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the road or in the back of an ambulance."

"March," I said. "Just after your birthday. How does that sound?"

Owen kissed me, and I could feel his warm smile against my lips.

"Where are our witnesses?" my father called. He smiled broadly as we jumped apart. "Come on, now, you aren't thinking about following in our footsteps, are you? I thought you were much more independent than that."

"Oh, she is, believe me," Owen said.

We joined my parents outside. Traffic driving by honked congratulations as my parents posed under the sign. Finally, we raised plastic champagne flutes in a toast.

"To family – those lost, found, and forgiven," my father said.

"And to a happy future, together," I said, finally feeling whole and happy in the hot Vegas sunshine.

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JACKED

By Claire Adams

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams

Chapter One

Luke

Shrill laughter echoing from inside my place meant Ryan was trying to get laid... again. He had a habit of doing that at my house recently even though he only lived three feet from me in the other half of the house—a half with its own living room that was perfect for such activity.

“Dude, seriously?” I mumbled as I walked up the steps and pushed open the front door to my place. I shook my head when I found him on my couch covered with two girls—one brunette and one redhead. Ryan always did have a thing for redheads.

He grinned mischievously back at me. “What? Can you not see all this beauty?” he stroked the girls’ heads as they kissed on his face and neck.

“Yeah,” I shook my head again and headed for the stairs. “I can see it alright.”

“You not gonna join us?” the brunette asked. I knew I should know her name, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember it.

“No, but thanks for the offer. I have an early morning,” I responded before turning my attention to the man in the middle of the bimbo sandwich. “Ryan, try to keep it down, would ya?” I joked as I made my way to my room upstairs.

***

The next morning, I sat on the back porch drinking my coffee and mentally planning my day as I did most mornings. Today, my mind was racing more than usual, due mostly to the nine a.m. meeting I had with one of the region's most affluent high-end furniture stores. I loved my work, and I was damned good at it, or so my customers told me. Clearly, they weren’t the only ones who thought so since this meeting was happening. However, signing a deal to sell my custom furniture would put a measure of pressure on me that I wasn’t sure I wanted. If I signed a contract to sell the furniture I made in a high-end furniture store, would it then become work? Would it take away the passion I had for what I did? It weighed on me to the point that part of me considered canceling the meeting and continuing selling it the way I always had—by word of mouth—but I needed the guaranteed income it would bring to do what I wanted to do.

I was lost in thought when Ryan meandered out onto the porch and mumbled something about the workout and practice session we scheduled the afternoon after my meeting. Competition season was almost on us, and we had a Lumberjack Championship title to win back. Ryan and I had been competing since we were seventeen years old.

I acknowledged him and stood, watching the deer move over the hill, then he disappeared back into the house just as lazily as he’d come out.

I finished my coffee then walked inside, dropping my mug into the sink as I made my way to the bathroom to get ready. I turned the shower on to let the water warm up, then placed my hands on the sink counter and stared into the mirror, studying my reflection. My beard was getting a little long, but I didn’t have the time, nor did I want to shape it up. Besides, I didn’t see how the state of my grooming had anything to do with the quality of my furniture. They shouldn’t either.

I hopped in the shower and let the hot water stream over my shoulders and back, still thinking about what it would mean to get a contract to sell some of my furniture. If this worked out, it would give me the income to buy out Ryan’s half of the house. When we decided to buy the old farmhouse and turn it into a duplex, there was an understanding that the other person could buy out the loan and turn it into a single home. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the money to do it at the moment, so I had agreed when Ryan wanted to lease out his half for a year so he could move closer to the city and his job.

It didn’t take Ryan long to find someone to rent him out. The new tenant, Emerson, was expected to be arriving in a few days. It struck me to ask Ryan if he’d warned the poor guy about the noise I sometimes make when I’m working in my shop. Of course, any noise I might make would be nothing compared to the parties Ryan often held. And even though he was moving closer to the city, I knew he’d still be back here more weekends than not.