Underside of Courage (Beautifully Disturbed Series Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Underside of Courage

  Underside of Courage

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Acknowledgement

  About the Author

  Follow this Author

  Underside of Courage

  A Beautifully Disturbed Novel

  Book Two

  Sarah Zolton Arthur

  Underside of Courage

  Copyright © 2016 by Sarah Zolton Arthur

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: October 2016

  Irving House Press

  P.O. Box 5738

  Saginaw, MI. 48603

  Formatting: Heather Young-Nichols

  ISBN-13: 978-1536915617

  ISBN-10: 1536915610

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  Kip and Collin are inspired by the lives and stories gathered from a lifetime of friendships, too numerous to name here. So to those friends, even though we’re separated though time and distance, you remain forever in my heart.

  Chapter 1

  Kip

  “Hey. You dropped this.”

  He turns to look over his shoulder at me from his place at the front of the line. When he does, it’s not simply a look or glance to acknowledge my speaking. No, he stares at me a beat through a pair of ice blue eyes, making my heartbeat stutter a second.

  Holy hell.

  He’s the most beautiful man I think I’ve ever seen in my life, which is why I originally went for the dollar-dropping bit. The buzz around campus, go to The Brew. They serve the best coffee in town. Apparently they serve the hottest guys the best coffees too. I’ve never really been in to blonds, but seeing him?

  I’m totally into blonds.

  It’s those eyes. There’s something about those eyes, they tell me he has depth, has secrets.

  Being on the receiving end of his pinned look makes me want to figure him out. Though trying to figure out a man I’ve never seen nor spoken to until this moment, it only takes a couple more beats of staring to turn creepy.

  I shake the bill in my hand to steal his interest from my eyes to my hand holding the money.

  “You dropped this.” Clearing my throat, I repeat myself.

  At my insistence he takes the bill from my hand shoving it in his pocket.

  There’s an awkward silence before he turns back to the barista, who’s handing him off a cup, then he turns and he walks away.

  I’m still watching him when the barista grunts to snag my attention. Once he’s got it, he rolls his eyes, slapping his hands on the edge of the counter. “You gonna order?”

  Shit. Yeah. I did actually come here for coffee.

  “Gingerbread latte.” Reaching inside my pocket I pull out three crumpled ones. Ones? Where’s my ten? I had a ten. I had a—“Fuck!” To this I receive the barista’s accusatory eyebrow lift.

  That beautiful man walked away with my ten. I thought it was my one. Serves me right for being lazy and shoving the bills in my pocket instead of my wallet.

  “Cancel that.”

  Then I walk away. Back out into the freezing Michigan December. No coffee. Ten dollars poorer. And I didn’t even get so much as a thank you from Mr. Beautiful. My sister’s “sure thing” ice breaker, sure wasn’t.

  Things have not been going how I thought they would.

  I pull out my cell phone, my sister answers, I swear, before I even hit send.

  “You done with your nonsense now?” Her “I told you so” attitude is too condescending for my current mood.

  “Hello to you, too.” I try to sound gruff and badass.

  It doesn’t work. She just laughs.

  Kayna’s my best friend since, well, since the womb. She’s my twin.

  It’s possible God wanted my mom to have twin daughters but messed up. She got a daughter and a gay son instead. I don’t actually believe that.

  When I came out to my parents, my mom patted my cheek and told me she’d known. Known for years. They were just waiting for me to feel comfortable enough with myself to tell them. That was it. I’ve never had to hide myself. It probably helps my mom’s only brother is gay, too. He’s been comfortable with himself as long as I’ve known him.

  “Whatever happened is what happens when you abandon your family and move two states away to avoid seeing a jackass who broke your heart.”

  “Kay, not about him. I didn’t move to avoid him. I needed a change.”

  “Jake is an asshole. He never deserved you.”

  “The move wasn’t about Jake. Can we change the subject, please?” I press the speaker button and toss the phone on the passenger seat so I can concentrate on the slippery roads.

  It really wasn’t about Jake. We got together sophomore year of high school and dated through graduation. We planned our futures together, but he went pretty wild freshman year of college. Last year Jake met someone and they were inseparable, like how he and I used to be. But I wasn’t nursing a broken heart anymore. I got my rebounds out of the way, if you will. I just felt stifled for the first time with my life and college, my family always being up in my business. And all the friends which, coincidentally, Jake and I shared, did their loyalties lie with me or him? Or both? It became too much.

  At a time I needed it, a favorite professor of mine pulled me aside one day after his lecture let out. He said he could tell something was bothering me and invited me back to his office to talk.

  I’m not typically a sharer, not unless I feel tight with you, but for some reason that day I let it all hang out.

  Every college student should be so lucky as to have a professor who cares as much as he did.

  “Kip,” he’d said to me. “You’ve got a hell of a career ahead of you if you don’t lose focus.” That’s when he told me about GHU. I mean, I’d known about it, Grand Harbor University’s Rhetoric and Professional Writing (RPW) program is one of the best in the country.

  “God, who wouldn’t love to get in at GHU? But an out of state school change this late in the semester, would I even be able to make it happen? And what if I can’t hack it. I’ve heard it’s a really intense program.”

  “That would be where I come in. A buddy of mine, my college roommate, actually. He chairs the department. You’re tenacious. I’ve yet to see a probl
em you couldn’t overcome. You think quickly on your feet and have displayed stellar writing and design skills. There’s no reason in this world that you can’t succeed in their program. So if you’re ready for a change, I’ll call my buddy. A recommendation from me, we’ll make it happen.”

  I liked going to State. Clearly I got on well with my professors, but a chance at a degree from GHU was too much of a draw to pass up. Hence, my move to Michigan.

  “Why are you calling?” Kay’s tone turns accusatory. “Wait—you aren’t coming home for Christmas, are you? Mom’s gonna shit a brick.” Damn twin connection.

  “No. I’m not coming for Christmas. Can’t afford it, out of state tuition’s a bitch.”

  “Are you kidding me? You should have told me sooner. I’d have saved up. Figured something out.” She has tears in her voice, I hear them coating her words like the castor oil mom used for punishment the day Kay and I got caught saying some pretty foul words in Sunday school.

  “I wouldn’t have taken your money anyway. You know it.”

  “But I want to see you. I miss you so much.”

  “I miss you, too. I’ll call on Christmas to talk to everyone.”

  She’s nodding into the phone. I know she is because I know everything about her. If we’re on the phone and she’s crying, but not speaking, she’s nodding. I miss her so much. I miss all of them.

  “Bye.” I reach over pressing the button to hang up before her tears have the chance to really break me. It’s Christmas and I’m all alone.

  My life sucks.

  Chapter 2

  Collin

  “So you talk to her yet? If you ask her out, she’ll say yes. So just do it.” My best friend Ben has been in love with the same girl since our first college lit class together freshman year. He and I have been tight since high school, as close as brothers. When he literally saved my ass from certain death.

  A few months later, he introduced me to his actual brother, Andrew. We started dating. The three of us became like the three musketeers. Andrew became my first love, and my last.

  Two years.

  Clandestine.

  Until Andrew died.

  With what the two of us have been through, what we’ve lost, it’s no wonder Ben’s skittish about pursuing a relationship with her. Andrew and I were in love, and it was our love that got him killed.

  But we’re not talking my kind of love here. We’re talking the normal, societally approved kind of love. One boy. One girl. Skipping off happily into the sunset.

  Miss Elly Dinninger. The gorgeous, curvaceous blonde—not as blond as me, but blonde nonetheless—has been into Ben equally as long as he, her. Both afraid. Neither willing to be the first to put themselves out there. But really, enough is enough. Time for him to shit or get off the pot.

  “Col. I love you, brother.” He leans against the counter in front of the sink in our kitchen, one arm folded over his chest, sipping on a bottle of water. “But leave it alone. Elly is different. Special. She’s not going to say yes and then we lose her completely.”

  That is a possibility. The woman has a hard outer coating. No, that’s not right. Not hard, strong. She has a strong outer coating, but when you get to the soft on the inside, she’s not just soft. She’s fragile. That fragile breaking is what we’ve been afraid of for a while, which would suck because she’s one of our best friends to boot.

  “Ben, brother. You can’t keep kicking yourself, you’re driving yourself crazy.”

  “Which is it? Am I kicking myself or driving myself crazy?” he asks, snidely I might add.

  There’s no arguing with usually easy going Ben when he turns on the broody attitude. I have two choices here, drag it out or let him off the hook for now.

  “Let’s go get lunch.” I pull the ten-dollar bill out of my pocket, effectively letting him off the hook. “Some guy insisted I dropped this. So it’s on me.”

  “Some guy?” Ben grasps the olive branch I’ve extended, as we bundle up and leave the warmth of our apartment behind, climbing into his midnight blue Jeep Wrangler. His four wheel drive performs better on these Michigan roads than my car. Absolutely no traction in the snow. I probably should’ve thought that purchase out better. C’est la vie, as my French grandmother always said pretty much about everything. But of course, she was pretty much always drunk, too. The French do love their wine.

  “Really. I was waiting for my coffee, and he insisted I take it.”

  While I try to warm my hands up, rubbing them vigorously together in front of the heater vent, Ben casually leans back in his seat, driving with only his left wrist on the steering wheel.

  “Ever seen him before?”

  The Jeep eases to a stop at the red light. The car slowing next to us skids right through into the intersection, just missing a car passing through the green. Neither of us even flinch. That’s winter driving in Michigan for you.

  “No. I’d remember seeing his face.”

  “Face? Not your usual attribute.” He shifts the Jeep into gear to begin moving again.

  “Yes, face. Shut up. But from the looks of him, I’m guessing we could have some fun if I ever see him again.”

  “Mmm hmm. Wait—you mean you didn’t get his number?”

  “You know I don’t hook up until after Christmas. There has to be something redeeming about me.”

  Since the first time I noticed a boy that way, people have condemned me. A man still has needs, but I figure if I avoid those unholy unions during holy times, my wrongness lessens at least a little. Karma points, I can use as many as I can get.

  “Collin. Say that shit again and I will knock you on your ass.”

  Ben parallel parks about three spaces down from The Heron Deli, named after our mascot the Grand Harbor University Heron.

  He and I have had this argument so many times in the past few years. Not all of us who are out are proud. Such is life. C’est la vie, right, Nona?

  I’m an abomination, at least according to the hockey jocks who tried to kill me, the same ones Ben saved me from. Or Ben’s dad, because he found out me and Andrew. I mean, Andrew was a football star. Whoever heard of a gay football star? Or my parents, for that matter, who turned their backs on me.

  They never said the words, but sometimes silence can be just as deafening.

  We walk into the deli, our favorite place next to The Brew. Our colors, red and white, represented all over the store. Retired jerseys from esteemed alumni hang on the walls beside other sports-themed memorabilia. Our fight song plays quietly overhead. The girl behind the counter is not much to look at with her frizzy curls pulled back into a tight ponytail and coke bottle glasses, but she’s super nice. And she has a bit of a crush on me, which I’ll admit, I’ve used to my advantage. Broke college student here. Okay, not totally broke. Only because of the college fund my grandfather set up for me before I stained the name of Pratt.

  If, thanks to her crush, counter girl wants to comp my meals, who am I to tell her she can’t? It’s not like she doesn’t know she has the wrong equipment for the jobs I do.

  I don’t hide who I am.

  Because I don’t know who else to be.

  But she has my usual sandwich made, wrapping it in the deli paper before I ever reach the glass window to pick out my toppings.

  “Thanks, Hon.” Yes, I wink at her, keeping up the flirtation to perpetuate her crush. “What’s the damage? Mine and his.” I point over my shoulder to Ben.

  “I got it.” She flashes me one of those girly, dreamy-type smiles, while putting a large cup for both me and Ben on the tray next to our sandwiches.

  I knew she would comp the meal. It’s the reason I perpetuate her crush. As I’m not paying, I take the free ten and slip it in her hand. A tip. Paying it forward, or whatever.

  “Merry Christmas.” I hustle toward the beverage station because she looks ready to leap over the counter and hug me. Her eyes watery, the works.

  Ben and I both go for the iced tea.

  We sit
at a small table in the middle aisle. “What’s it like to have your own fan club?” Ben juts his chin toward the counter girl, unwrapping his sandwich and taking a huge bite.

  “You tell me. I hear the cheerleaders chant your name at the games instead of the players.”

  “Whatever.” Ben scoffs. “Just trading in one player for another.”

  “You are not a player.”

  There are two men sitting at a table by the window, clearly on a date. Each man reaches across the table until their hands meet, linking their fingers together. I guess they never got the memo, how our kind is unwanted.

  As I sip on my tea, watching, I realize I’ve stopped talking. “Those women know exactly what they’re getting.”

  In true best friend style, Ben only glances over to what’s caught my attention, choosing to continue on with our conversation instead of commenting.

  “True.” He wipes his hands on a napkin, balls it up and tosses it onto his sandwich wrapper. “I’m just, I feel done with all of it, you know?”

  “Because you need to suck it up and ask Elly out. She’s all you’ve ever really wanted. And she wants you, too. Don’t pretend you don’t see the way she looks at you. What’s the saying your grandma always used?”

  He shrugs.

  I snap my fingers three times in succession, because everyone knows finger snaps help to jog the memory. “Oh, like you hung the moon.” Finger snaps. Point made. “That’s it. Elly Dinninger looks at you like you hung the moon. So hang it already.”

  Ben laughs under his breath shaking his head, but he’s not disagreeing.

  We finish lunch without really saying anything else of much importance, then he takes me back home so I can get my car.

  I have to be up to the writing center in a half hour to start my shift.

  Both Ben and I work the writing center tutoring students on pretty much anything writing related, going over everything from short essays to major term papers. It’s like pulling teeth most of the time, because it’s so not creative, but it pays the bills. And I don’t have to work fast food.