Free Indeed: Tim & Darlene (Queering Edmonton #0.5) ebook

Free Indeed: Tim & Darlene

Chapter 1: I Do It for You

Bryan Adams

May 1992

Before ringing the doorbell, Tim ran a hand over his head – annoyed to discover he missed a patch at the back. 

“Shit.”

Way to make a great impression on Darlene’s family, loser. If he weren’t already running late, he’d drive back home and shave again. Who eats dinner at 5:30, anyways? What was the rush? With Edmonton being as far north as it was, the sun wouldn’t even set for another four hours at this time of year.

Remembering at the last second to take his sunglasses off, he dropped them into one of the large pockets of his black trench coat and rang the bell.

Maybe they wouldn’t notice the little patch of sparse mouse-brown hair on the back of his otherwise naked head.

The door swung inwards, revealing a very prim woman. Had to be Val, the sister-in-law. 

Why was he so nervous? This wasn’t the first time he’d met a partner’s family. He was forty-fucking-one years old – why did he feel like a teenager?

Smiling, he extended a clammy hand. “Hi, I’m Tim. You must be Val.”

She frowned. “Yes, I’m Mrs. Kravchuk.” She looked like she’d just swallowed a lemon. “Please come in.” She stood stiffly aside to let him pass – though her body language suggested she’d rather close the door and slam the deadbolt home.

“Umm, for you. Thanks for having me.” He offered her the bottle he brought. 

The wait before she extended her hands to accept it grew interminably long. She stared at it as though puzzled.

Carefully balancing himself on the wall without using his hands, he pulled his boots off. Was it his imagination or did Val nod appreciatively? Sorry, he reminded himself sarcastically, that’s Mrs. Kravchuk to you.

Maybe she didn’t expect a six-foot-three man dressed in all black to behave like a civilized person. 

Well, fuck her. Sure, maybe he didn’t belong in Edmonton’s little Ermineskin enclave, but that didn’t mean he was born in a barn.

He took a breath. No. Play nice.

Darlene didn’t judge him. That was all that mattered.

He smiled at Val. She was almost a foot shorter than he was. She was dressed like she’d just come back from church; maybe she had. Darlene had told him her brother and sister-in-law attended multiple services every week. Probably not on Friday evening though. But who knew?

She appeared to be holding every muscle taut. Was she anxious or did she just really have to pee?

“I’ll take your coat,” she said, holding a hand out.

He slipped the coat off his shoulders. As he was about to hand it over, it occurred to him that it was probably the same length as she was. Taking care to make sure nothing fell out of the pockets, he folded it in half.

Her nose wrinkled as she took it from him. Dammit. Why hadn’t he tried harder to quit smoking? He was probably stinking up this neatly groomed suburban house. 

Eyes watering, she accepted it. She stood there blinking for a moment before saying, “I’ll just put this in the garage.”

Tim wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

#

After dealing with the offensive coat, Mrs. Kravchuk led Tim up a short flight of stairs to the house’s main level. The place smelled of church dinner: solid, starchy food with no seasoning.

What the hell was he doing here? A first meeting with a partner’s family hadn’t had him so wrapped up in knots since the first time he met his high school boyfriend’s parents. Mind you, that had been twenty-five years ago; the families hadn’t known the two boys were anything other than friends. Tim’s heart had beat out a frantic tattoo then – just like it was doing now.

Darlene jumped to her feet as he walked into the living room. She was wringing her hands and biting her lip. 

His heart steadied at the sight of her. She was the reason he was here, standing in an oppressively tidy house. This perfect woman with a face like Bonnie Bedelia. Darlene made him feel alive. She was so quiet when they’d first met that he hadn’t even noticed her. But over the last year, she’d come out of her shell. These days, he got to see more of the personality she usually hid away. Her sharp wit and resiliency enchanted him. She had an easy laugh … when she felt secure.

“Tim.” She strode across the room – getting bolder with each step – until she was close enough to touch. When she stood on her tiptoes, he bent to meet her with a kiss. 

Fear splashed across her face and she made a point of turning to touch her lips to his cheek.

Dumbass. Of course she wasn’t going to kiss him in front of her ultra-religious brother and sister-in-law. He knew that. And yet here he was, making her uncomfortable. God, why was he such a jerk?

But then his heart melted as she offered him a small smile, mouthing, It’s okay. She reached for his hand, allowing her fingers to make featherlight contact with his as she gestured towards the stern-faced man in the corner. “Tim, this is my brother, Gene.”

Behind him, Mrs. Kravchuk coughed in an exaggeratedly dainty fashion. Some gross breach of etiquette had been committed, Tim suspected. This whole situation had him so far out of his comfort zone that he had no idea what it could be. The fault was his, though – he was sure of that.

The other man pulled himself out of his La-Z-Boy chair and stepped up to Tim. Gene was taller than his sister but still several inches shorter than Tim. The siblings shared a resemblance in bone structure if not in expressions or mannerisms. 

Tim had to remind himself he was the same age as this man who seemed so grown-up. They were both a year younger than Darlene. What’s it like to be married with a minivan and a mortgage and a bungalow in the suburbs? They were only forty-one, for fuck’s sake.

Brows drawing together, the other man held his hand out. “Gene Kravchuk.”

Tim took Gene’s smooth hand in his own calloused one. “Good to meet you.” The man was definitely trying to crush his hand. But Tim had been a drummer for two and a half decades – he gave as good as he got.

When Gene winced, Tim released.

“You’ve met my wife already,” Gene said. He held his hands loose at his sides, though Tim suspected he wanted to flex his fingers after the handshake game. Tim shouldn’t have given in to that childish instinct – he really ought to have been the bigger man.

Tim smiled. “Indeed. Mrs. Kravchuk introduced herself at the door.”

“Mrs.…" Gene chuckled. Was the cruelty in that laugh real or only in Tim’s mind? “We’re all adults here. Call her Val.” It sounded like an order.

The woman in question somehow pursed her lips and frowned at the same time. “Tim brought wine.” She held the bottle as though it might explode. “I’ll take it through to the kitchen. I suppose I can cook with it … or something.” She left the room still holding the offending bottle.

Shit. Darlene had told him they didn’t drink – but it had never occurred to him that meant completely. You were supposed to bring wine to a dinner party. The trip to the liquor store on his way over was why he was late. He’d wasted several minutes trying to guess what kind of wine would make the best first impression.

Mission accomplished, you complete tool. Once again, he wished he could disappear.

When Darlene smiled at him, peace washed over him. He’d go through hell for her. He almost laughed aloud as it occurred to him that this was exactly what he was doing.

“I’ll just go check with Val – see if dinner’s almost ready.” Darlene took a step in the same direction her sister-in-law had gone.

“No.” Gene smirked as he lowered himself back into his throne. “Not just yet. Take a seat.” He motioned towards a pristine beige sofa. “You too, Tom.”

Darlene swallowed but she did as she was told. Tim sat next to her. “His name is Tim, Gene. I’ve told you—”

“Sure, of course” Gene nodded. “So, John, Darlene tells me you live in some sort of hippie commune?”

Darlene had warned him they wouldn’t understand his living arrangements. Whatever. Tim took pride in bucking convention. “We prefer the term intentional community.” Gene lifted an eyebrow, so Tim continued. “Back in ’81, some friends and I bought six hectares of farm land.” 

“You’re a farmer?”

Tim bobbed his head. “It’s not really a farm and it’s not entirely mine. But it’s home.”

Gene cast his eyes from side to side then shrugged. “What’s that mean?”

“We grow food but not on a commercial scale. What we don’t use ourselves, we give to our neighbours. If no one needs something, we donate it to the local food bank. We have a few chickens, so we also have a source of eggs. There’s been some talk of getting a goat or—”

“Ridiculous.” Gene crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you have your own bedroom at least?”

Tim breathed in slowly. Most people misunderstood how he lived. It seemed wilful – they didn’t want to understand. “I do.”

The first time Darlene had visited, Tim had been convinced she’d hate it. He’ assumed she’d never feel at home there. Before long, she’d surprised him. Even now, she rarely stayed more than a few hours. But she regularly came back with him after work for a bit.

“Oh, I wonder who that could be.” Gene’s face said something awful was about to happen. He pulled himself from his chair and headed out of the room. “I’d best go get the door.”

Then the doorbell rang.

“What?” Darlene’s head snapped around, the colour draining from her face as she looked out the window. Her breath caught as she muttered, “Oh no, no, no. Tell me you fucking didn’t, Gene.” Darlene swore so rarely that it grabbed his attention.

Swallowing, she touched Tim’s knee. “I am so sorry. You didn’t sign up for this.” Her face was even whiter than normal.

Gruff, jocular masculine laughter drifted in from the hall.

He let his fingers brush hers – just for a second. “It’s okay, Dar. Whatever it is, I promise it’ll be okay.”

Gene returned to the room, bringing another man. The new man had dark curly hair littered with grey. He was almost as tall as Tim but heavier. Not fat; just big. And he was holding a bouquet of roses.

Shit. I should have brought flowers. Why the fuck didn’t I think to bring flowers?

Darlene squeaked, “Roger? Why…”

Roger? Insides clenching, Tim almost spoke the name aloud. Why the fuck was Darlene’s piece-of-shit abusive ex-husband here? Well, nearly ex. They’d been separated for eighteen months. Darlene’s lawyer had been struggling to get Roger’s side to engage in the negotiations.

Her tone switched to barely constrained fury as she rounded on her brother. “What the absolute—”

“Dinner’s ready.” Unlike her sister-in-law, Val’s voice was bright, cheerful. She had a smile plastered on her face. She looked like the cat who got the cream or swallowed the canary or some other godawful cliché.

Length group: Novelettes (7.5k–18k words)

10k words / 100 pages

Estimated reading time: 0–1 hours

When I published my first book in January 2020, someone at work laughed and asked me when I was going to quit my job.

There’s this perception out there that authors are wealthy people. And I’m sure the big names (e.g. Richard Osman, Stephen King, John Scalzi, etc.) are doing just fine.

But it’s not like that for indie authors. It’s tough out there. There are great, amazing things about being an indie author. But most of us aren’t making bank.

You know who is making money out of books? Jeff Bezos, CEO of Amazon.

You may have noticed a move in recent years of indie authors selling their books directly to you. There’s a reason for that.

If you buy a book for 0.99 from Amazon, the author gets to keep maybe 0.26 of that. Maybe. It depends on the file size. And they won’t even get that for around 3 months. But if you buy a book from an author for 0.99, the author gets to keep around 0.83. And we get that money within days.

Because that first book I mentioned? Four years later, it hasn’t come close to paying for itself.

If you can’t buy direct, libraries are a great way to get books for free while still helping authors get their fair share.

This book will be available as an audiobook just as soon as I have the funds available. I'm a big believer in inclusivity and accessibility. Ideally, I want all my books available in all formats. But, from a pragmatic standpoint, they're expensive to produce.

• queer
• exvangelical romance