A warm welcome to author Tarian PS joining us today to share an exclusive excerpt of “Three Wrong Turns”
Welcome Tarian 🙂
BLURB
Pika never wanted to leave his Hawai’ian home, but his father ripped that from him. Now, every day, he lives under the threat of his ol’man’s fist and the toxic malediction from a new stepmother. He’s learned to cope within this hellish existence, while keeping all eyes out towards the horizon where his escape into freedom and a better life awaits him. He just needs to keep his head down low, long enough to finish school, then he’ll be free to get away forever. Adding to his responsibility, he does all he can to shield his new stepsister, Ripley, from the same suffering.
Upsetting the status quo, wouldn’t you know it? A cool, tall drink of Japan walked into his life, tempting his heart with an invitation of love, pointing the way towards a happy life, while putting him all that much more in danger.
The prospect of this new relationship is starting to strangle him, cornering him into a no-win situation, as he juggles between personal fulfillment and masking under isolation for the sake of self-preservation.
Coming-of-Age Gay Fiction / Drama / Teen Trauma / Mixed Race / Wallflower Teen / Surviving Abuse / Hawai’ian Culture & Language & Pidgin Dialect / Endure for a Better Life / Life Against all Odds / Psychological / Protects a Step-Sibling / First Dates / Toxic Home / Abuse / Trauma / Refuse to be Broken / Best of Best-friends / Love is a Simple Life / Overcoming Hate / Meet-Cute-First love / Everyone Can See It / Grief & Coping / Finding a New Beginning / Bittersweet Survival / Gut-wrenching / Ugly cries / Extensive Trigger Warnings / Bittersweet HEA / Hard Earned HEA
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REPEAT OIL-OFFENDER
The holidays were over, school was back in session and Pika was back at work and wouldn’t he know it, right there on day one, up rolls the royal blue Jag, again.
“Are you accusing me of doing a junk job?” Pika burned when the first thing out of the dude’s mouth was, he needed another oil change.
“Not at all. Only that my car needs oil again.” The smirk on his face rubbed Pika the wrong way. He probably thought he was being cute, but Pika didn’t find this funny at all. Infuriating was more like it.
Pika wrote up the ticket, then set up his station, not risking bothering Derick over it again. He knew what he’d say, right along with sending him off to deal with it and make sure to do it right. So that’s what he was going to do. Do the oil change and when done, double check his work so he could send this one on his way. “You’re supposed to go to the lobby.”
“The lobby is boring.”
Pika chewed the inside of his cheek a moment but decided not to bother and got to the task at hand. Though it was incredibly difficult working under the close scrutiny of kryptonite. Especially given the way it smiled the entire time.
Of the occasional glimpses he risked, Pika could make out the sharply dressed presence as if kryptonite belonged on one of those Asian boy-band acts or something similar he’d occasionally see something about when he was scrolling Facebook and someone in his news feed was fan-girling. For Pika, it meant the type he always wanted to send off for the lobby, so they wouldn’t get grim on their super white clothes.
Today was a dark blue suitcoat over a crisp white shirt with one of those Indian collars and black slacks. Glossy, gator skin-patterned pointed-toe derby shoes, peeked out from the cuff.
He was distracted by the loose drape of black hair. Pika had never seen him wear his hair down before. It ruffled just above his shoulder at right about where Pika imagined it would. His kryptonite leaned over the edge while Pika checked the filter and tested it for any leaks before actually pulling it. He bolted up and turned away to fetch the oil cart. Mister too-fond-of-himself-kryptonite hanging in his zone was bad enough— but far more frustrated with himself that he would even admit he’d spent any amount of time checking him out.
Dude was fucking with him and it was bound to get him in trouble at some point. But until Derick took issue with it, all Pika could do was complete the stinking oil change again. Derick was the one with a black uniform, not him. Pika’s orders were to say yes ma’am and yes sir. Nothing more.
“What school do you go to?”
Now this dude wanted to talk to him?
Pika stayed focused on the lift. He was so self-conscious he feared even putting the car right through the roof. It wasn’t possible but disappearing oil wasn’t supposed to happen either.
“I can’t work if you’re gonna keep talking to me.”
“It’s just one question.”
Pika rolled the oil catch into position then turned on him. “You’re supposed to be in the lobby. They yell at me if people don’t go where they’re supposed to.”
“If they don’t yell at you, then would you let me stay?”
“What are you doing?” the familiar boom of another was asking behind him.
Startled, Pika’s head near snapped off, he spun around so quick, finding his ol’man standing there leering at him.
“He came in said his oil was low.”
“You’re taking too much time. You got four more cars waiting to get in this bay. Stop talking to people who are supposed to be in the waitin’ room and get working.”
Before Pika could even shoot an, I told you so to the dude, his kryptonite was strolling off for the lobby, yet produced one last sauntering spin on his heels to grab a backward glance and share a glinting smile, signaling he was far from growing tired of his game.
Within the hour, Pika had the car zipped up and its driver back on the road with a fresh pan of oil and a five-point inspection for added customer satisfaction— and to cover his bum. Relieved to have him out the door, Pika quickly got on with the other waiting customers.
Car number four for the afternoon was happy and gone. He didn’t have anyone else lined up so when he saw Derick and Julio chatting up with a few of the other techs, he went over to join them.
Already, he could tell the conversation was about the latest boxing match. As a big fan, Julio was known for his commentary recaps. But what Pika wasn’t expecting was for a reenactment of the knockout scene just as he had stepped up.
The flying two punch fist, flashed with lightning reflex, moving just inside his peripheral. The reenactment was a spark to an already volatile bomb ticking away in his gut. It had not escaped Pika’s self-fear mongering that the blue Jaguar owner, making googly eyes with him, might catch the attention of his ol’man. It was all it would take for Harlon to start up with the typical homophobic accusations. And with already one reprimand from Harlon today, the sum of many parts was all too much for Pika to process.
He was all instinct when he shoved back, arms up to ward off a blow to his head. Then he lost his footing and went crashing backwards.
“Woah!” someone called, but he couldn’t right himself in time before colliding with an oil catcher then down to the floor in a puddle of black muck.
“Pika, you all right?”
Oil in and around his eyes stung worse than salt water to where he couldn’t open them and he waved whoever it was away.
“Did you have to hit him?” Bruce clamored.
“How could I?” Julio defended himself. “I’m standing five feet away.”
Pika waved another attempt off, slipping and skidding in the oil spill as he frantically tried to right himself on his own. He somehow finally made it to his feet, feeling the shame of his reaction perhaps more than anything else.
“I swear I didn’t touch him.”
Someone shoved a shop towel into his hands, and he used it to wipe the oil from his face and skulked off. He kept his head low, making his way to the locker room to change into a fresh jumpsuit.
Derick watched and worried over the kid. They’d all seen the bruises on him before and wondered, but this unnerved them more.
“My daughter served in the war in Syria and wasn’t the same when she came back. That there—” Bruce motioned his head after Pika’s vanishing direction, “looked like PTSD if I ever saw it.”
“Who do you think beats him?” Julio asked.
Derrick turned and all eyes followed to the tall hulking black man just walking back to his bay after having moved his last car of the day out.
From that day, the shop team started distancing themselves from Harlon. Then the whispers began. It didn’t help dispel the gossip that Pika was never seen chatting with, much less hanging around Harlon as most sons might have done. And Harlon never offered to help teach him, not even to micromanage as toxic fathers were apt to do.
Both Proud Indy Authors: Talon P.S. and his twin, Tarian P.S., love to torment their editor with a nefarious world of foreign-lang, slang, local dialect, stretched/outside-of-the-box synonyms, as well as having been known to throw in some con-lang at times. This, of course, is all thrown in there with the dyslexia soup stock they both suffer from that makes editing with them a joy {joy: n see mental illness}.
However, the final products comes out as richly detailed holographic worlds of both Gay/MM and Het/MF Erotic Romance; Paranormal, Sci-fi, and War time Romances; and along with Talon’s favorite Space Sci-Fi Frontiers and Tarian’s favorite works of Post-Apocalyptic Dark Fantasies, all for readers to submerse themselves into and escape from the mundane.
So be sure to have your reading glasses ready and block out some private time on your schedule, because…
