A Deeper Blue

By: S.E. Harmon

Rules of Possession: Book Two



A year ago, Kelly Cannon couldn’t imagine he’d end up with his formerly straight best friend. It’s hard to believe he can finally kiss Blue anytime he wants… as long as they’re in private. And there’s the rub. Despite Kelly’s promise to wait until Blue is ready to come out, he’s tired of sneaking around. The cracks in their relationship are starting to show, and there might not be enough spackle in the world to fix them.

Britton “Blue” Montgomery may not be the physics brainiac his boyfriend is, but he’s not stupid. He knows Kelly isn’t completely happy, but he’s not ready to be the poster boy for bisexuals and gays in the NFL. He just wants to keep his head down, play the game he loves, and go home to the man he adores. Is that too much to ask?

With the truth slowly coming to the surface, Blue must make a choice. If it means losing Kelly, there’s no decision to make. He has to find enough courage to face the music and hope they’ll survive the fallout.

Man. Happily-ever-afters may not be just for Disney princesses, but they sure are a lot of work.





To my mother, who let me walk alone to the library. And my sister, who followed me in her car.





CHAPTER 1





Kelly



TRUE LOVE.

It’s that moment in romantic movies we subconsciously wait for, that moment that makes our hearts fill, however briefly, and makes us sigh an audible awww. The actual details of the moment vary. Sometimes it’s a slow, gradual thing when you realize you’ve been in love all along, and it washes over you like a gentle, calming wave. Sometimes it’s like a knockout punch straight to the jaw, and you realize all those little moments of “like” were love masquerading all along.

Whatever the catalyst, it’s that moment when everything just falls into place like a magic jigsaw puzzle. Someone usually gets kissed then, but it’s not just any kiss. It’s one of those steam-up-your-glasses kisses, the kind you seldom actually experience in real life. “The End” splashes across the screen, and a catchy tune comes on and reminds us of sunshine on a cloudy day, and everything is hearts and candy and roses.

But has anyone ever put a microscope to the poisonous concept of true love? Who the hell created a romantic ideal that none of us can possibly hope to achieve without the assistance of an irritated Hollywood producer, a harried crew, and perfect lighting? Clinging to such a fairy tale is practically dangerous, people.

All this talk of belonging together and “your true half equals my true half” and blah the fucking blah. Before you know it, you’re looking at your relationship and realizing your true half is kind of annoying. And True Half leaves the milk on the counter a lot… even though he’s been repeatedly warned.

True Half also spends a lot of money on shoes and a lot of time in the mirror. In fact, if you have to smell True Half’s dirty damn socks one more goddamn time because he never remembers to put them in the hamper, you’re going to slice True Half into fucking True Quarters.

But how can you leave your one true half? He’s your one chance at happiness. Maybe if you kill your one true half, the universe will give you another. You start reviewing True Half’s life insurance policy and googling the best way to end a motherfucker, and that, folks, is how people wind up on Dateline.

Before you go thinking I’m just the bitterest Betty who ever bettied, you should know a few things. I’ve recently gone through a lot of upheaval. Up until a year ago, I was secretly in love with a guy who’s been my best friend since we were kids, a friend who identified as straight—or at least we thought he was straight until he started to develop feelings for me that weren’t strictly platonic.

We started dating, but because of the nature of his career as a tight end in the NFL, we haven’t told many people. Connor, my good friend and coworker, knows. And Blue’s teammate Ivanovich. Oh, and Carly, Blue’s ex-girlfriend, who walked in on us fooling around. I told him to always change your door code when you break up with someone. Otherwise you get caught giving your secret boyfriend a blowjob on the kitchen island, and let’s face it, no one needs to see that.