipped on his lights and siren and stomped on the gas. “Are you blind or just dumb?”
Not only was the ass going way too fast, he was also darting in and out of traffic, finding an opening only to be slowed up by a different car in front of him. By the time Garrett caught up a few minutes later, they were really into the congestion.
And one of Garrett’s worst nightmares played like a movie in slow motion right before his eyes.
A motorcyclist changed lanes, unaware of the speeding car behind him. At the same time, the fucker in the Cobra flew up on the bike, too late to stop and nowhere to go as he found himself pinned between two cars. He slammed on his brakes, tires squealing and smoking as his car locked up. The front bumper clipped the motorcycle, spinning the machine.
In hindsight, Garrett thought the rider did a damn fine job of trying to compensate, but in the end he lost the battle. Cars scattered, trying to avoid hitting both bike and rider as one went left and the other right.
Garrett screeched to a stop, sideways across the three-lane highway, halting the already slowing traffic. The rider flipped head over heels twice before rolling on his side the rest of the way.
Again, Garrett credited the man doing his best to get out of the way rather than panicking. At least he’d succeeded in getting himself out of more possible harm.
The entire scene probably lasted less than a minute. A loud slam of metal on metal farther behind them, where cars were stopped on the highway, punctuated with the man’s final roll. He came to rest on his back about three feet from the shoulder, completely motionless.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Garrett jerked his seat belt off and jumped from the car, then ran to the downed rider, praying he was still alive.
The scream of tires told him the Cobra was pulling a hit-and-run. Stupid bastard. Garrett barked into his shoulder mike the multivehicle accident with injuries, his need for ambulances and possibly Life Flight, and the plate number for the cherry red Cobra. Shithead wouldn’t get far. He’d just bought himself a nice little bout of jail time.
Garrett knelt next to what he could now see was a supine man, his leather jacket -- thank shit he was wearing one in this heat -- torn to shreds and his once-shiny black helmet cracked and scratched white from the concrete. He flipped the visor up to find the man’s eyes closed, and put a hand on his chest.
At least he was breathing. Not a lot, but breathing all the same.
“Did you see that asshole, Officer? He hit this guy from behind.” The woman shouting came and stooped next to Garrett. “Can I help?” He was glad she was calm, because his heart was still beating a mile a minute.
“Happen to be medical personnel?” He was going to need someone to cope with the obviously broken shin bone in the man’s right leg.
“No, but I saw the whole thing.”
Garrett nodded. “Good.” Not that he needed any witnesses; he’d seen the whole damn thing too.
“Anyone else hurt bad?” he asked, afraid to leave the rider.
“I don’t think so. Lots of people walking around their cars. I think he took the worst of it.”
Garrett’s thoughts exactly. The accident could have snowballed into something much worse. Other than a few fender benders that he could see, there wasn’t the twenty-car pileup that could have happened.
“Maybe you should take his helmet off,” another woman suggested.
Garrett shook his head. “No. If he has a neck injury, I could make it worse. It stays on for now.”
Reaching for the rider’s hand and carefully lifting it, Garrett took the man’s pulse. Not nearly as quick as it should have been under the circumstances. Not a good sign. He wished to hell the guy would wake up and give him some encouraging signal. Garrett had no wish to talk to grieving relatives today.
His breath caught when the rider moaned, a soft sound barely audible over the buzz of excited onlookers gathered around them. The man’s lips parted on the puff of air.
Garrett considered the small breath a thumbs-up of sorts.
