Shattered Beliefs Read online

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2020 Maggie Jane Schuler and Mitchell Summers

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or blog. Scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of this book without the permission of the publisher or author constitutes unlawful piracy and theft.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, media, trademarked brands, businesses, and/or organizations are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

  Editor: Amy Senethavilay – Beloved Ink Editors and Proofing

  Cover Design: VMM Digital

  ISBN:Mobi 978-1-7348086-0-5

  Dedication

  One night, Mitchell and I discussed where our ideas for writing come from, and I shared with him how I’d been asked if I’d write an LBGTQ+ story. With all honesty, I wasn’t positive I could deliver justice to a work where I had no experience. However, the angel who suggested this idea smiled and let the idea float away.

  Mitchell challenged me to write the story with him. He began throwing out ideas, and we built a world we both believed we could deliver and send out the message that love is love no matter the people involved.

  We dedicate this work to that angel who dangled the idea and provided the dialogue to open between us to take this journey. We hope everyone has one of those little voices of inspiration and follows those dreams.

  Chapter One

  Milo

  Sweat stung my eyes and ran down my sun-scorched back in streams, before converging at the top of my ass crack; the thick sheen magnifying the blistering rays of the late summer sun. Clenching my jaw and grunting with one final morsel of strength, I pulled back from under the hood of my 1970 Chevelle SS. I inherited the classic from my grandfather, knowing it’d demand its share of work, but nothing prepared me for the explosion of steam billowing from beneath the hood when the radiator took a shit on me in the middle of my already late drive to work.

  A swallow of water quenched my thirst, and I went right back to work. “Come on, girl, give me some sugar, and let these bolts slide in.” Coaxing her tenderly usually made all the parts line up properly every time I begged Peter to pay Paul when something broke down on my old classic.

  “Trouble in paradise?”

  I stood and stretched my back, knowing my father all too well. He wished for a son who loved Friday Night Lights and banging the prom queen all in time with kicking shit off the toe of his boots—in the name of being a man, amen. A heavy sigh left my lungs, aware he waited on the driveway impatient for my reply.

  “Nope. She gave up the radiator. It’s almost back in.”

  “It’s Friday night. Y’all got plans?” His drawl raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

  “Just tryin’ to get to work.”

  “I hear the university team is home. Get yourself washed up and go catch a glimpse of the gridiron. I’ll pay you what the coffee shop would.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. His forearms tensed akin to Popeye’s after he squeezed the spinach out of the can. A football player himself, up through college, he turned his time on the field into a lifelong dream of being a trainer to the athletes. Unfortunately, his business smarts were left in the locker room, and his hustling skills lay in the sweat of his jock.

  “They probably do play at home. I’d rather her up and running.” I shrugged my shoulder and returned my attention toward Sadey; my grandfather named the Chevelle after my grandmother. I shifted from one foot to the other. “I’d rather make the greens myself.”

  “Come see me before y’all leave.”

  “Will do.” My eyes trailed him into the house; the one my mother’s executive secretarial job paid for every month. An angel kissed her but decided to marry her off to the devil: A decision she made when I turned four. One we both regretted.

  My fingers trembled as the last bolt tightened into place. Everything appeared back to factory settings and ready for a turn of the engine. The pungent smell of the burnt antifreeze fluid, still residing on the manifold, rose from the rumbling engine. I loathed that odor. It reminded me of the fragile nature of my inheritance. The one dad wanted, and I received, in the last will and testament of one Milo Vincent Garcia. The father-in-law who left his house to his daughter, his vintage car to his only grandson, and his baseball card collection to his loser son-in-law. The man I respected and earned my first and surname from rather than my own father. Clayton “Clay” Wilcox’s name held glory on the gridiron but not an ounce of respect in my heart.

  “Boy, y’all done yet?” Dad yelled out the torn screen door. A wad of long-leaf tobacco stuffed between his cheek and gum.

  “Almost. Let me clean up.” The dread of the weekend talk loomed over my shoulders as I wiped off Sadey’s hood and closed it with a gentle hand. I thanked the good Lord above for Seth jumping on my shift and switching with me when Sadey blew up earlier. However, I knew the time approached, and with a glance over my shoulder, the clock on the wall told me borrowed time tapped my shoulder for another hour before the coffee shop willed me away.

  Heavy steps weighed me down as the pop of a Bud Light can echoed out the tattered screen door. Every day the same old thing. Dad waltzed in from training some youth athlete and cracked open a beer then waited for the right moment to—

  “Milo.” He always spoke my name in vain. My mother took pride in handing me down my grandfather’s name. My dad used it as if it soured his last nerve and spit it out in parallel with Hell’s fire.

  I ran my hands under the faucet and pumped the soap dispenser a few times, anticipating the moment when he began his doctrine.

  “Son, there comes a time in a boy's life that he needs a place warm, tight, and willing to accept all he has to give. I worry you’re waiting on the right girl and not test driving the ones in your league. When was the last time you—”

  “I promise, Clay.” I whipped the devil in disgust and used his own given name. “Deborah and I broke up six months ago, and I’ve been busy.”

  “Six months is a lifetime. Are you gay, boy?” His belch blew past my ear as he crowded me at the sink. The vile stench of beer and tobacco reeked heavy between us. “You and that Seth kid seem a little off. Is he yanking your pud?”

  I inhaled through my flared nostrils and pushed it back out my mouth. While Seth came out of the closet in middle school, he and I remained friends. It never bothered me who he dated. We always clicked. Unlike the jocks in this college town, Seth and I enjoyed movies, video games, music, and studying together. Our goal, solidified on a handshake in ninth grade, resided in the fact we needed our college degrees to blow out of Fort Worth and never return.

  Fresh roast coffee and pastries wafted over me, kicking up the skip in my step. Nick’s Coffee Shop kept the locals happy, and the tourists flocking in for pictures of the quaint environment before they popped back out and headed to the big corporate thieves.

  I slung an apron around my neck and fumbled with the tie around my waist. Seth followed each step of my feet with his eyes as they paved their path toward the barista station. His fingers tapped in rhythm with a-ha’s ‘Take on Me’ playing over the speakers.

  “What happened this time?” He stepped back from the register, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “The usual.”

  “Did you tell him to eat shit with a capital S?”

  “Seth, you know how he is. ‘Slay the pussy. Take name
s later’ and then he turns around and kisses my mom’s ass since she pays the bills.”

  “Lauren came in asking about you while I covered your first shift.” The crack in his voice forced a smirk across my face.

  “She’s all yours. I tried her out and couldn’t follow through.”

  “I refuse sloppy seconds.” His fingers whipped the towel off his shoulder, and he snapped at me in jest.

  “Relax. I think her friend Chris wanted you anyway. Lauren wants a bad boy, but not a poor bad boy nor one who doesn’t desire women to begin with.”

  “Do you want a bad boy?”

  I choked on Seth’s words. My eyes widened as my fingers fumbled with the knobs on the espresso machine. “What?” flew from my lips as I shook my head unclear of what he mumbled.

  His brows furrowed. “I said, do you wanna be a bad boy? Do you need to clean your ears?”

  The chime of the door snapped our heads to the couple entering the coffee shop. As Seth greeted them with a warm welcome, anxiety took residence in my chest. How could Seth know the new sandy-haired, ocean-blue eyed, cocksure boy from Britain in my philosophy course irritated me as much as he interested me? I didn’t tell him how this new intrusive foreigner intrigued me. His chatter with the customers faded, and I retreated into myself attempting to rationalize this bothersome situation taking up more time in my thoughts than I had time for.

  We’d only been in class for three weeks this semester; every day he arrived with a guilty smirk on his face and sat too close to me in the lecture hall, despite the course not being full. I struggled placing his lack of personal space on whether this crossed a cultural difference between Brits and us or if he suffered from something which made him unaware of my discomfort.

  The fourth day of his impediment on my personal space, I politely stood and moved one seat. To my surprise he moved one over as well and told me, “Yes, this view of the podium is better if we must listen to the drivel of the professor.”

  Despite my subtle attempts at setting up personal space, he pressed forward in his pursuit to annoy me. Then, first thing this morning, he waited for me in the library. I’d slipped yesterday and told him I studied there after my morning jog. Somehow, he asked me to dinner Friday night, and I accepted. Paranoia set in as I never discussed my encounter with Seth. His comment hit me like the ACME anvil—square between the eyes. Did Edward ask me on a date? I shrugged off the thought. Clearly, he’d noticed my disdain for his proximity. I left my thoughts volleying on the idea he knew me from class and needed a friend.

  “Hey?” The quick repeated snaps of Seth’s fingers lured me out of my confusion.

  Irritation seeped through my lips. “What?”

  “You gonna make their orders or do I need to continue my double duty?”

  “No. Sorry. You know how I am when my dad rubs me the wrong way.” I grabbed the ticket off the counter and began making the green chai tea and deciphering the fat free coconut bullshit her date ordered.

  “We’ve got to get you out of that house soon.”

  “No kidding.” I forced myself to devise a plan for next semester. An urgent need for new housing—somewhere else. A place away from my beer-guzzling-sperm-donor where he wouldn’t annoy me. It pained me on the other hand, as my mom worked herself to the bone to support the three of us.

  I promised in that moment, in the middle of Nick’s Coffee Shop, to free my mom and me once and for all. She only stayed because of me, and I knew the past due notice on my dad’s welcome wore out years ago. Shoot, it only took four years after my arrival to actually marry him—what a mistake.

  My dreaming continued on its journey toward freedom when I bumped into Seth standing back behind the pastry window. “Can you grab the clean mugs from the kitchen? I need to wipe down a few of these tables.” He clapped my shoulder with his left hand and grabbed the spray bottle at the same time with his right. The heat of his chest rubbed against my back for a brief moment. My head spun, wandering back to the uncertainty of Edward’s invite.

  “Seriously, are you alright? I’m watching your eyes dance to the back of your head, you’re so deep in thought you might have stuffed your head in your ass. Did you meet someone? The last one who made you lose your mind hit home in the form of big-busted Brenda, and she lasted a nanosecond after you dipped your stick into her. Is that what has you so messed up tonight?”

  I huffed and slammed my hand against the swinging kitchen door, a little too hard, in my confusion. “No. My dad. Nothing more than the usual with my dad.”

  Silence loomed in the kitchen with the lie I spoke to my best friend. Why I kept my meeting with Edward from Seth only weaved the situation into a further tangled mess.

  Edward’s odd social graces intrigued me. I’d never met anyone from the UK and perhaps that entertained my thoughts far more than him hitting on me. Or, with my state of misfortune, this all swirled around some warped version of my dad seeping in and spoiling my thoughts. Dad’s opinion left nobody the wiser in the long run. Or maybe, it was as simple as I needed to get laid, and the blood located in my yearning groin would return to my mind, allowing all the neurons to concentrate on my end game a little more.

  I grabbed the crate of clean mugs and wrestled with my thoughts the rest of the shift.

  Chapter Two

  Edward

  Navigating my way around this unfamiliar city, I stumbled across Nick’s quite by chance and thought it as good a place as any to eat.

  Feeling peckish, the place looked inviting enough, and as I hadn’t eaten since the evening before, I could easily polish off a cheese salad sandwich and wash it down with a large skinny latte.

  Dining alone was a new experience for me, but I’d been in Fort Worth, Texas less than a month and so far, friends eluded me.

  The exterior was pleasing to the eye, a bistro, which was preferable to a greasy spoon cafe favoured on some English high streets.

  Squinting through the floor to ceiling windows that cast a glare in the midday sun, the interior was quaint and spotless. Brick walls on either side, a central counter on the back wall leading to the kitchen gave the place a minimalistic and modern feel. A neon sign that told the customer who owned the place, even if the fascia screwed to the wall above the door hadn’t given the game away, flashed behind the counter. I appreciated everything about the place: the feel, the ambience, and the fact the inside appeared as clean as the outside. Curb appeal was necessary.

  Pushing open the door, the aroma that greeted me enticed me further. I was thrilled it didn’t smell like a grease pit.

  As far as the clientele went, business certainly wasn’t booming but a handsome guy standing behind the counter, seemingly engrossed by the textbook he read from, was enough to keep me entertained.

  He looked up and offered a smile as a noise from the corner of the room distracted me.

  Two muscular jocks occupying a corner booth joked with one another. One of them sputtered and choked. I briefly wondered what amused them.

  I stepped further into the establishment and clocked his name badge-Seth.

  “What can I get you, sir?”

  Spying the menu, I picked it up and quickly found what I was looking for.

  “I quite fancy a cheese salad sandwich on white bread if that’s okay? Oh, and I’d like the largest skinny latte you have.”

  “Huh—a cheese what?”

  I’d encountered this problem when ordering food many times since my arrival in the states, especially where eggs came into the equation. Quickly scanning the menu again, I found the American equivalent of what I wanted to eat. “Sorry about that, in England, it’s called something different—a veggie sandwich on white bread please but hold the mayo.”

  “No problem. Take a seat anywhere, and I’ll bring it out.”

  A self-confessed people watcher, I found a seat at the window. This bustling city was taking quite some getting used to. Everything from Texan accents to fashion baffled me. At times, I felt I’d been thrust into o
ne of those ancient western movies my grandpa used to watch every Sunday afternoon when terminal illness took hold and left him bedridden.

  I felt like a fish out of water but had taken no notice when friends told me moving here would be a culture shock. I never listened, but as the weeks passed me by, regret came knocking. I’d adjust given time, that wasn’t the problem, fitting in was. Everything here seemed to be yes, ma’am, no, ma’am, howdy ma’am, and don’t get me started on cowboy hats.

  One glance around Nick’s and home popped into my mind. I was born into a world of privilege, and most in my position sat too scared to abandon their lifestyle. I craved a life outside the village and chose to study abroad. I wanted more than the entitled life I’d led for so long. The desire hit me hard, forcing me to spread my wings and explore a place I knew nothing about. An adventurer lurking to satisfy a hunger inside me, but the culture shock widened my eyes bigger than I anticipated.

  Maybe I should have tried New York City, or Chicago, one of the more accepting of cities, but it was too late now.

  Lost in my jumbled thoughts, Seth’s presence with my meal of choice pulled me back to reality. He settled the plate in front of me with a gleaming smile. God, he is so good looking. Not usually my type, I have to admit; redheads with milky skin don’t usually float my boat, but right now, I could drown in his ocean blue eyes. Flawless skin is always a bonus, and the fact he cared about his physique was evident. As a package, I’d definitely go there, twice, maybe more. Should I ask for his number? What if he had no interest in me, or I’d read him wrong? Was it considered tacky to chat up the waiter? I decided against it but would admire him from afar.

  “Your coffee is in the works. It’ll be right up.”

  “Thank you.”

  A snorting sound from the corner drew my attention once more. “Don’t do it, Mark,” one of the jocks warned the other.