Coming Home

Copyright 2012 Brenda Cothern
Cover Photo Copyright 2012 Allen Stokes All Rights Reserved.
Second Printing: September 2013
First Printing: August 2012
ISBN-13: 978-1478396574
ISBN-10: 1478396571

No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, altered, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, in any way, without prior, written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages within the review for publication in a newspaper, magazine, journal, or on a website.

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and situations are the products of the author’s imagination and intended to be fictional. Any resemblances to actual events, situations, or persons, alive or dead, are entirely coincidental.

This book is the extended re-write from the Free version that was available for two months. An additional 7k words have been added to the story not including excerpts.

This book contains adult sexual situations including m/m practices and is intended for readers of legal age in the country in which they reside.

Brenda Cothern Books, Inc. 136 E. 145
^th
Avenue
Tampa, Florida, 33613 USA

This book is dedicated to the thousands of readers who downloaded the short story version and especially those readers who gave me valuable feedback through Goodreads! Without you and your wonderful critique, this short story would have never become all that it has.

As always, I must acknowledge my beta readers. Tracy, Lora, Kevin, and Steve. Without you, my mistakes would be many more!

Also, I would like to thank (my first cousin once removed), Allen Stokes for sharing his photograph of Wilsons Creek in North Carolina and giving me permission to use it for the cover of this book.

Ironically, Brad (who was Chad) Wilson was written months before Allen shared the photo with me!

Thank you for buying this book. As an indie author it means a lot to me that you are spending your hard earned cash to read my work! To show my appreciation, I make a promise to you, my reader. The first chapter of every book that I have ever written or will ever write will be FREE on my website for you t o read. As an avid reader myself, I know there is nothing worse than purchasing a book only to discover it is not that good. So, please enjoy the sneak peeks at the end of this book and visit my website if you would like to 'try before you buy' my other books!

“Definitely a sexual fantasy in print. We all dreamed of being with the hot guy who picked on us in high school. This is a short story for men who like men and are tired of sugary sweet prose in gay novels.”

Chase Murphy was like any teenager; not a jock, not a geek, not a stoner, and he just wanted to survive high school. Survive being the key word. Every day was brutal.

Brad Wilson was everything that Chase wasn't, minus the drugs. All-star football player, wrestling champ and Mr. Popular whose favorite pastime seemed to be tormenting Chase.

When Chase Murphy returns to his backwater home in North Carolina, after eight years in the Marine Corps, only to be confronted by his high school tormentor, Brad Wilson, he isn't the same wimpy kid. His hatred for Brad and his buddies hadn't dimmed but he wouldn't be tormented any longer.

Only Brad isn't interested in tormenting Chase; he is interested in something else entirely.
But will Chase be interested in the same thing?
This book is the extended re-write from the Free version that was available for two months. An additional 7k words have been added to the story not including excerpts.

Soul Stealer
When Beasts Bite
Barely Restrained

UNDERCOVER LOVE SERIES Not For Sale
Highest Bidder
Undercover Love (v1-2)

Finally
, Chase thought as the Greyhound bus pulled into the small service station. He exited the bus and stretched his cramped body once his feet hit the pavement before taking his Army green duffle bag from the driver.

"Thanks for your service, son," the driver said before he stepped back onto the bus.
Chase just nodded his head and stretched once more, turning his head this way and that until he heard a satisfying crack. He picked up his bag that boldly stated in stenciled letters: U.S.M.C. and MURPHY.
Eight years since he had been home. Home being this small podunk town in North Carolina. Nothing had changed. The only traffic light in town still blinked after midnight in front of the Quik Mart and across the street, Johnson's Feed & Hardware was locked up tight. Still, in the silence of the night, he could hear the soft coos of the chickens out back of the store. He settled his bag on his back, as he had done hundreds of times before, and began walking down the dark country road.
Childhood memories filled his mind as he made his way home.
How many times had he ridden his bike down this very same road to Johnson's?
Hundreds, he was sure. His Corps brothers were right to have nicknamed him 'Boonie.' Chase chuckled to himself. His little one horse town was definitely in the boondocks.
The house he had inherited when he turned eighteen looked just like it had when he'd left it eight years ago. The windows were dark on the one story ranch but Chase knew that old man Hawkins had taken good care of the place for him.
Chase walked up the stone path to the front door and stopped about two feet away. He dropped his duffle before bending over and lifting one of the paving stones to revel a small Skoal can. From the can he removed the house key before putting the stone back into place. Hefting his bag once more, he let himself into his house.
Nothing had changed on the inside either. His two cowboy hats sill hung on their hooks by the door right where he left them and if anything, the house looked cleaner than he remembered.
Old Man Hawkins probably hired someone to clean when he knew I was coming home
, Chase thought and made a mental note to pay the man back. Even though the Corps taught him what the word 'clean' really meant, Chase had been silently dreading spending his first few days home doing 'spring cleaning.'
There would be time enough to see what still needed doing in the morning. Right now, all Chase wanted to do was hit the rack. He dropped his duffle unceremoniously by the door and took his tired ass to bed.

Another Saturday night at the Watering Trough
, Brad thought without excitement. The same people in the same bar, week after week. Too bad he was stuck in this town. At least until his mother passed away.

As he opened the door to the Trough, Brad instantly felt guilty for the thought and knew he'd just lost some heaven credits.

The smell of sawdust, smoke, and beer greeted him, as it always did, when he entered. The bar was dark, the only real light coming from the lights over the pool table and the neon beer signs behind the bar. Brad took a moment to let his eyes adjust as he scanned the bar. The Trough did a healthy business since it was the only bar within a twenty five mile radius and sat on a state road. Brad recognized several of the regulars and gave them a nod as he made his way to the bar.

"Usual?" Jackie, the bar owner, asked him with a smile as she held up a bottle of Bud Light.
"Of course, beautiful." Brad returned her smile.
Jackie placed his bottle on the battered old bar and laughed as she turned to charge his tab. Jackie had owned the Trough for as long as he could remember. In fact, it was his grandfather who had first brought him to the bar when he was a child. Playing shuffle board was the coolest thing to a nine year old while Papaw drank his beer. Brad smiled at the memory and turned around to lean on the bar.
That was when he saw someone who was definitely not a regular at the Trough.
Chase had just come out of the men's room and was making his way back to the bar when he saw him. Brad Wilson.
Great. Just what I need to ruin my night
, Chase thought as he took a pull on his beer. He knew that he was bound to run into at least a few people from his high school days but of all people on his first night out it just had to be Brad fucking Wilson. Hopefully, the cowboy hat he wore would be his saving grace and the asshole wouldn't recognize him.
Brad noticed the tall cowboy as he exited the men's room. As he looked down the bar, he took in the man. The cowboy hat, that didn't look fresh off the rack, was pulled low, hiding the man's eyes.
Broad shoulders tapered down to a fit waist. His tee shirt was tucked neatly into Wranglers that traveled down long legs, ending in well-worn cowboy boots. He could be just another trucker passing through but most truckers don't look that fit. The man leaned casually on the bar and did not even glance in Brad's direction.
Well, whoever he is, I am sure to learn all about him soon enough if he is going to become a local.
That was both the blessing and the curse living in this backwater area of North Carolina. Everyone knew your business just like you knew theirs.
Chase looked at his high school enemy from under the brim of his hat. He felt Brad's eyes looking him over from head to toe as he did the same covertly. Brad was still built like the defensive safety he had been in high school and his brown hair was still too long, overdue for a cut. Chase was sure that if there were more light in the bar, Brad would sport the perfect tan just like he always had in high school.
Guess that is one bonus to working a farm
, Chase thought and pushed the image of the jock's tan lines from his head.
Too bad the guy was a prick because he was still hot as hell. Not that that mattered anyway. Chase knew his chances for a hook up would be less than nil when he returned home from the Corps. Not like they were much higher when he was in, either, but at least he wasn't facing celibacy.
Brad watched while the newcomer drank the last of his beer and tried not to enjoy the way his throat moved as he swallowed. The man looked like he was deep in thought and when he frowned, Brad couldn't help but wonder what that handsome face would look like with a smile.
"Hey man!" A slap on Brad's shoulder pulled his thoughts and gaze away from the cowboy. "Let's shoot a game."
"Sure," Brad replied to his buddy.
Chase watched from the corner of his eye as Brad and Bobby Morris made their way over to the pool table.
Great. Not one asshole, but two
. He thanked Jackie for his new beer and tried not to relive the abuse those two assholes put him through in high school. The images came even though he tried to push them back into his own private mental cell where he stored them.
Chase had not been a jock or a nerd, but just some scrawny kid who just wanted to be left alone. The practical jokes and bullying from the jocks and other popular kids were never ending, as were the names they called him. They called him everything from four eyes, to pimple prick, to cocksucker. At least the Lasik took care of the 'four-eyes' and age took care of the pimples. As for the cocksucker, well, they got that one right and at least he was good at it. That brought a smile to his face.
The names weren't the worst of it, not by far. It was the ceaseless practical jokes that had him contemplating giving up his education on an almost daily basis. Shit left in his locker, literally, homework ripped to shreds, and the ass kicking’s. All for sport, all for fun and games, and all at his expense. Bulling was just a part of his life back then and there was nothing he could do about it and nobody gave a shit anyway. Graduation day seemed like it would never come so he could escape the hell that was his high school. The scrawny kid that was tormented through high school isn't the man the Corps turned him into. So, he killed those memories like they were an enemy.
Ooh- Rah.
Brad won two of the three games he shot against Bobby and it was during the third game that he noticed the cowboy was no longer at the bar. What a shame since he was enjoying sneak peeks at the guys jean clad ass. Thankfully Bobby was none the wiser.