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    Given Time
    Given Time
    Given Time
    Ebook96 pages1 hour

    Given Time

    By E. D. Parr

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Angel Starc is about to board a plane to Paris when he receives some sudden sad news. It takes him hurrying back to his childhood home after two years away.

    Angel is amazed and filled with guilt when, that night, he meets the only man he’s found romantically attractive in a long time. How can it be right? He should only be filled with sorrow, but gorgeous, caring Matt Loewe wraps him in a blanket of comfort and love that heals Angel’s troubled soul.

    Matt Loewe follows his hunch and his heart. He’s been looking for love and Angel ignites an addictive passion in him. As the two men fall deep in love they provide each other with the care needed to come to terms with their past anxieties.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherEvernight Publishing
    Release dateJun 26, 2017
    ISBN9781773393247
    Given Time

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      Book preview

      Given Time - E. D. Parr

      Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

      www.evernightpublishing.com

      Copyright© 2017 E.D. Parr

      ISBN: 978-1-77339-324-7

      Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

      Editor: CA Clauson

      ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

      WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

      This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

      GIVEN TIME

      E.D. Parr

      Copyright © 2017

      Chapter One

      I have a good feeling about this guy, Nora. Rory stacked the newspaper cuttings and journal articles in the order he wanted to arrange them on the collage he intended making in a few days’ time.

      That’s good to hear, sir. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how tired you are these days. A new project will invigorate you, no doubt. Nora Carter picked up the tray that held Rory’s finished mid-morning coffee. She pursed her lips. It might do you good to eat a little more.

      Her employer placed the sheaf of papers carefully under a folder in his desk drawer.

      I don’t have much of an appetite right now. Rory excused the fact he’d not touched the thin slice of fruitcake on the tray. He smiled at Nora. I might take a walk by the river before lunch.

      Nora left his study with a sigh.

      Rory brought out another folded piece of paper and pushed it into an envelope. He looked around his study scanning for a place his brother might find the letter. If it comes to that. A grim smile passed fleetingly over his face. I’ll take that walk right now. He still held the envelope in his hand when he pushed his feet into his boots, and then, as he pulled on his old sheepskin jacket, he jammed the envelope in the deep pocket. He wound a scarf around his neck against the cold March wind. Good enough—for now.

      ****

      Angel Starc, Mr. Angel Starc, your flight is boarding. Please report to gate seven.

      Angel couldn’t move. He froze on the molded seat of the airport lounge with tears gathering in his eyes. A breaking news ticker tape scrolled across the base of the TV screen bolted to the wall.

      No. The single word fell from his lips. Angel stood on shaky legs. He stared at the newsreader.

      In news just to hand, artist Rory Starc was found dead in his country home this morning. Police have stated that they do not believe there are suspicious circumstances, but there will be the usual coronial investigations into Mr. Starc’s death. Rory Starc was forty-six years old.

      Nausea forced him to sit again and, feeling faint, he bent over his knees.

      The man in the next seat spoke, concern in his voice.

      Are you feeling okay, buddy?

      Angel straightened. Thanks for asking. I’m okay. He stood, cleared his mind, grabbed the handle of his carry-on bag, and strode away. It wasn’t until he entered Logan airport’s long-stay parking lot that he allowed himself to think again. If he hadn’t closed down his thoughts, grief would have robbed him of the ability to breathe. He opened the trunk of his car and threw his bag in. As he closed the trunk, overwhelming regret bent him over. He leaned on the gray metal of his car and sobbed. When Angel thought he would throw up from crying so hard, he forced himself to open the door and climb into the driving seat. He gazed through the windscreen at the row of cars in front of his. Two years and a day—I should have been in touch. I wish…

      Angel grabbed his phone from his jacket pocket and called his assistant.

      Marcie, I’m not going to Paris after all. His voice failed.

      Angel, er, there’s been some news. I was just about to call you. I don’t know if… His assistant stammered.

      He broke in and whispered. I know, Marcie, I saw it on the airport lounge TV. I’m going to his place instead of Paris. Will you … will you call Michel and the crew in Paris? Tell them to go ahead without me, or not … right now I just need to know what happened to Rory. Tell them I’ll call in a day or two to touch base. I can’t believe this. I feel so ashamed, Marcie. I should have been there … I should have made up with him. I should have given it time. Now it’s too late.

      "The same could be said for him. He could have called you. It’s a very sad thing and I am so sorry for your loss, but you can’t do this. I know it’s hard, but if you must lay blame, then both of you were at fault, and Angel, didn’t you try very soon after you left? I thought you sent a Christmas card…"

      Angel’s shoulders sagged. He couldn’t forgive himself right then. I, I didn’t mail it. I thought, ‘why should I be the one who always makes the first move to make up when we fight?’ It was always that way. His throat thickened with unshed tears. I’ll get going. It can be a couple of hours’ drive along the coast depending on the traffic. He knew he couldn’t talk much more. All he wanted to do was cry again.

      Hey, maybe you should swing back to the office and Tim can drive you. Are you okay to drive all that way after hearing this news?

      I’ll call you when I get there. I’ll take it easy. I’d prefer to be alone. Thanks … for thinking of me.

      Take care and make sure you do call.

      Angel slipped his phone into his pocket and started the car. His hands shook on the wheel and he took a deep breath. I should go to the apartment and pick up a few things. I guess my suitcase is on its way to Paris. He reversed the car as tears streamed down his face.

      Angel’s tears had given way to nausea when he slipped easily into a parking spot on the opposite side of the road to his apartment building. Buildings on this leafy end of the street weren’t high-rise. Angel enjoyed the vintage feel of the place. He charged across the road and darted in. Angel never took the tiny elevator. He

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