The Rebuilding Year Read online

  The Rebuilding Year

  Kaje Harper

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  * * * * *

  Copyright © 2017 Kaje Harper

  https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/KajeHarper

  First edition copyright 2012 by Kaje Harper

  Edited by Sue Ellen Gower

  Cover by Angela Waters

  Formatting by Beaten Track Publishing – beatentrackpublishing.com

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission of the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted is a model.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Content warning: For adult readers over the age of 18 only. This book contains explicit sexual situations between two men.

  It took losing nearly everything, to discover what they can’t live without.

  A few excruciating minutes pinned under a burning beam cost Ryan Ward his job as a firefighter, the easy camaraderie of his coworkers, his current girlfriend, and damn near cost him his left leg. Giving up, though, wasn’t an option. He fought and won the battle back to health, over a painful year. Now, choosing a new profession, going back to school, and renting a room from the college groundskeeper should be simple.

  Until he realizes he’s falling in love with his housemate, and things take a turn for the complicated.

  John Barrett knows about loss. After moving twice to stay in touch with his kids, he could only watch as his ex-wife whisked them away to California. Offering Ryan a room seems better than rattling around his empty house alone. But as casual friendship moves to something more, and emotions heat up, the big old house feels like tight quarters.

  It’s nothing they can't learn to navigate, until life adds in unhappy teen kids, difficult family members, and mysterious deaths on campus. Rebuilding will be far from easy, even for two guys willing to open their minds, and hearts.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  About the Author

  Other Books by Kaje Harper

  Dedication

  For my husband, with gratitude for his confident support, surprising patience, and unending supply of bad puns.

  Many thanks to Eric Alan Westfall for proofreading this second edition.

  Chapter One

  He felt it happening, an instant too late. By now, he was sickeningly familiar with the sensation as the ligaments in his knee failed to hold, getting ready to spill him on his ass. Only this time his damned leg was giving out as he took the first step down a flight of stairs.

  Shit!

  He grabbed for a rail, realized there was none, and knew he was going to land hard. He slid, jolted at the painful crunch as his tailbone hit, and then the back of his head met the concrete.

  Jesus! For a long moment there was nothing but flashes of light and a ringing in his ears. He would have begged it to stop, if he’d thought it would help. Eventually, his vision cleared a little and he realized he was looking up into a pair of concerned eyes. Really pretty eyes, the hazel that mixes gray and green and gold, framed by long auburn lashes.

  Great. He’d managed to fall flat on his ass right in front of that gorgeous, tall redhead from his class. The one with the nice, um, assets. Way to go, Ryan. Great first impression. Except his vision was still clearing, and those pretty eyes were bracketed by laugh lines and the eyebrows were thick, and okay, so not the tall, gorgeous redhead. The man bending over him had to be in his late thirties, tanned and craggy-featured. His mouth was moving, and Ryan strained to make out the words through that damned ringing.

  “…and I’ll get some help, okay?” There was a hand on his shoulder, pinning him down. “Don’t move.”

  When the face receded, Ryan made a grab and caught hold of fabric. A sleeve. “Wait. I’m okay. Just give me a second. I’m fine.”

  The man leaned closer. “You don’t look fine.”

  “Rang my bell a little.” More literally than he’d imagined, but the ringing was easing off. He tried to sit up and was pinned in place by that firm hand.

  “You should hold still and let a doctor look at you.”

  “I’m fine.” Bad enough that he’d left his cane at home, hoping not to start med school as the old guy with the cane. He would be damned if he’d start it as the guy who left halfway through the first day in an ambulance. He’d manage. It was just pain. God knew he could handle pain. “I’m going to sit up. I’ll go slow.”

  “Um, okay.” The hand left his shoulder, but slid behind his back to help him ease up.

  The guy was strong. Ryan barely made an effort and he was sitting. And wow, the world was tilting. He held as still as possible and waited for it to pass. “See, I’m good. I don’t need a doctor.”

  The man kneeling beside him offered a wry grin. “There’s lots of them around. You should take advantage.”

  Meet your professors up close and personal. No thanks. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I just need a minute. You don’t have to wait.”

  “I don’t mind.” The man sat, clasping his arms around his knees, and watched closely.

  “I’ll get up in a minute,” Ryan said. He hoped. When the knee gave out like that, it was sometimes really stubborn about going back to work. He looked around, and spotted his backpack beside him. At least it wasn’t underneath him. He pulled it close and opened it to check his electronics for cracks, giving himself another moment to recover.

  He was at the bottom of three steps leading from a back door out of Carlson Hall. The spot was pretty secluded, screened by bushes, so maybe his smooth move hadn’t had much of an audience. This door evidently didn’t get a lot of use. He’d figured it would cut a few yards out of his trek to Physiology class, and save his leg a bit, to come out this way. Talk about a plan that backfired.

  Still, so far he hadn’t drawn a crowd. He’d be all right if he could just get up. And then walk to class. Here goes nothing.

  He closed the pack and slid the strap over his arm, rolled to his hands and knees and pushed up carefully, mainly using his right leg. A strong hand under his elbow steadied him.

  “What did you do to your foot?” The man’s hip was close to his own, bracing him as he swayed. “Is it sprained?”

  “No. God, no.” He tried a laugh. “I have a trick knee is all. It gives out on me sometimes. It just takes a minute to get better. I’ll be fine now, thank you. You can get back to…” Class? Work? The guy looked too old to be a med student, but he wasn’t dressed like support staff. He’d indicated he wasn’t a doctor. A really laid-back professor? Ryan shifted his weight onto his left leg, and felt the knee give. Nope, not walking yet.

  Those fingers still held his elbow in a secure grip. The m
an leaned closer, and Ryan felt a gentle touch across the back of his head. “You’re bleeding.” The guy showed him a smear of red on callused fingertips.

  “Shit!” Ryan looked at his watch. Ten minutes to get to class. “I don’t have time for this.” He pulled his arm free and staggered a step. He didn’t fall on his ass again. But that was about all that could be said for it.

  “Did you have a cane or something? For your knee?”

  “Left it at home.” Ryan bit off the words. Yeah, that’d been stupid. But he’d been much better lately, and he got tired of the looks and the questions. This was what he got for underestimating the amount of walking between classes, and the dearth of elevators. And the stupid pride that made you quit looking for one and climb the stairs twice, because your classmates were doing it.

  “Okay,” the guy said. “Look, just stand there for a minute. Can you do that?”

  As Ryan watched him, yeah, standing there because right now that was about all he could do, the man went over to a backpack on the ground. He reached in and pulled out, of all things, a short pruning saw. Ten feet away, a big maple tree spread its branches out over the grass. The guy walked over to it and, cool as you please, began cutting off a branch.

  “Um,” Ryan called, “I don’t think…” The branch hit the ground, and the guy gave him a grin.

  He brought the stick over, flipped it, and grounded the butt at Ryan’s feet. “Up to wrist level okay?”

  “Um…”

  The saw flashed, short sharp strokes, and then the twiggy end fell away, leaving a thick cane with a serviceable bend as a handle. The lunatic with the saw held the improvised cane out. “Here.”

  “Thanks,” Ryan said automatically. He took it, leaned his weight, and yeah, that was better.

  The guy was still grinning at him. “Don’t worry.” His voice was an amused rumble. “You won’t get arrested by the campus cops. Trimming that dead branch was on my to-do list anyway. This just means I got to it sooner.” He held out a hand. “John Barrett. I’m the head groundskeeper.”

  And not a lunatic. Ryan was surprised at his relief. “Ryan Ward. Med school, first year.”

  The guy’s grip was firm and dry, rough and callused. “Great first day, huh?”

  “Peachy.”

  “Hang on one second. I’ve got something for your head.” Barrett went over and rummaged in his pack. He came up with a disinfectant wipe in a foil pouch, and passed it over. Ryan must have looked bemused, because the older man smiled. “I have kids. You get used to carrying those around. Now they’re useful to get the pine sap off my hands.”

  “Thanks.” Ryan reached up, awkwardly swiping at the back of his head, hunting for the sore spot.

  After a minute, Barrett said, “Here, let me.” He took the wipe from Ryan’s fingers and stepped behind him. The guy’s touch was gentle. Ryan closed his eyes for a moment, as careful fingers parted his hair, dabbing at his tender scalp.

  “Just a small cut. Doesn’t look like it’s going to bleed much more, but you’re going to have one hell of a bruise. Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor? You might have a concussion.”

  “Nope.” Ryan propped his eyelids back open and reached for a casual smile. “I’ve taken a whack or two in my day, and I know what a concussion feels like. This is just a pain in the…head. Thanks again. I imagine patching up students isn’t in your job description.”

  “That’s something I like about this job. I make my own job description.” Barrett folded the red-smeared wipe into the foil, and stuck it in his pocket. “So if you’re really going to walk to class, I’m going to tag along, just to make sure you don’t fall over on the way. Okay?”

  Not like Ryan could stop him. He took a careful step, then another. With the help of the cane, he could manage it. It wasn’t fun, his head and leg and ass all screamed at him, and tonight would be bad, but for now he could still walk. Physiology class was in Smythe Hall. He could gimp that far. He pulled in a steady a breath. Make it so.

  Bonaventure College was set on a pretty campus. The paths between the buildings wound through flowerbeds, bright with fall annuals. Mature trees showed just a hint of the color to come. This path was crushed rock, and the edges were bordered with embedded bricks, in color contrast to the stones. Ryan would’ve admired the effect, if he hadn’t had to grit his teeth and concentrate on just putting one foot safely in front of the other.

  Barrett walked beside him. He was three inches taller than Ryan, and had to be holding back his stride, but he made the easy pace seem natural. Ryan fumbled for something to say. “Don’t worry about the blood,” he offered. “I mean mine, on your hands. I’ve been tested recently and I’m negative for anything infectious.” Which sounded like he’d done a gay date panel… “I mean, I tested after I had some transfusions and…” Oops, not going there either. “I mean, you should wash up, but you don’t need to be worried.”

  Barrett had a great smile, slow and wide. “I wasn’t.”

  “So, um, been working here long? I mean… the campus looks great.” What was wrong with him? Maybe getting whacked on the head knocked out all of his small-talk skills.

  “Two years. And thank you.”

  And here was Smythe Hall, thank goodness. With his classmates still streaming up the steps. Ryan braced his good leg and pivoted enough to hold out his hand. “Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He shifted his backpack on his shoulder, and gripped the cane harder. Ten feet of path, seven wide stairs with, thank you, Jesus, a railing. Then the last class of this long, long day. At the base of those stairs stood one of his classmates, the little, perky blonde, smiling at him. He headed her way, walking as evenly as he could manage, trying to get his aching brain to come up with her name.

  ****

  John watched as Ryan limped over to a short, blond girl, his steps almost steady. The guy was tough, no doubt about it. He’d really taken a bad fall. John remembered his own flash of fear as he’d seen Ryan go over, and the loud crack of head on unyielding concrete. For a panicked moment, John had thought the guy was dead. Ryan must have a skull like iron to get right back up from that and walk away.

  He was older than most of the students around the college, probably pushing thirty from one side or the other. Of course, with the medical school on campus, it wasn’t all undergraduates, and Bonaventure College was small, and not prestigious. The students were perhaps a more mixed group than at your standard Ivy. John liked that about it.

  Today, as classes got underway, there was a new crowd among the old familiar faces. A new school year, the seniors gone, freshmen coming in. Although John had nothing to do with the students officially, he’d begun to recognize many of them. He’d put in work over the past two years to encourage them to spend more time outdoors on his campus, in the fresh air. New paths, new benches, arbors that invited romantic cuddling.

  He had a lot more plans, but he already liked the way the campus was shaping up. His predecessor had been a dour traditionalist, known mainly for yelling at the students the moment they got off the paved paths. John wanted those kids to enjoy the space.

  His pocket crackled as he turned, and he made a detour to unload the wipe wrapper into a trashcan. Good thing he’d had that. Wipes were handy for getting the gravel out of skinned knees and skinned hard heads. Although his smile dimmed as he remembered saying I have kids. Closer to say I had kids.

  Cynthia had called that morning to postpone the kids’ visit again. New year of school, hard to adjust, too much stress to travel right now— she had all kinds of excuses. Truth was, she just didn’t want the kids around him, and he didn’t have the money or the energy to fight her for his visitation rights every single time. He’d call them tonight. Or tomorrow, when he wasn’t so angry and disappointed that it would show through.

  He hadn’t seen the kids in two months. And they were changing so fast. When they visited in July, his Torey had been wearing makeup! Not very expertly, but sti
ll, Jesus, last he remembered she was a tomboy climbing trees. That maple tree he’d lopped the branch off had been a favorite of hers earlier in the summer. He was missing so much.

  He shook his head hard, to banish his foul mood. Kids grew up, that was life. He was still their father, whatever Cynthia’s new husband, Brandon Pretentious Carlisle, might think. So what if he was now a groundskeeper and not some fancy high-priced lawyer. The kids had fun here. Anyway, he’d better finish trimming up that maple, before someone else tried climbing it and found the other dead branches with their feet. He headed off with long strides to take a sharp saw to some nice hard wood.

  ****

  It took several hours of cutting, raking, and uprooting invasive buckthorn before he felt calm enough to head home. When he was tired enough, the shower beckoned more than the barstool. He’d gone back and hung around the entrance to Smythe Hall when classes let out. Just in case. The Ryan guy had made it down the stairs safely, still using the makeshift cane, and headed for the bus stop. He’d been moving pretty crap, but he got a lot better when the blonde ran up and walked with him. The wonders of testosterone.

  John put his tools away, and locked up his office. His grounds crew had called it quits an hour ago. He had five guys, all immigrants. Legal, he assumed, but it was the college’s problem to verify that. He just handed out the assignments and kept them on track. Truth be told, these guys worked a damned sight harder than many of the native-born Americans he’d dealt with over the years.

  All was currently peaceful in his mini United Nations, at least since Manuel had left. Take out the one complaining hothead, and the others turned out to be a nice bunch. He’d put in a request for a replacement, but he still had enough good hands to think about a serious run at the buckthorn bushes. He wandered toward his truck, plotting his assault.

  A light in the gloom of the aspen grove caught his eye. It looked like a flame, maybe a lighter. Given smoke-free buildings, he’d made a point of placing outdoor ashtrays around campus, but there were none over there. He hadn’t spotted that location as a favorite for lighting up. New students, new choices. He headed over to have a word.