There
are those who can't see and those who don't want to, but we're all blind
sometimes.
Ace
is blind and Haze is damaged. They live in different worlds and not everyone is
happy when they become boyfriends. Haze is struggling with the after effects of
a traumatic event in his past that has left him at the mercy of an
uncontrollable rage. When Ace’s brother steps up his campaign of torment
against Ace, they’re all in danger from Haze’s outbursts, though it isn’t until
things get completely out of control that the healing can really begin. But with
Ace unseeing and Haze perched on the edge of a cliff, will either of them
survive long enough to benefit?
Excerpt
Two – Ninja
We had lunch in the
same restaurant that we had the first time, and Nick was suitably impressed.
Ace enthused about the menus, the food, how nice the waitresses were, and Nick
watched him with a slightly bemused expression on his face.
That was nothing though
to the expression he wore when we went down onto the beach and I had Ace doing
cartwheels again.
“Bloody hell,” he
murmured under his breath as we watched Ace’s wild abandon. I don’t think he
was physically able to say any more. Ace literally took his breath away.
“He’s full of
surprises, isn’t he?”
Nick nodded, unable to
take his eyes away from his brother.
Eventually Ace stopped
and stood still, turning his face to the sea breeze, and simply waited,
quietly.
“What’s he doing now?”
“Waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
I couldn’t help a
giggle. “For us, of course. He has no idea where he is now.”
“Oh. I…I didn’t think.
He must trust you a lot; just to stand and wait and not be scared.”
“Ace is never scared.
He’s the bravest person I know.”
We were walking by
then, and Nick fell silent. We hadn’t quite got to Ace when he said, “I wish I
could see the sea.” There wasn’t any sadness in his voice, just a hint of
wistfulness. “It feels so…big and wild.”
“It is.” I slipped my
arm around his waist, and he rested his head on my shoulder.
“Mister… Mister…” At
the sound of the breathless but excited voices, we turned and I saw two boys,
about eleven years old, racing across the beach toward us.
“That was awesome,” one
of them gasped as they skidded to a halt.
“Can you do it again?
Can you teach us?”
“How did you do it? Are
you an acrobat?”
“Or a ninja?”
Ace laughed and shook
his head; he frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know how I do it, not really. It
just feels…right. I don’t know if I could teach anyone, because I don’t know
what I do myself.”
“Aww, but we really
want to learn.” His voice was so earnest that Nick and I exchanged glances and
stifled giggles.
“Please, Mister, just
tell us what you do.”
“I just… You need to
find something inside that really wants to come out, that needs to be free, and
then you just throw yourself at it and it takes you over.
“I learned how to trust
my body and the space around me at school. We do a lot of martial arts and most
of the flipping and stuff are just part of the moves.”
One of the boys turned
to the other and said, “See? I told you he was a ninja.”
“Ninjas,” said the
other one, “wear black and don’t look like that.
He’s all white with funny eyes.” His eyes widened, and his face got an
excited expression. “Maybe he’s from one of those secret organisations, like
the White Dragons or something, like we saw in that film. Maybe he’s an
assassin.”
“WOW, Mister. Are you
really? Are you? Are you a secret assassin?”
The other boy hit him
in the shoulder so hard he almost fell over. “If it’s a secret, he’s not going to tell you about it, is he?”
“Oh. Sorry, Mister.” He
was subdued for a moment, with downcast eyes, scuffing the sand. Then he
brightened up and with a sly expression on his face. “But are you? Are you
really? I mean you can trust us, because we’re only kids so you know we’re not
like…like from a rival gang or something.”
His friend rolled his
eyes and sighed. “Sorry. He’s a bit thick. Don’t worry, your secret is safe
with us.” Ace was grinning as the boy dragged his friend away.
“Hehe, one day I’m an
angel and the next a secret ninja assassin. Nice. I wonder what I’ll be
tomorrow.”
I hugged him close.
“Mine,” I said, and he giggled.
Book Information:
ISBN# 978-1-60820-8937 (print) $14.99
MLR-1-02013-0162 (ebook) $7.99
Release Date October 2013
Cover Artist Deana C. Jamroz
. 288 pages / 79,000 words
Available At: FeatherweightPress Store (ebook)
Bio
Cheryl was born into a
poor mining family in the South Wales Valleys. Until she was 16, the toilet was
at the bottom of the garden and the bath hung on the wall. Her refrigerator was
a stone slab in the pantry and there was a black lead fireplace in the kitchen.
They look lovely in a museum but aren’t so much fun to clean.
Cheryl has always been
a storyteller. As a child, she’d make up stories for her nieces, nephews and
cousin and they’d explore the imaginary worlds she created, in play.
Later in life, Cheryl
became the storyteller for a re enactment group who traveled widely, giving a
taste of life in the Iron Age. As well as having an opportunity to run around
hitting people with a sword, she had an opportunity to tell stories of all
kinds, sometimes of her own making, to all kinds of people. The criticism was
sometimes harsh, especially from the children, but the reward enormous.
It was here she began
to appreciate the power of stories and the primal need to hear them. In ancient
times, the wandering bard was the only source of news, and the storyteller the
heart of the village, keeping the lore and the magic alive. Although much of
the magic has been lost, the stories still provide a link to the part of us
that still wants to believe that it’s still there, somewhere.
In present times, Cheryl
lives in a terraced house in the valleys with her son and her two cats. Her
daughter has deserted her for the big city, but they’re still close. The part
of her that needs to earn money is a lawyer, but the deepest, and most
important part of her is a storyteller and artist, and always will be.
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