Excerpt from "Breaking Faith" by M. King

Brett parked as close to the sports store as he could. Havre’s wide and desolate streets gave plenty of room for a biting wind to take a swipe at unguarded flesh. He grabbed Jenny’s skis and made a dash for the store that chilled him with the burn of liquid nitrogen.

“Cold one, huh?”

Brett looked over at the cash register. The guy behind it definitely wasn’t Mr. Klass. Younger, for a start. A lot younger, probably no more than twenty. He wore his black shoulder-length hair loose, and his skin looked coppery, though not that dark. Brett guessed at him maybe being half-Indian, though more than that, he found it hard to tell. Havre lay close to the Chippewa-Cree Rocky Boy reservation, but the Gros Ventre/Assiniboine Fort Belknap rez wasn’t far away either.

Whatever the guy’s heritage, he’d got damn good genes. Dark, expressive eyes, high cheekbones, and a very, very sexy mouth…. Brett quickly pushed those thoughts right out of his head. He’d grown used to doing that years ago.

Look, but don’t touch. And look away pretty damn quick too. Whatever you do, don’t get caught.

“Sure is,” he said, and damn it because, but for the two of them, the store looked completely empty.

Shit, this is going to be worse than trying to get through football season.

Brett knew, by the law of averages, that he wasn’t the only one. He couldn’t be. There had been nearly seven hundred students at his high school and, although not everybody who got called a queer or a dyke could possibly be one, there had never seemed to be any proof of that. Certainly not among his own friends.

Besides, Havre might be the biggest town on the Hi-line, but there wasn’t a lot to do except bowling, movies, and picking through other people’s lives. So far, no one had moved Brett to take what he saw as that kind of risk.

“I, uh, I’m looking for Mr. Klass. Need a DIN check on a kid’s bindings and some replacement lenses for a pair of Oakley Crowbars. HI yellow, if you have ’em.”

The vision in hotness at the register smiled. An easy, broad smile. He reached up and tucked his hair behind his ear, leaving Brett’s stomach in a confused knot.

“He’s out for an hour or so, but I can take a look,” the guy said. “Shouldn’t take long.”

“Sure. Uh, thanks.”

Brett passed over the skis and the portion of Jenny’s registration form with her height and weight on it. The ski classes required all the kids to hand over those details in case their settings needed checking. The guy took the skis and went through to slap them on the torque test machine, leaving Brett to occupy himself looking at the bindings and boots on the display shelf. Some sweet pieces of gear, but in the winter the stores always stocked up with new issues, trying to tempt him or—even better—the tourists into parting with some hardearned cash.

“So, what? These your little sister’s?”

Brett blinked. He hadn’t been expecting the guy to carry on a conversation with him from in back, but he’d left the door open and looked out from around the machine, one of Jenny’s skis located on the plate. The board creaked as the machine’s gauge started to move.

“Uh, no. Student’s,” Brett said. “I’m shadowing the instructor on a beginners’ class for kids. One of the girls took a tumble when the left one prereleased, so I thought….”

The guy smiled that smile again.

“Man, this is a Marker binding. Don’t need a machine to tell you it’s gonna pre-release. Old one too.”

Brett chuckled.

“Yeah, turns out they belonged to her older sister. I figured it’s worth checking the setting, but I wasn’t sure if the spring needs replacing. What d’you think?”

The guy made a few notes from the DIN chart taped to the torque tester.

“We-ell,” he said as he came back to the counter, “they could do with a tweak, but you’re right. The spring’s worn. Could do with a new one, especially for a kid. Accident waiting to happen.” He peered at the scratch on Brett’s jaw and arched one thick eyebrow. “Or maybe already happened.”

Brett half-raised his hand and smiled.

“Oh. Yeah…. She’s fine, though. I thought I could help, just completely wiped out. Go figure, huh?”

That smile appeared again.

Hell….

“No good deed goes unpunished,” the guy agreed. “I’d do these for you now, only I’m supposed to wait for Mr. Klass so there’s someone on the counter. Should have ’em done inside twenty-four hours, though, so maybe you could come back and pick ’em up? We’re open for a couple hours tomorrow, or you could come by on Monday.”

He tucked his hair behind his ear again, and Brett followed the action with his eyes. He had incredible hands. Long and slim fingers, but not at all feminine; his nails short and blunt, one or two torn, and calluses on his skin.

Slowly, Brett became aware that he’d been asked a question but, more than that, he felt the guy’s dark brown eyes on him, trailing over him…as if he liked what he saw. It couldn’t just be his imagination, could it?

“Uh, sure. Monday’s fine,” he said. Blinking, he looked away.

What the hell are you doing? screamed a voice in his head. You idiot…he’s checking you out.

It seemed like the guy could at least be testing the water, so why couldn’t Brett meet his eye? He kicked himself mentally. So stupid….

“Okay. I can do the lenses for you now, though. Be right back.”

“Thanks.”

Brett exhaled slowly and took another look at the rows of ski gear on the wall. He didn’t mean for his eyes to slide sideways; but it wasn’t really like he’d be checking out the guy’s butt if he did happen to look. And he definitely wasn’t disappointed that his fleece hung down so far. He focused on the kickass bindings on the second shelf instead.

“Anything you like?”

Brett nearly jumped out of his skin; the guy appeared at his elbow, mysterious as smoke. Brett’s pulse thumped in his throat. He turned, taking a step away from him and almost bumped into the display. He put out a hand to catch himself, turning it into a dismissive gesture.

“Ah, you know…a lot. But I think I have a few extra hours to work first.”

“I hear that.”

“Yeah, it’s the car, the college fund, and then the fun stuff. Kind of sucks, but….”

The guy leaned against the counter, legs out in front of him and hands resting on the wood behind him. A white crewneck peeked beneath his dark fleece, and a flash of brown skin beneath that. Ouch. The guy had shoulders too. Serious ones. Not built, but clearly fit; broad where he ought to be, tapering down to slim hips and those long, long legs.

Brett tried not to let his gaze trail down his body, focusing instead on his face. Definitely not his neck. Hell, that’s a nice neck.

“If you really wanna torture yourself, we’ve got Atomic FFG 14s,” he said, all golden skin over fluid muscles and a voice like dark chocolate. “14-DIN, high elasticity. Adjustable toe wings, movable AFD, you’ll never wrench another knee again.”

“Oh, God...how much?”

“$389,” the guy said with a grin. “Or we got Rossignol Axial 2 140 Ti Pros, as per the World Cup circuit. You like freestyle, you’ll love ’em. Forty percent stiffer heelpiece than the old design, so you lose less power and get a more responsive ski. Titanium springs, superwide brakes…and they’re, like, indestructible. Of course, for $350, you’d hope so.”

Brett shook his head. “I’d love to say you’d convinced me, but there’s no way…looks like I have to learn to love my old Salomons.”

That smile danced over the guy’s face again.

“Forget it, I’m just practicing the hard sell. This is only my first week.”

“You working the ski season?”

He nodded.

“Weekends and two days a week ’til March. When I’m not here, I work fittin’ stone counters and worktops with a kitchen company in Burnham. It’s a living,” he added with a shrug. “So, college boy, huh?”

Brett grimaced. “Maybe. Hoping to get into Washington on a pre-med. Kinda starting to wonder if it’s going to be worth the effort.”

“Aw, it will. I’m Tommy, by the way.”

He held out his hand. Brett shook it, and a strange, sad kind of smile crossed Tommy’s face. Brett’s gut flip-flopped, pulling him between panic and excitement for the briefest of seconds.

“Brett,” he said and prayed his voice didn’t shake.

“Well,” Tommy said, brandishing the cloth lens case he’d brought out from

overstock. “Brett. One pair HI yellow Oakley Crossbar lenses. Guaranteed to slay all low-light conditions and a steal at $70.”

Brett winced. “Ouch. Okay, and the torque check…?”

“Nah, that’s on the house.”

“You sure?”

Tommy nodded, and Brett told himself sternly that he definitely wasn’t staring at that little arrow of flesh at the base of his neck, which wasn’t becoming more delicious by the second.

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem. Y’know, for a hero an’ all, saving little kids from tragic mountain doom.”

Brett groaned and handed over his card. “Oh, come on...!”

He would have said something more as Tommy ran the purchase through, but the door had opened, and a family of weekend skiers entered, looking to rent equipment.

“There you go. I’ll see you around, Brett,” Tommy said, still looking at him.

The weekenders clustered up to the counter.

“Yeah,” Brett said lamely. “See you.”

Brett would have liked to say his name in the same easy, familiar way that his own had tripped off Tommy’s tongue, but somehow it just wouldn’t come out of his mouth, and a stupid smile still washed over his face as he stepped out into the street.

It didn’t last long, because the wind blew in like a razor, and Brett dove back into the safety of the Bronco, cursing and reaching for the heater. It clicked and crackled, like it normally did, eventually giving out a weak warmth only just better than nothing. Brett gripped the wheel and exhaled slowly.

What in the hell had that been about? He wasn’t sure, other than the fact that Tommy had totally knocked him out. God. Had he really...? Brett buckled up and drove home slower than he needed to, thinking over the thousand and one things in his head. Most of them involved that sneaking little glimpse of Tommy’s chest.

Damn.


[Free PDF copy of Breaking Faith available to random blog commenter!]

Purchase link: http://www.freyasbower.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=10&products_id=138&zenid=f3c06b4d8ab9a81b75728f8c54c7c496

You can also see a different excerpt, plus the Covey-nominated trailer, at http://lavengra.com/breaking-faith/