Long the Mile

Riptide Publishing

PO Box 6652

Hillsborough, NJ 08844

http://www.riptidepublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Long the Mile

Copyright © 2013 by Ally Blue

Smashwords Edition

Cover Art by L.C. Chase, http://lcchase.com/design.htm

Editor: Sarah Frantz

Layout: L.C. Chase, http://lcchase.com/design.htm

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at marketing@riptidepublishing.com.

ISBN: 978-1-62649-081-9

First edition

November, 2013

Also available in paperback, as part of the Home for the Holidays collection:

ISBN: 978-1-62649-083-3

ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED:

We thank you kindly for purchasing this title. Your non-refundable purchase legally allows you to replicate this file for your own personal reading only, on your own personal computer or device. Unlike paperback books, sharing ebooks is the same as stealing them. Please do not violate the author’s copyright and harm their livelihood by sharing or distributing this book, in part or whole, for fee or free, without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner. We love that you love to share the things you love, but sharing ebooks—whether with joyous or malicious intent—steals royalties from authors’ pockets and makes it difficult, if not impossible, for them to be able to afford to keep writing the stories you love. Piracy has sent more than one beloved series the way of the dodo. We appreciate your honesty and support.

Twenty percent of all proceeds from this title are donated to the Ali Forney Center in New York.

The mission of the Ali Forney Center is to protect lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, questioning (LGBTQ) youth from the harm of homelessness, and to support them in becoming safe and independent as they move from adolescence to adulthood.

To learn more about this charity or to donate directly, please visit their website: http://www.aliforneycenter.org/.

Sometimes it takes losing everything to find what you really need.

When Judah went to prison for insider trading, he lost everything he thought was important: his business, his money, his power. But when he gets out, homelessness strips him of the one thing he has left: his self-respect. When another homeless man saves him from a beating, he begins to learn to rely on the goodness of those around him.

For Toby, life on the streets has become familiar. Comfortable. So comfortable he wonders if he’s given up on changing his life for the better. Then comes Judah. Formerly rich, newly homeless, all his pride and attitude gone along with his material possessions. Helping Judah feels good. Their unexpected connection—physical and beyond—feels even better.

Their shared situation nurtures a growing closeness that blossoms into something deeper. But when change comes knocking, it will take all their strength to keep fear and insecurity from tearing them apart.

To everyone who bought this book. Thank you for making a difference!

About our Charity

About Long the Mile

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

Dear Reader

Also by Ally Blue

About the Author

More like this

The bus dropped Judah Jackson off at the Coxe Avenue stop in Asheville, North Carolina, with a bag containing two pairs of pants, a shirt, the underwear and socks his lawyer had brought him when he’d been released from prison, and three hundred dollars in cash.

He made his way up to Patton Avenue and stood on the corner waiting for the walk signal with a group of people who looked like tourists. They eyed him with caution, and he hunched his shoulders, embarrassed. Prison hadn’t done his appearance any favors.

The apartment he’d rented via email was only a few blocks away, just down the road from the Civic Center. It wasn’t exactly what he’d been used to before prison, but his business and the majority of his personal assets had been seized as part of his sentence, including his penthouse condo atop the Kress building in the heart of the city. He had to pass right by it on the way to his new place. Looking up at the stately old structure with its art deco carvings and huge arched windows hurt. After paying his team of lawyers, he had less than two thousand dollars to his name. He could no longer afford Kress building real estate.

He stifled a bitter laugh as he started across the parking lot toward the building where he’d been reduced to living. All that money, and the idiots hadn’t even been able to get his sentence lessened. They’d shrugged and said the courts were cracking down on insider trading and wanted to make an example of him, and they’d done all they could.

Judah didn’t buy it. His team hadn’t put in their best effort, and he’d paid the price for it.

But that was in the past. He’d served his sentence, and he was free now. Free to rebuild his brand and the fortune he’d begun to accumulate before everything went to hell. He’d done it before—turned himself from a kid with nothing but ideas and ambition into an entrepreneur with one of the fastest growing businesses in the country. He could do it again.

A few yards short of the apartment building door, a man walked up and planted himself directly in front of Judah. Hey, man. I’m out of work and I need money. You got anything I can do for you? I’ll work for food. Whatever you want me to do.

Judah studied the young man—about Judah’s height, a little too thin, sandy hair falling in waves to the shoulders of a well-worn blue T-shirt. A ragged blond beard and mustache framed a wide mouth, and large gray eyes squinted at Judah between thick, pale lashes. The man smiled, obviously hopeful, and shuffled from one foot to another. His jeans and sneakers both had holes in them.

Judah knew a homeless person when he saw one. They’d accosted him plenty of times in the past. Normally he ignored them. He’d especially like to ignore this one and the reminder he carried with him of the narrow ledge Judah inhabited these days, but this man apparently was not going to give him that option.

Fine.

Judah sneered, knowing exactly how cruel he looked when he did it. The only thing you can do for me is get out of my way and go back to whatever bridge you’re sleeping under. He skirted around the man, deliberately not looking at the flush of color in his cheeks or the way his head hung down. And take a bath, for Christ’s sake. You smell.

He didn’t, actually, but some cold, angry corner of Judah’s psyche made him want to lash out. To hurt someone else. Maybe transfer some of his own unfocused fear to them. Because the plain, unwelcome fact was that he’d never been more scared in his life.

I’m sorry, man.

The words stopped Judah in his tracks, one hand on the door handle. He didn’t want to turn around, but he did it anyway, because . . . Well, honestly, he couldn’t remember anyone ever saying sorry to him without equal parts terror and resentment behind it, and he wanted to know what honest regret looked like.

The homeless guy stood there, watching him with something uncomfortably like pity on his face. Through all the struggles and triumphs of his life, Judah couldn’t remember anyone ever pitying him. The unexpected sympathy—from a stranger, no less—triggered a war of conflicting emotions in Judah’s gut. Embarrassment, anger, and a whiff of gratitude he hardly liked to acknowledge wound themselves together until he could barely tell which was which.

He shook his head, as if he could physically rattle his worldview back into place. What?

I said I’m sorry. The man shrugged. Look, obviously you’re having a bad time. It fucks with your head, right? I’ve been there, man. I get it. Happens to all of us sometimes. A smile lit up the stranger’s face, turning it from average to handsome. I hope things get better for you. Peace.

Judah just stared, shocked into silence, as the man turned and sauntered away. The worn-out jeans clung to his thighs, emphasizing the flex of his muscles as he walked, and the sun caught on the strands of gold in his hair.

I am eyeing up a homeless man. The thought shook Judah into motion. He yanked open the door and stomped inside. The sooner he got settled into his new place, the sooner he could begin moving back up in the world and rid himself of the dread lingering like a poisonous aftertaste on the back of his tongue.

Tobias Simonsen walked away from this latest humiliation with jaw tight and hands clenched into fists at his sides. He’d done the right thing by wishing the guy well—the fear had shown right through the worn-thin mask of superiority he’d tried to wear—but damn, it was hard. Anger churned in his stomach, the way it did every time some jerk looked at him like being homeless made him less than human. He was working on overcoming that.

Hector Poole was waiting on the sidewalk at the corner, grinning. Hey, Toby.

Toby eyed his friend with deep suspicion. What?

Nothin’, man. Just figured we could walk up to the church together. Hector fell into step beside Toby as he started toward the center of town. It’s almost dinnertime. Father Bill’s expecting us to help out.

Yeah, I know. He forced a smile for Hector, who he’d known since the first night he’d slept on the street, over a year ago. I could use the company. Thanks.

Sure thing. Scratching the black stubble on his neck, Hector glanced back toward the apartment building behind them. So. Nothing from Richie Rich then, huh?

Toby scowled. He said I needed a bath.

Seriously? Hector turned and walked backward for a few steps, apparently just so he could glare at the asshole stranger’s building. "Dude, you’re not letting that bother you, are you?"

Toby shrugged. He wanted to say no, but he’d never been good at lying.

Hector groaned. Jesus Christ. You don’t stink, you fucking idiot.

I know, okay? I showered this morning at the shelter. MayBelle even let me wash my clothes. Toby rubbed his beard, trying to work out why he’d felt so embarrassed about a stupid insult when he knew damn well it was just the other guy lashing out at the world. I don’t know why it bothered me. It just did.

Probably ’cause the dude was hot, and he shot you down. Hector shook his head.