Gnarly Read online

  Gnarly

  By Mickie B. Ashling

  Dr. Ed Hollingsworth, widowed for five years, returns to San Sebastián, Spain, after a thirty-year absence. He seeks out his first and only male lover, pro surfer Javi Elizalde.

  After surviving a near-fatal shark attack, Javi turned his back on the sport he loves and became a recluse.

  Iker Lizaso, professional jai alai player, finds himself at loose ends now that his contract has expired. Forced to retire at thirty-eight, he returned to his home in the Basque Country to figure out what to do with the rest of his life.

  Three different men, encumbered by their past, converge in a city famous for its food, summer festivals, and romantic promenades. Can they find happiness together? It’ll be difficult, maybe even improbable, considering their backgrounds, but Cupid’s arrow usually hits the mark, and this particular strike might be epic.

  World of Love: Stories of romance that span every corner of the globe.

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Acknowledgments

  San Sebastián, Spain: August 2016

  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

  Chicago, Illinois: December 2016

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  More from Mickie B. Ashling

  About the Author

  By Mickie B. Ashling

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  SAN SEBASTIÁN, Spain, the setting for this novella, is home to a branch of my Basque family. I had the opportunity to visit for six enjoyable weeks last summer and left with great memories and an arsenal of plot bunnies. Researching this story was fun, thanks to my cousins’ gracious hospitality and firsthand knowledge of the area.

  As always, a special nod of thanks to my friend, Jeannie, for helping me prepare my manuscript for submission, and to my readers for continuing to support my work.

  San Sebastián, Spain: August 2016

  Chapter 1

  THE PLANE landed with a reassuring thud, and Ed Hollingsworth released a shaky breath. He clutched the padded armrests, retaining a death grip on the faux leather as the plane careened down the short runway while the pilot slammed on the brakes and switched the engines to reverse thrust. The protesting roar filled the cabin until they finally lurched to an abrupt stop.

  Made it. Thank fuck.

  Blood rushed to his cheeks when he realized the flight attendant was watching him, eyebrows knitted in sympathy. A sheepish smile did nothing to dispel his embarrassment at being noticed while he was in the throes of another meltdown. It was astonishing that a man of his caliber—who purportedly had ice water running through his veins—turned into the world’s biggest pussy the moment he stepped foot on an airplane. The only thing that prevented him from having a full-blown panic attack before, during, and after boarding was the antianxiety tablet, and even that didn’t work unless he followed it up with a few shots of whiskey. He knew better than to mix booze and pills, but his fear of flying was completely irrational, and no amount of therapy could convince him that, statistically, he was more likely to be run over by a bus than die in a plane crash.

  Nonetheless, putting his life in the hands of some random stranger, who might or might not be having a good day, was part of his phobia. Ed was used to being in charge, and he couldn’t do squat from where he sat. What in hell had he been thinking? Just because he’d spent the best summer of his life lying around the beaches in and around San Sebastián, that was no guarantee he’d be able to step back in time and get his mojo back.

  Back in the summer of 1986, he was twenty-two, with a newly minted bachelor’s degree in science and poised to begin his first year of medical school at Harvard that fall. He and three good friends had embarked on a European holiday, intent on living it up before settling down to eight hellish years learning the ins and outs of human anatomy, pain management, and the repairing of broken and/or diseased bodies. They’d heard the horror stories from other med students and were certain they needed the trip to recharge their mental batteries before grueling schedules took over every waking moment.

  They’d bought Eurail passes and began their tour in Sweden, intent on finding out firsthand if the gorgeous blondes featured in the latest edition of Playboy magazine were, in fact, truth and not illusions created by Hugh Hefner’s talented photographers. The women actually existed, and aside from being beautiful, they were fun-loving and free-spirited. They were happy to show Ed and his buddies the best time of their lives. The girls had even consented to accompany the group as they made their way toward the warmer Mediterranean countries.

  Sounds of energetic sex coming from the four-berth couchette compartment became as commonplace as the rhythmic clacking of wheels while the train sped toward Spain. After several days in Madrid, the group headed toward Seville. The weeklong feria, so much a part of summer in the sun-drenched Iberian Peninsula, drew foreigners in droves, and Ed and his companions joined in the rowdy festivities. Soon the lazy days and boozy nights blended into each other, and he found himself distracted, searching for something so nebulous he couldn’t put his finger on it. Sex with Inga, his Swedish bedmate, had grown stale, disappointing them both. Although she was an inventive and eager lover, Ed found himself drifting off midway through their sessions. Frustrated, she’d suggested a three-way, and he nodded distractedly, expecting her to show up with a curvy brunette to complement her classic Nordic beauty.

  The next evening, Inga came through, but instead of coaxing another female into their bed, she’d found a muscle-bound surfer named Javier. Ed’s brain leaked out his ears when the bearded stud walked through the door. The possibility he might be bisexual had never occurred to Ed, and he was as surprised as everyone else when his libido reacted positively to Inga’s new friend. After handshakes were exchanged, Ed reached for the booze, sucking down some cheap local wine to work up the courage he’d need to participate in this new arrangement. He had no idea how all the pieces were supposed to fit, but his cock figured things out long before the rest of him caught up. Soon it became apparent that Javier was the magical ingredient Ed needed to stay engaged.

  What Inga probably hadn’t counted on was the possibility she’d end up a third wheel. Little by little, the attraction between Ed and Javi grabbed hold and Inga was shut out. Reluctantly, she opted to head home instead of getting in the way of a blooming romance.

  What came next was a complete surprise to the tight-knit group, but judgmental comments from Ed’s straight companions were withheld. One of the parameters of the holiday had been the freedom to pursue their heart’s desire without fear of repercussions. Whatever happened in Europe would remain a closely guarded secret.

  Ed decided to leave the group, blaming his desertion on Javi’s band of dedicated surfing buddies who were determined to pursue the ultimate wave as they made the trip up the coast back to their homes in northern Spain. Ed promised to rejoin the group in Stockholm for their flight home in late August. After heartfelt goodbyes, Ed picked up his gear and piled into the VW van with the rest of the surfing aficionados.

  Javi Elizalde hailed from San Sebastián, a coastal city on the Bay of Biscay, in the center of Basque Country. Hi
s parents owned a bar in town and made a good living catering to the tourists who frequented the area during the summer months, culminating in the International Film Festival in September, which drew the rich and famous from all over the globe.

  Ed’s surfing knowledge was bare bones, loosely based on the top-forty hits generated by The Beach Boys. Their catchy renditions reflected the California culture of surfing, cars, and romance. In truth, Ed was mystified by the dangerous sport, and he knew close to nothing about the Basque people. Javi changed all of that in the span of six weeks.

  Risking his life on several occasions as he learned the rudiments of the sport, Ed immersed himself in their thrill-seeking, nomadic lifestyle. It was exhilarating and the wildest thing he’d ever done in his short and regulated life. Evenings were spent chatting with new friends, barhopping, and sampling the wide variety of freshly made pintxos—known as tapas to the rest of the world—before tumbling into bed during the wee hours of the morning to learn another skill he never thought he’d enjoy. Sex with Javi was a total revelation and as exciting and dangerous as riding a killer wave.

  In the eighties, gay men all over the world were dying from an unspeakable illness. Ed was vaguely aware of the magnitude of the problem, but having never been in a homosexual relationship or around the gay community in general, the imminent threat to him wasn’t real. When he began his relationship with Javi, word had spread about the advantages of condom use with regards to the HIV virus. Ed’s natural inclination toward caution and responsibility overrode his sudden impulsive streak, and he insisted they take all necessary precautions, a decision he would never regret.

  By the time he left Javi’s bed to rejoin the world he’d left behind, it was with an altered perception of his sexuality. Getting his degree in medicine was still a priority, but the wife, two kids, and white picket fence had faded into the background. Unfortunately, this new insight lasted as long as his suntan. The minute he stepped foot on the Harvard campus, Ed’s brain rebooted back to his predictable normal. All that remained of his summer interlude was a new appreciation for Spanish food and the ocean. Any thoughts of taking up with another man were obliterated when Carol Whitehall asked him for a copy of his notes on vitiligo and autoimmune diseases. Aside from her winning smile, she was brilliant, competitive, and determined to find a cure for a number of deadly diseases. Her audacious statement about winning a Nobel Prize one day lured Ed as effectively as any aphrodisiac. They married before he started his fellowship and became parents of twin boys nine months later. Carol’s lofty goals were shelved in favor of motherhood.

  Theirs had been a happy and fruitful partnership, built on love and respect, but it had ended when Carol died of brain cancer at forty-seven. Ed took on the role of single parent with determination and had juggled career and fatherhood as best as possible. Now the boys were in college, and Ed was faced with an empty house and, even worse, a vacancy where his heart used to be full.

  Work had been an antidote but not the solution. Eventually Ed conceded he was sinking into depression. Rather than using drugs to climb out of the dark hole, he decided a trip back to the Basque Country, the same place he’d found peace and contentment thirty years ago, might be a better alternative. If nothing else, sitting on a beach and staring out at the waves would be a nice change of pace. Perhaps he might even take up surfing again. It should be a remembered skill, as simple as riding a bike, he thought ruefully. Other than the fact that his bones and muscles were three decades older—and one bad wipeout could be the end of his career—what did he have to lose?

  The pilot announced their arrival at San Sebastián airport and thanked the passengers for their patronage. Ed finally uncurled his fingers, flexing them a few times to get some feeling back, unbuckled his seat belt, and stood to grab his carryall from the overhead bin. He made his way down the aisle, thanking the crew for getting him safely to his destination. Now that he was back on terra firma, he could crack a smile and joke with the flight attendant about his near hysterics while in the air. Until the next time.

  San Sebastián was a “walking city” according to his travel agent when he’d inquired about car rentals. Pedestrians and bicyclists had their designated lanes and most people in the know didn’t bother renting a car unless they planned an out-of-town trip. Monthly parking rates were outrageous—when a spot could be found—and street parking was nonexistent. Ed vaguely remembered going everywhere on foot, but that had been decades ago, and he’d assumed things had changed. Apparently progress in the Basque Country moved at a glacier pace.

  He took a taxi into the city, giving the driver the address of the apartment he’d rented for six weeks. Testing out his rusty Spanish, Ed attempted a conversation and asked the Spaniard questions about the weather. Big mistake. A dissertation on global warming spewed out of the guy’s mouth, and Ed could only understand every third word. He smiled and nodded at appropriate intervals, hoping his linguistic fail would go unnoticed. The summer rental he’d chosen was in the Gros district, closer to Zurriola Beach than La Concha Beach, the more popular tourist attraction. His choice had been strictly emotional. Javi’s parents had lived and worked in Gros, and although Ed had no illusions that he’d actually bump into Javi and, if he did, that either of them would be interested in picking up where they’d left off, the streets themselves were familiar and it was comforting in and of itself.

  The seven-story building with a brick façade on Paseo de Colón was new—compared to the other structures on the street—and was a block parallel to Avenida Zurriola, the busy thoroughfare fronting the beach. Ed was optimistic when his keys fit the main entrance and the elevator worked. The two-bedroom apartment he’d rented looked exactly as it had appeared on the WeNeedaVacation website. Too often in the past, he’d been disappointed by smoke and mirrors, but that wasn’t the case this time: comfortable, sleek beige and white furnishings, up-to-date kitchen appliances, and a stacked washer and dryer—the biggest selling point—were there as promised. There was even a fancy coffee maker with a glass container of ground beans close at hand.

  He decided to make a small pot, hoping it would help him stay awake until nightfall. Beating jet lag was always tricky. Due to his fear of flying, he hadn’t slept a wink on the plane and had been basically thrumming with apprehension since leaving Chicago almost twelve hours ago. Exhaustion had replaced the adrenaline that had been fueling him, and it would be much easier to dive under the crisp sheets, but then he’d be up at two in the morning with nothing to do. If he could stay awake a few more hours and then sleep straight through till morning, he’d be ahead of the game.

  While his coffee was brewing, he rummaged through his suitcase, pulling out a pair of shorts and a collared polo shirt. The temps were in the low seventies according to his phone, and he was eager to shed the clothes he’d been wearing since leaving home. He showered, dressed quickly, slipped on a pair of boat shoes sans socks, and headed back out to the kitchen.

  The strong Spanish coffee was exactly what he needed to restart his flagging engines. After downing two cups, he grabbed his keys and let himself out, making sure to lock the door. An unseen force was compelling him toward Elizalde Bar on Kalea Miguel Imaz, though he doubted Javi’s parents would still be running the place. Their son had been twenty-two when Ed met the couple, and even if they had been in their early forties at the time, they’d be in their seventies now and too old to manage the grueling work. Still, there was always a slim chance he’d see a familiar face.

  Coming to San Sebastián had been a snap decision based on need. He was tired of feeling hopeless and thinking his life was over. He was a man in his prime, a successful and dedicated anesthesiologist, working at a prestigious hospital in Chicago, Illinois. The world was truly his oyster if he could just get his heart and mind in sync. His wife’s death didn’t have to signal the end of his life.

  Amazingly, Elizalde Bar was exactly where it was supposed to be. The atmosphere was also the same, and his gaze flicked from patrons to
bartender, hoping to recognize an old friend. There was a white-haired gentleman drying glasses and a man and woman serving drinks and plating pintxos. The couple didn’t look familiar, but there was something about the old guy that pulled him closer.

  “¿Una cerveza, por favor?” Ed asked in stilted Spanish.

  “¿Que marca?”

  Stumped, Ed shrugged, hoping the bartender would realize he didn’t know enough about Spanish beers to make an informed decision. When the guy threw out a few names, Ed latched on to the first.

  “Alhambra,” he said.

  “Vale.” The bartender disappeared for a moment and returned with a longneck and an ice-cold glass. He placed them both in front of Ed, added a small plate of salted peanuts, and moved on to the next customer.

  As Ed poured the cold brew into his glass, he noticed the senior he’d spotted earlier moving toward him cautiously. When he was directly in front, his eyes widened and he smiled, displaying his sparkling white dentures.

  “¿Edu?” he ventured.

  Ed’s shock at hearing the nickname Javi had bestowed on him was compounded by relief when he stared into the now familiar face of Patxi Elizalde, Javi’s father.

  “Sí.” Ed nodded, returning the smile. “¿Que tal, Patxi?”

  The old man sidled around the dark wood separating them. He reached Ed, took him into his arms, and embraced him like an old friend. He thumped him on his back several times, murmuring words Ed could barely make out. When he finally let him go and stepped back, Ed caught the sheen in the old man’s eyes.

  “How have you been?” Patxi asked, continuing in Spanish.

  “I’m fine,” Ed replied, doing his best to remember all the words. “Is Javi around?”

  Patxi’s smile faded and he shook his head. “Javi isn’t well.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Ed said quickly. “What’s wrong with him? May I visit?”