Touch the Sky (Free Fall Book 1) Read online

  Touch the Sky

  Free Fall, Book #1

  Christina Lee

  Nyrae Dawn

  Contents

  Copyright

  Blurb

  Other Titles by Christina Lee

  Other Titles by Nyrae Dawn

  Dear Reader

  1. Gabriel

  2. Lucas

  3. Gabriel

  4. Lucas

  5. Gabriel

  6. Lucas

  7. Gabriel

  8. Lucas

  9. Gabriel

  10. Lucas

  11. Gabriel

  12. Gabriel

  13. Lucas

  14. Gabriel

  15. Lucas

  16. Lucas

  17. Gabriel

  18. Lucas

  19. Gabriel

  20. Lucas

  21. Gabriel

  22. Lucas

  23. Gabriel

  24. Lucas

  25. Gabriel

  26. Lucas

  27. Gabriel

  28. Lucas

  29. Gabriel

  30. Lucas

  31. Gabriel

  32. Lucas

  33. Gabriel

  34. Lucas

  35. Gabriel

  36. Lucas

  37. Gabriel

  38. Lucas

  39. Gabriel

  Thank You for Reading Touch the Sky

  About the Authors

  Where to Find Christina Lee

  Where to Find Nyrae Dawn

  Christina’s Acknowledgements

  Nyrae’s Acknowledgements

  Excerpt from The Deepest Blue

  Excerpt from A Hundred Thousand Words

  Copyright © 2016 by Christina Lee and Nyrae Dawn. All rights reserved.

  Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without prior written permission by the author(s), except where permitted by law.

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

  All products and/or brand names mentioned are registered trademarks of their respective holders/companies.

  Published by Christina Lee and Nyrae Dawn

  Cover design by Natasha Snow

  Photograph by Giovanni Dall'Orto

  Editing and proofing provided by Prema and Flat Earth Editing

  Lucas Barnett and Gabriel Stewart didn’t have it easy as kids. They were only trying to deal with bad situations at home when they became lifelines for each other. Their pipe dream was to someday meet in LA, where Lucas would design skyscrapers, and Gabriel would learn to fly. But then Gabriel disappeared without so much as a goodbye, and Lucas got himself in trouble with the law.

  Five years later, both men are at a loss when they run into each other at a Hollywood bar. Lucas is still angry, but it’s not as if Gabriel could control how his mind and body had betrayed him. Being found on the ledge of that bridge had changed everything.

  The attraction is immediate, but it’s more than their inability to keep their hands off each other. Neither man expects the fierce connection pulling them together. Unfortunately, ignoring their problems doesn’t make them disappear. Gabriel’s internal struggles are serious…dangerous. And no matter how much Lucas wants it to be true, saving Gabriel won’t make up for not being able to save his mom. If they don’t find the strength to face their own demons before the darkness takes hold, they risk more than just losing each other forever.

  * * *

  "Touch the Sky is a beautifully written story of reunited lovers. It isn't often I lose myself in a story but Nyrae Dawn and Christina Lee's near perfect writing drew me in and had me rooting for Gabriel and Lucas from the first page." –Felice Stevens, author of The Breakfast Club series

  "A dark blend of deeply romantic twists and sexy turns, TOUCH THE SKY will fill your heart with love and your eyes with tears. I loved it!" –Author Alex West

  "A combination of heat, heart, two sexy, well-developed heroes with tons of chemistry, and an emotional backstory that will grip you…Touch The Sky is Christina Lee and Nyrae Dawn at their finest.” —Stina Lindenblatt, author of This One Moment

  Other Titles by Christina Lee

  Male/Male Romance

  There You Stand

  The Darkest Flame

  The Deepest Blue

  The Hardest Fall, coming soon

  Between Breaths Series (New Adult Romance)

  All of You

  Before You Break

  Whisper to Me

  Promise Me This

  There You Stand (m/m)

  Adult Contemporary Romance

  Two of Hearts

  Three Sacred Words

  Other Titles by Nyrae Dawn

  LGBTQ+ New Adult

  A Hundred Thousand Words

  Rush

  LGBTQ+ Young Adult

  The History of Us

  Turn the World Upside Down, coming soon

  New Adult

  Charade

  Façade

  Masquerade

  Young Adult

  Out of Play

  Searching for Beautiful

  Dear Reader,

  When we discussed the idea for TOUCH THE SKY back in November 2015, neither of us could’ve guessed that it would become the book of our hearts. It all began with one email—the email that you’ll read on the very first page—and from that point on, Lucas and Gabriel became our whole world until we finished writing their story.

  This book is very personal in that mental illness has touched both of us, personally and professionally. Nyrae worked in an emergency room and Christina was a clinical social worker, providing therapy to children and families. Our experiences taught us a great deal about humanity. About empathy, vulnerability, and the resilience of the human spirit.

  We’ve seen the struggle firsthand as well as the effect it can have on those closest to the person fighting their demons. As a result, some of the scenes in this book played out just as they have in various stages of our own lives.

  Having said that, mental health symptoms and severity levels will present differently in different people. We did our best in telling Lucas and Gabriel’s story as authentically as possible. To show the ups and downs, the dark and the light. But this is their story and shows how the progression translated for them.

  The thing we all share regardless of our race, gender, or socio-economic status is the need to be loved and to belong. Kindness goes a long way in helping someone keep their dignity. It might actually be a lifeline.

  Despite this book being a work of fiction, depression is a very real epidemic in the United States. If you need to talk to someone, if only to hear an empathetic voice, please consider calling the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255.

  Thank you for taking a chance on our book. We hope you fall in love with Lucas and Gabriel as much as we did.

  1

  Gabriel

  Five years earlier…

  Lucas,

  Dude, are we really doing this? I can’t believe we’re going to come out to our families. I mean, I’m glad. I really am. No matter what. No matter how my dad responds—and he will respond—hopefully not with his fist. But fuck, I can take it because it’s eating me alive, being locked inside myself like this. I’ve been going stir crazy, man.

  I wish we lived closer and we could meet up someplace afterward, especially if it doesn’t go so wel
l. You know my dad; he can be a bastard. But from what you’ve told me about your mom… I think she’ll be great. And my mom, she might just do what she normally does, which is ignore me. But at least it’ll be out there and they’ll know.

  Because shit, it’s so lonely… I sound like such a wuss when I say things like that. I’m alone, because no one knows me. Not like you do. I don’t feel as empty inside when I message you. It’s like you get me. I know you do. But this time next week our families will know who we are too.

  And maybe… I don’t know, I’ve got to have hope. I’ve got to believe it’ll be okay. If not, it’s not too much longer until we’re eighteen. We’ll go to West Hollywood and really live. I can’t wait to do everything we talked about! I can’t wait to meet you in person one day. I’m so damn glad we found each other on that message board.

  We got this,

  Gabriel

  I stare at the five-year-old email with a lump in my throat. I saved them all, even the photos he sent me of himself with that wavy black hair, green eyes, and lips that I pictured kissing on more than one occasion. Mostly, I imagined having a friend. Somebody I could trust through the emotional wreckage that had been consuming my life.

  But that message was the final one I’d written to him. The last time I remember being so fucking scared of what would happen. If you didn’t count when the steel door locked behind me with my parents on the other side. That was the night some stranger saw me teetering on the ledge of a bridge. I wasn’t going to jump, for fuck’s sake—I was only chasing a high. Trying to quiet the buzzing noise inside my brain. It was better than feeling numb. Way the hell better.

  Moving here wasn’t nearly as frightening as all of that. It was a relief to leave San Diego and come to West Hollywood. To drop my general courses at SDU and figure out my own path. This is the city I thought I’d be meeting Lucas in someday, and somehow being here, even though I haven’t spoken to him in years, makes me feel like I’m working toward some goal. The same goal I had confided to him so long ago.

  I also came because I was itching to get the hell away, to finally be on my own. I was too much of a chickenshit the year after my hospitalization to message Lucas and admit that they’d slapped a bipolar label on me. That I’d been given powerful meds because apparently you can also become delusional or some shit while manic.

  My dad’s face, though, that was the worst. And when I came out to him in that inpatient therapy session—fuck. Worse than his fist against my stomach. But we never talked about his threatening words, his punishing glares. My mom catering to him and never to me. I was the dirty secret, me and my messed-up head, not him.

  My back slides against the wall until I’m sitting on the floor in my room with my laptop on my knees. The cold plaster feels good against my skin. I should delete that email. But I don’t. I can’t. I think of Lucas often, wonder what he’s up to. If he found somebody else who got him. A good guy, a beautiful guy. Love. My chest seizes up.

  I want that for him, wonder if we could have had it together. Or maybe he would’ve continued to just be my friend. Hell, I’m not sure I’ll be able to have that with anybody. Not with the way the wires are crossed in my brain.

  My foot connects with my forgotten glass of soda, spilling it in a small river over the hardwood floor. “Damn it!” My thoughts are all over the place lately, thinking about those old emails, and starting to feel like shit for no reason that makes any type of sense.

  I toss aside my computer on the bed and grab for the tissue box to clean up the mess.

  “Everything cool in there?” My roommate calls to me through the locked door.

  “Fine,” I grumble. Gotta keep this place clean or Ezra might find a good excuse to kick me out. Dude smokes his share of weed but he knows when even one thing is out of place in this apartment.

  “You call off sick today?” he asks in a muffled voice. The problem with renting a room on the outskirts of West Hollywood from a dude who paints in his home studio is that he knows my schedule too well, including how early or late I get home. But years ago, Lucas and I didn’t bank on how pricey the area would be, only that it was liberal and thriving enough for two kids who had wanderlust.

  “Nah, the supplies didn’t come in on time, so the foreman let us go early.” At least I’m being honest. Besides, I don’t want to be on that scaffold today. Not yesterday either. Not with these scary hopeless thoughts running through my scrambled brain. Man, I normally love being up there with a birds-eye view of the entire city. And right now we’re reconstructing a building in a rundown neighborhood in North Hollywood, which still has a clear shot of the Pacific from the highest level.

  I even turned down going out with the construction crew for a liquid lunch. I can hold my own and be the life of the party if you catch me on the right day. Those same dudes would probably rip me a new asshole if they saw me sniveling in my room like this. Lou would understand though; he’s been cool to me. He always talks to me about his teen boy’s problems, probably because I’m closest to his age.

  A knock at my door. “I’m heading across the street to get some food. Want to come?” Ezra asks. There’s a small diner we order from on a regular basis.

  I’m tired, so fucking tired that my limbs feel like dead weight. I should drag myself up, though. I only do this weeping shit when I’m crashing. Which is why I pulled up those messages from Lucas again. I needed some type of quiet comfort because this part always scares the shit out of me. How I can’t control it. I can only just roll with it.

  But my body is fighting me, only wants to sleep. Add in my jumbled thoughts and I wouldn’t be good company to anybody. I know this pattern. You start to understand your body after a while. If I hold on another day or so, my energy level will return and I’ll be on top of my game again.

  “Go ahead without me.” I shouldn’t be anti-social but it’s hard enough pretending at work this week. I don’t want to pretend with him too.

  His feet scuff the floor, and I can hear him hesitating, deliberating. Like he knows. Knows something is wrong with me again. “How about I bring you back something? Have you even eaten today?”

  Damn, he feels sorry for me. I glare at my top drawer where my two empty pill bottles have remained unfilled for well over a year. I know I should start the meds again, now that I finally have insurance. They might even help me pack on some extra weight. But then that veil will go up, the one that keeps me at arm’s length from the world, and I fucking hate that feeling.

  I force myself to stand up and glance in the dresser mirror. My blond hair is all disheveled and I’ve got shadows beneath my eyes, even though I’ve been sleeping a ton. I need to get my ass in gear, especially since I have a paper due for my on-line class tomorrow.

  Another knock. Shit. I had left him hanging. “Gabriel?”

  “Uh, sure man,” I say, in the cheeriest voice I can muster. “Any kind of sandwich will do.”

  2

  Lucas

  Music plays in the background, a guitar riff and a guy with a loud, high-pitched voice who sounds like he’s trying to scream over the music.

  It’s totally not my gig, but for the six to eight hours that I’m at the bar, I don’t have much choice other than to listen to whatever they have playing.

  It’s a straight bar, a shabby, rundown place in an alley in Hollywood that’s often filled with the kind of people my mom would have partied with if she were still around. Working here serves its purpose so I stick around.

  My shift ended a few minutes ago. I’m chillin’ at a small, two-person table at the end of the bar that we use sometimes for breaks and things like that. Leaning over the back of the chair, I continue sketching long lines and perfect squares in my sketchbook. It’s a simple building, this one, with a plane flying overhead.

  There’s a bump against my chair making it move about two inches. “Why do you always turn your chair backward to sit in it?”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I roll my eyes at Conner. His sho
rt, dark hair is kind of spiky, and he has this happy fucking grin that Conner always has.

  We’re the only two people who work here that are under the age of thirty, so we talk to each other more than we talk to everyone else. Not that I talk to anyone much. “Why you always so worried about what I’m doing? Something you wanna tell me?” I tease him, but Conner doesn’t take the bait. He’s straight, but knows I’m gay. Everyone I work with does, because if there’s one thing I won’t do anymore, it’s lie about who I am.

  Conner grabs the other chair and turns it around the wrong way. Cocking a brow at him I nod toward it, but he ignores me. “Why are you always drawing buildings? Never a fucking tree, or a bird, or shit like that. Always buildings.”

  I flip the books closed. I hate it when people look at my shit. “A tree or a bird? You want me to draw you a tree or a bird? I will.” Really, I won’t. That’s not my thing. For me it’s not about drawing as much as it’s about buildings. I love them—thinking about how they’re put together. There’s something about big-ass buildings of different shapes and designs that calls to me. That’s none of his business, though.

  “No, but you can draw me a naked chick with big old titties.”

  Conner laughs and I roll my eyes at him. “Crazy motherfucker.”

  “You got naked dudes in there? You play it off like you’re drawing the fucking Wells Fargo building or something, but I bet it’s really full of dick and ass.”

  And, that’s about enough of him. Conner’s an all right guy but he’s overwhelming as hell sometimes. I’m definitely not talking to him about dick and ass, even though I’m quite fond of both. That conversation needs to be saved for someone who wants my dick in their ass or the other way around.