Cutting Cords

When Sloan Driscoll and Cole Fujiwara become reluctant roommates, neither man is willing to share too much. Sloan is instantly attracted to Cole but knows it’s a hopeless cause; Cole has a steady girlfriend. But one night they share a joint, and Cole opens a window neither anticipated.

A relationship may be impossible—both men are living with heart-breaking secrets. While Sloan is smart, sassy, and a brilliant graphic artist, he’s also a pothead with severe body image problems. Cole, a former major league pitcher, has his own personal crisis: he’s going blind. Sloan and Cole are suffering on so many levels, they might not realize that the ultimate salvation could be within each other’s arms.


Chapter 1

THE line of people snaked across the entire length of the lobby, curving around twice before ending at the security checkpoint. It was a typical scene at San Francisco International Airport, packed with travelers from all over the world trying to get in and out as quickly as possible. I watched dispassionately as a family of Filipinos gathered to say good-bye to some relative who was laden down with boxes of who-knows-what. There must have been at least ten people standing around the old man, crying and carrying on like he was going to his death, instead of a plane ride.

My dad jabbed me with his elbow and admonished, “Stop staring.”

I turned away, annoyed that he’d caught me doing my favorite thing: people watching. I’ve always enjoyed it—the artist in me picking apart every detail of a person or incident, keeping them tucked away in my brain somewhere for future reference.

“Are you sure you’ve got everything?” Dad asked, trying to pull my backpack away from me to check the contents. I yanked it back roughly, angered by this invasion of my privacy. I don’t know why I was surprised, but every time it happened, it pissed me off. “Stop it!” I glared, daring him to say anything. I hated it when he treated me like I was a fucking ten-year-old instead of someone who had just turned twenty-three. Everyone around was watching to see how my father would react, but they lost interest when he did nothing except look at me.

“I’ve got it under control, Dad,” I reiterated, in a whisper this time, putting my mouth close to his ear. “Stop freaking out!”

He didn’t look the least bit apologetic. He just stood there, all six foot four of him, arms akimbo and puffed out like a Thanksgiving turkey. “I just don’t want you forgetting anything.”

“Dad, I haven’t forgotten anything. Besides, I’m going to New York, not another country.”

“You’re getting in late, Sloan. You don’t want to have to stop at a store in the middle of the night.”

I sighed, exasperated by his concern, but I answered patiently. “It’ll be ten o’clock when I get there. I’m pretty sure that I’ll find a store if I need one.”

He grabbed me and gave me one of his bone-crushing hugs, practically squeezing the air out of my lungs. My head barely grazed his chin, and I felt like I was trapped in the arms of a polar bear, his size always a formidable thing. Although I was rapidly approaching his height, he bested me by at least one hundred and twenty pounds, making me feel even scrawnier than normal. I wondered again if I’d ever get to be as big as him. I’d been hearing how I was going to start to fill out ever since I was a kid, but all I did was get taller and taller, not wider.

“Now, you call me as soon as the plane lands, you understand?” he said, in a voice surprisingly gruff with emotion. I would have thought he’d be glad to get rid of me. Out of sight, out of mind, I assumed, but I guess you couldn’t take away the parenting gene.

“I promise, Dad. I’ll be okay.”

“This is it, Sloan.” He pulled away and looked at me with eyes that were uncharacteristically moist. “No more second chances, kid. The Big Apple will either make you a man or break you.”

I rolled my eyes internally, thinking it would take much more than New York City to make me the kind of man he was hoping for, but I opened my mouth and said, “It’s going to be fine, Dad. I wish you’d stop worrying.”

“Can’t help it, son. You’re my boy and I’ll always worry. That’s my job.”

One he was very good at, I might add. ….

Read More