Together again finding y.., p.1
Together Again (Finding You Book 2), page 1
Together Again
Ana Ashley
Contents
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
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
About Ana
Also Available
Together Again - Finding You Book 2
© 2020 by Ana Ashley
First Edition: May 2020
Previously published as Made in New York and Made in Manhattan, under the pen name Ana Newfolk.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopy, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Together Again is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design: Rhys, Ethereal Designs
Editor: Alphabitz Editing
Join Ana’s Facebook Group Café RoMMance for exclusive content, and to learn more about her latest books at www.anawritesmm.com!
To everyone who has had a second chance or who has given someone a second chance.
To everyone that has read Made in New York and Made in Manhattan and still gave Together Again a second chance.
Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart.
Ana
x
Chapter One
Isaac
New York — December, six months ago
Sitting in the front row made it very hard to check my phone. Damn it! I could feel it vibrating in the pocket of my dress pants. Unable to do it discreetly, I resigned myself to wait for the current speaker to finish.
I focused on my surroundings to stop from fidgeting in my seat. The room was warm, almost a bit too warm, a stark contrast to the chilly temperatures of December in New York City outside.
It was less than a week to Christmas, so the room had been decorated with a Christmas tree and a few tasteful ornaments that hung from the ceiling. Christmas wasn’t my favorite holiday, but I had to admit, there was a certain charm to New York at this time of year.
I was incredibly lucky to be here at the Liberty LGBTQ Center in Greenwich Village and wanted to absorb every single piece of useful information I could get my hands on. I’d met Dorian and Jean-Paul Charles, the founders and Executive Directors, last summer in Portugal.
I’d organized a conference to raise some money and awareness for my LGBTQ Youth Center, Fundação Arco-Íris, or Rainbow Foundation as it translated into English. The couple happened to be in Portugal on holiday and came along when they saw the promotional activity we ran during Lisbon Pride. In addition to a generous donation, they’d also invited me to visit them in New York, which I was more than happy to accept.
It took me six long months of working overtime to save up for this trip, and the hard work was paying off already. I’d been in New York for three days, and in that time, I’d visited the center, shadowed Dorian and Jean-Paul, and had made numerous contacts.
I also spent a lot of time with the kids. Since it was both a shelter and a community center, some of the kids lived here full-time until they found permanent accommodation, while others used it socially during the day.
Lost in my thoughts, I was brought back to the present by the simultaneous vibrating of my phone and the audience standing up. Everyone was applauding the guest speaker, a guy that at twenty-seven was making a significant impression on the political scene of the city by supporting not only the LGBTQ cause but, in particular, the younger generation, campaigning for better access to education and jobs.
I took the opportunity to make my way out of the room as the next guest speaker was arriving on stage. My phone was still buzzing in my pocket, which could only mean one of two things. It had happened early, or there were complications.
Once outside the conference room, I looked around to see if I could find another room to take my call in privacy. I was at one end of the corridor, and it seemed that at the other I had the option to turn left or right.
I tried each door in turn. The first was locked, and so were the next two doors.
Finally, just before I reached the end of the corridor, I found one that opened. I slid my finger across the phone screen to answer the call as I entered the empty room and closed the door behind me.
“Alex! Any news? How is Joana?” I asked with urgency.
“Isaac,” Alex’s voice quavered with emotion “I’m a dad, Isaac, I’m a dad! She’s so tiny and perfect. God, you should have seen Joana. She was amazing.” Alex carried on talking. He sounded so happy like his family was finally complete. Struggling to contain my own emotions, I leaned against the wall and let myself slide down to the floor. I was an uncle now, and our small family of three had just increased by one. I was close to believing in Christmas miracles, and I didn’t even like Christmas.
“Alex, I’m so proud of you little brother. You’re going to be a great dad. I can’t wait to meet my niece. I wish I were there,”
Sofia wasn’t due to arrive until the New Year, so I knew taking this trip had been a gamble. It was also an opportunity I couldn’t have missed. “Send me some pictures when you can, okay? I’ll be home in a few days.”
We said our goodbyes, and I got up from the floor, wiping the tears that had run down my face. I put the phone back in my pocket thinking that it would be nice if I had enough time to do some additional Christmas shopping before I left.
It was only then that I looked properly at my surroundings. The room wasn’t big, it could accommodate maybe twenty people, but what caught my eye was the artwork on the walls. There were a few colorful paintings and pencil drawings, some of buildings and some of people on the streets. I needed to get back to the conference, but I made a mental note to ask Jean-Paul about them.
The lights went out as soon as I walked toward the door. “What the—” I blurted, even though I knew no one could hear me. I hadn’t stopped that far from the door, so it took me only a few steps to locate the handle. I turned it, but it was stuck. I pulled on the door a few times, but it didn’t budge.
Shit. What the hell do I do now? Hoping that someone would check the rooms after the conference finished, I resigned myself to wait. The room wasn’t completely dark. There was light from the hall coming in from under the door and also through windows that ran down the side of the building.
Unfortunately, they were too high for me to reach, and since I was on the third floor, I wasn’t taking chances at trying to jump out, even if I could reach them.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d stayed in there until I detected the faint smell of burning and saw smoke coming from under the door. I moved away from it once I began to see more and more smoke seeping in. I was stuck. The only way out was where the smoke was coming from, and no one knew I was in here. I went down on the floor, using the small amount of light to help me make my way toward the back of the room, trying to stay as low down as I could.
I heard the smoke alarm going off. It was so loud I couldn’t hear if there was anyone outside. The smoke was getting thicker and pouring in faster. I knew that I needed to make my presence known before it was too late. The smoke burned in my throat, making it hard to breathe.
My natural reaction was to cough, but then it was hard to take in any clean air. My eyes were watering from the smoke, and I knew that soon, I wouldn’t be able to see at all.
I took off my shirt and used it to cover my mouth and nose. Hopefully, it would help keep the smoke inhalation to a minimum. I walked to the door and started banging on it and tried my best to shout through the shirt. Although the smell and smoke were both indications of a fire somewhere in the building, I couldn’t feel any heat coming from the door or raising the temperature inside the room. My lungs, however, felt like they were on fire. I was struggling to breathe, and my arm was getting tired from banging over and over on the door.
I sat back on the floor near the rooms only exit, and as my breaths became harder and harder to come by, I felt myself slip into unconsciousness.
Chapter Two
Max
I was in the middle of my speech when the fire alarm went off. I was familiar with the building since I vol
It wasn’t unknown for them to burn toast because they were too distracted playing video games and set off the alarm in the process. The supervisors would normally disable it immediately, so the fact the alarm was still going had me concerned that this was more than simple burnt toast.
Dorian and Jean-Paul grabbed the emergency packs from near the stage, put on the high-vis vests, and started directing some of the people who were still milling about in panic out toward the emergency exit, which was on the other side of the stage and opposite the entrance door.
People exited swiftly, and it wouldn’t be long until everybody in the room was out safely. I called out to Dorian to ask if someone was checking the rest of the building. He said the volunteers with the kids would make sure everyone was out safely.
The overnight shelter was in a separate part of the building, which meant anyone there would evacuate via the back emergency exits. So no one would be checking the other rooms on this side because everybody was expected to be inside this conference room.
“Max, where are you going?” Jean-Paul shouted over the piercing alarm, grabbing my arm as I made my way to the conference room door.
“I’m just checking something. I’ll be right back. You go out with Dorian,” I shouted back. Jean-Paul tried to protest, but I shook my head and gave him a look that meant I wasn’t going to negotiate on this.
Earlier when I’d walked on stage, I saw a man step out of the room. His back was hunched forward as he left, as though he was worried about something. I didn’t remember seeing anyone come back in, and as the alarm started during my speech, I was pretty sure the man was still out there.
As soon as I left the conference room, I was immediately assaulted by a wall of smoke. I couldn’t see any flames or feel the heat from the fire, but visibility was very poor. I knew I wouldn’t have much time to find the man before I had to leave and get myself to safety.
The corridor was empty, and with everybody out of the building, there was an eerie silence. I pulled the sleeve of my jacket over my mouth and moved toward the other rooms on this floor.
“Hello!” I shouted through my sleeve. “Is anyone there? Hello!”
There was no reply, and each door I tried was locked. Where the hell is he?
Then I thought I heard a knock. And another one. It was getting very faint, so I listened and walked toward the sound. I found the door where it was coming from and tried to open it. This was the art room, the only room that was normally unlocked on this floor.
Nothing happened as I moved the door handle up and down. Fuck, it’s stuck!
“If you’re in there, please get away from the door!” I shouted, hoping he could hear me if he was inside.
I kicked the door open and went in. It was difficult to see through the smoke, but fortunately, the man was on the floor by the door but was now unconscious.
I managed to lift him up and over my shoulders in a fireman’s lift and carried him out of the building. When we got outside, I gently placed him down on the ground and shouted for someone to call a cab. We weren’t too far from the hospital, and a cab would be quicker than an ambulance.
I was kneeling on the ground with the man sitting up against me when he started coughing. He had a mop of curly brown hair with streaks of blond, almost like they had been sun-bleached. I brushed the hair aside, finding it much softer than I expected. His eyes were still closed, and he was struggling to breathe.
“That’s it, breathe in slowly,” I instructed calmly, still holding him close. It was only then that I realized the man wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“Dorian, have you got a foil blanket in your pack?” I called out to Dorian, who came rushing with the emergency bag.
“Oh my god, Isaac!” Dorian was suddenly very pale. “Max, you have to help him. Please!”
I looked back toward the man, hoping he would open his eyes so I could assess him. “Isaac? Is that your name?” He nodded in between ragged breaths. “Isaac, I’m Max. I’m a nurse. I’m going to take you to a local hospital so you can get checked, okay? You’re going to be fine, just take slow, deep breaths for me.”
Isaac nodded again in understanding.
He seemed to steady his breathing and was taking deeper inhalations by the time the cab pulled up. I helped him to stand, and it was only then that he opened his eyes to look at me, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.
I had noticed he was a good-looking man. With round, soft features combined with the curly hair, he looked like a fucking angel. But with his eyes, a glassy blue-green color looking back at me in pleading, I would have granted any wish possible.
“St…stay…please…” he pleaded as he started coughing again.
“Don’t strain your voice, Isaac, I’m coming with you,” I reassured as we got in the taxi and sped toward the hospital.
We went into the emergency room and one of the nurses on call, Shelly, greeted us. She was a good one, experienced and fast on her feet. I quickly relayed what happened, and she helped me take Isaac first to triage and then into an exam room for observation and diagnostics.
It was hard to stay silent when looking after people at the hospital was second nature, but I knew it would be unprofessional to step in. Instead, I stood in a corner of the room, watching over Isaac as Shelly settled him on the bed and started asking him the questions I so desperately wanted to ask.
“Hello, Isaac,” Shelly said while checking his blood pressure. “I’m Shelly, and I’m going to be your nurse tonight. I work with Max here,” she said looking up at me. “But you’ll find I’m the better nurse, so I promise you’re in good hands,” she teased, but it got a small smile out of Isaac.
“Do you feel dizzy or have a headache?” Shelly asked, and Isaac shook his head.
“Does your chest hurt when you breathe?”
Isaac nodded at that question.
“You’re doing great,” she reassured. “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, but I’m going to recommend a couple of tests to the doctor just to make sure there’s no injury to your lungs, okay? Then I’ll connect you to some oxygen to help your breathing and make sure your O2 levels stay up. I’m going to speak to Dr. Adrian and will be right back.”
Isaac nodded once again. I pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down and looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost nine o’clock, only four hours since I’d left the hospital to attend the conference, but it felt like a lifetime ago.
“I work here at this hospital, Isaac. I promise you’re in good hands.” I tried to reassure him, and he gave me a small, tired smile in return.
Dr. Adrian came in shortly after the nurse left, did a thorough assessment, and fortunately, agreed with Shelly. He put the orders in at the bedside computer for the required testing, treatment, and blood draws.
“Isaac, I’m confident there’s nothing to worry about and that you’ll be discharged as soon as the results come back,” Dr. Adrian said. “I’ll leave you in the capable hands of my nurses and wish you a speedy recovery.”
Isaac nodded his understanding before Dr. Adrian left to see his next patient.
A few minutes later, Shelly came back with a respiratory therapist who was going to draw an arterial blood gas to test for CO levels, which would then be followed by a pulmonary function test (PFT). Isaac was very patient despite his clear discomfort from the needle stick and the struggle to breathe, particularly after the PFT.
