Promise Rock 03 - Living Promises (MM) Read Online Free PDF

looked like she always did in her picture: her needlepoint in her hands, her hair—black once, like his, but all gray now—brushed back into a ponytail, and her face, lined and serene, beaming into the camera. Leave it to his mother to go old and crazy in the sweet, saintly grandmother way. If she'd gone crazy in the ravingold-bat way, Jeff might have had an easier time pretending that he had no family, none at all.
It hurt, but it was an old pain, and the rest of his day was promising, so he dislodged Katherine Shedding-Fur-Monkey from his chest Comatose from his lap, where one of his legs had gone a bit numb. Con flopped over to his side, one gray paw curled against his massive chest and the other stretched out, almost above his head, and glared balefully at Jeff. Kat glomped on top of Con, and the two began a contest to see who could groom the other one best. Jeff sighed and then smiled at them, because they were absolute darlings, and he adored them both. Then he stood, brushing the stray cat hairs from his red satin dressing gown, and padded down the hall in his fleece-lined leather clogs to get dressed.
He paused at his room and pumped some man-sturizer/handsanitizer onto his hands from a bottle on the dresser, then pulled his pressed white coat with the three-quarter sleeves out of the closet along with his natty black slacks with the slick, shiny leather shoes. He put on something dressy underneath—a crisp poly/wool button-up shirt with a mandarin collar and pink-and-black vertical stripes—and took out his lined belted leather jacket to keep him warm in the November chill. He considered the outfit and then smiled softly and went to the rack of scarves he'd brought out in late October.
He liked scarves—he had silk/cashmere blends, angora, sturdy wool—but he picked one from his “scarf of honor” peg. All three scarves on the peg were hand-knitted. The first one was in a simple garter stitch, in handsome eggplant, that went on forever. Jeff's best friend, Crick, had a sister who liked to knit; she'd made that for him last autumn, and it was one of his prized possessions. Shane had a scarf from Benny as well, but Shane, the big furry traitor, had given his scarf to his snotty little boyfriend Mikhail. If Jeff hadn't adored Mikhail almost as much as he adored Katy and Con, he wouldn't have let Shane live that down, but since Mikhail had worn the thing damned near into June that summer, Jeff figured he'd let it slide.
The other scarf on his rack had been knitted by Crick himself. Crick had taken up knitting on Jeff's advice for physical therapy on his hand and arm, injured in battle when Crick was serving in Iraq. Crick's knitting was painful, stitch-by-fucking-stitch knitting, and while Deacon had gotten his first effort, Jeff had gotten his second, in forest green, and he wouldn't trade it for the world.
the Great-Big-Fat-Droolingand then Constantine-the
The last one, Jeff had knitted. He usually knit for charity or for friends or the people at work, but this one, he'd knitted for himself.
Jeff was really good at it. This was a complicated braid cable, in a handsome space-dyed wool/silk blend of subtle navy and charcoal with a hint of green every so often in the mix. He fingered the wool, liking the texture under his skin, and then sighed. So pretty—but it didn't go with his shirt.
He picked the eggplant one that Benny had knit him instead, even though she wouldn't be there to see it. God, he missed Benny—everyone at The Pulpit, Deacon and Crick's home, did. But Benny was down in SoCal, getting her education, and Deacon and Crick were here, being family to the rest of their odd assortment of people, and Jeff would have to settle for an evening after work, knitting with Benny's family, instead.
He was looking forward to it. Hell, he was dressing up for it. That would have to be enough.
Work was fun—some of his favorite patients were on the roster for that day, and he loved a good, chatting patient with