Making It Forever E-Book

Luke Jameson

• Herausgeber: Cruz Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

“Being rich isn't about the things we have, but about the love we share.”
In a world where wealth reigns supreme, Ezra Bennett, a former Olympian haunted by a career-ending injury, finds himself in the orbit of Gabriel Monroe—a billionaire influencer. While Gabriel basks in the glow of affluence and success, Ezra navigates the shadows, working as a janitor within Gabriel's glittering empire.
Their lives couldn't be further apart—Gabriel, a symbol of power and privilege, and Ezra, a man molded by adversity and the stark realities of poverty. Fate, however, orchestrates an unexpected convergence. As Ezra toils amidst Gabriel's lavish world, an invisible thread weaves between them—a connection fueled by Ezra's silent admiration, stark contrasts, and a shared understanding born from vastly different worlds colliding. Will Ezra and Gabriel defy the boundaries set by society's hierarchy, or will the gaping divide between their lives extinguish the spark of their unlikely romance? 
Making It Forever is a steamy story about two men, total opposites, who discover love is more important than anything else in the world. It’s the seventh book in the Making It series, and it may be read as a standalone story. 
 

Leseprobe

MAKING IT FOREVER

A GAY ROMANCE

THE MAKING IT SERIES

BOOK 6

IAN O. LEWIS

WITHLUKE JAMESON

EDITED BYBEVERLY RODARTE

Copyright © 2023 by Ian O. Lewis

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction and any similarities with actual people, settings, and events is a coincidence.

CONTENTS

Prologue

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

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Ian O. Lewis

PROLOGUE

EZRA- ONE YEAR AGO

The arena buzzed with anticipation as I stepped onto the mat, the familiar scent of chalk and adrenaline enveloping me.

“I can do this,” I muttered. Cameras were everywhere, and the crowd was decidedly rooting for the USA, despite the Olympics being in Mexico City.

I glanced up to where my folks were sitting. They’d sacrificed so much for me to be here, and if I failed, I’d never forgive myself for letting them down. Even if I only won the bronze medal, the money I’d make in endorsements would allow me to take care of my parents for the rest of their lives.

“This is it,” I breathed.

It was the culmination of years of training, sacrifice, and unwavering dedication. The only reason I was here was the many scholarships I’d been awarded. My Dad could never have afforded the many coaches I’d been through, and Mom hadn’t the resources either. She’d worked my entire life as a maid in a hotel, while Dad took one odd job after another. I nodded in their direction, then I took a deep breath, letting the roar of the crowd wash over me like a tidal wave of support and pressure.

Suddenly, I realized the roar of the crowd had morphed into a chant.

“E-Z-R-A, all the way! Fly high, soar strong, seize the day! In rings of steel, you’ll find your way, E-Z-R-A, seize the day!”

I bit my lip to keep from grinning like the village idiot. Jesus, I can’t believe these people were chanting my name.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please! Let us give our full respect and attention to our athlete as he takes to the rings. Quiet, please! Let’s allow him to focus and perform at his best.” The announcer said over the intercom. A few moments later, I applied chalk to my hands and said a brief prayer.

My heart pounded in rhythm with the pulsing energy of the arena as I approached the rings.

“You’ve got this Ezra!” A lone voice shouted.

“If the audience interrupts one more time, we will clear the arena.” The announcer scolded the fans.

I took a deep breath and launched myself onto the rings, my body soaring through the air with ease. The cheers and chants from the crowd faded into the background as my focus narrowed solely on the task at hand.

My routine was a blur of flips, twists, and strength moves. Each swing of the rings felt effortless, as if I was being guided by some higher force. But despite my fluid movements, fear still gnawed at me from within.

What if I fail? What if I can’t hold on? These thoughts raced through my mind as I continued my routine. The rings were my least favorite event, and I loved the floor routine the most. Unlike tumbling, the rings seemed to taunt me, threatening to slip out of my grasp at any moment.

But then something shifted halfway through my routine. Maybe it was the unwavering support from the crowd or the words of encouragement from my coach echoing in my head, but suddenly, I felt more confident.

I pushed away all thoughts of failure and focused solely on each movement as it came. My muscles burned with exertion, but I refused to let go.

As I approached the last moments of my routine, I felt the energy and adrenaline pumping through my veins. One more swing, one more flip, and then it would be time for my dismount.

But then everything went wrong.

My hands slipped, and in that split second, I knew I was going to fall.

“Shit,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

My mind raced as I tried to think of a way to save myself, but it was too late. With a loud thud, I hit the mat below me and searing pain erupted in my wrist.

I couldn’t even suppress the scream that tore from my throat as tears streamed down my face.

“Stay still, Ezra. We’re going to get you some help,” a concerned voice said, breaking through the haze of pain.

I tried to nod in response, but the throbbing ache in my wrist made even the slightest movement unbearable. Tears continued to stream down my face as I struggled to remain composed.

“What happened out there?” another voice asked, this one more authoritative. “Did you feel dizzy or disoriented before you fell?”

I shook my head weakly, my breaths coming in quick gasps. “No, I just... slipped. I don’t know what went wrong.”

“We need to get him to the medical team right away,” the authoritative voice said, urgency clear in their tone.

Hands gently lifted me onto a stretcher, and I winced as the movement sent fresh waves of pain through my injured wrist. The crowd’s cheers and chants had long faded into the background, replaced by the sounds of concerned murmurs and hurried footsteps.

As they wheeled me towards the medical station, I couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment that weighed heavily on me. I’d trained so hard for this moment, only to have it slip away in an instant.

“Hey, Ezra,” a familiar voice said beside me. It was my coach, his expression a mix of concern and encouragement. “You gave it your all out there. It was just an unfortunate accident.”

I tried to muster a smile at his words, but could only manage a grimace through the pain. “I know, Coach. But I feel like I let everyone down.”

“You didn’t let anyone down,” he reassured me firmly. “Injuries are part of the sport, and we’ll work through this together. Your safety and well-being are what matter most.”

His words offered some comfort amid the chaos of the arena. I closed my eyes, focusing on his steady presence beside me as we made our way towards the medical team.

“Don’t move,” someone said firmly as they began gently assessing my wrist. Every touch felt like fire against my skin and I gritted my teeth to stop myself from crying out again.

“Can you feel this?” Another voice asked as they pressed on different areas of my wrist.

“Yeah,” I choked out through clenched teeth.

“That’s a good sign,” they said reassuringly before continuing their examination.

But all I could think about was how this would affect my future in gymnastics. Would this injury be enough to end everything? The thought alone sent shivers down my spine, and tears threatened again.

“Ezra Bennet is being taken backstage for further treatment.” The announcer stated. “We will continue the competition in five minutes. Will the Japanese coach please have their athlete ready by then.”

* * *

As the paramedics loaded me into the back of the ambulance, my mind filled with questions. The pain in my wrist was now a constant throbbing ache, and I wondered how bad the injury was.

The paramedics were speaking to each other in rapid Spanish, and I felt frustrated since I couldn’t communicate with them. I’d taken Spanish classes in high school, but right now, I couldn’t recall any of it.

“Umm...do you guys speak English?” I finally asked tentatively.

One of the paramedics turned to me with a confused expression before shaking his head.

“Just great,” I muttered under my breath.

I glanced around the ambulance, taking in the medical equipment and supplies surrounding me. It only made me feel more overwhelmed and helpless.

“The hospital...how far is it?” I asked, hoping they would understand at least that one question.

The paramedic looked at me with a sympathetic expression before responding in Spanish.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” I said, feeling frustrated tears prick at my eyes.

The paramedic nodded before rummaging through one of the cabinets and pulling out a small notepad and pen. He quickly scribbled something down and handed it to me.

“Thank you,” I said gratefully as I read the words “10 minutes” written on the paper.

Despite the language barrier, the paramedics were gentle and efficient as they examined my injury. They wrapped my wrist in a temporary splint before putting in an IV line for pain medication.

“Tú vas a estar bien,” one of the paramedics said softly. “You be okay.”

* * *

Fear and disappointment overwhelmed me as I lay in the hospital bed. My wrist was still throbbing, but the pain medication had taken the edge off. But what was hurting more than my physical injury was the thought that my dreams of Olympic gold were over.

I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. But it felt like a heavy weight was crushing my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Suddenly, the door to my hospital room opened, and I saw my coach enter, followed by what appeared to be a doctor.

“Ezra, how are you feeling?” My coach asked in a concerned tone.

“I’m... okay,” I replied hesitantly.

“My name is Doctor Rodriguez,” the doctor introduced himself, and I was relieved that he spoke English. “Your wrist has been severely fractured, young man, and it will require surgery. We can do it here, but you’d probably be better off flying home and having it done by a physician you know and trust.”

My heart sank as he spoke, knowing that this meant even more time away from the sport I loved.

“But what about my career? Will I still be able to compete?” I asked, praying this setback was only temporary.

“Son, I hate to tell you this, but you’ll never be able to compete again.” My coach ruffled my hair, and I noticed his eyes were wet.

Tears welled up in my eyes as reality hit me like a ton of bricks. My Olympic dream was dead before it even had a chance to come true.

“But... but there has to be something we can do,” I pleaded with desperation in my voice.

My coach put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Ezra, we’ll explore your options once I return to the states after the competition is over. But for now, you need to focus on your health. Your parents are outside and want to see you. They’ll take you back home and take care of you.”

A sob escaped me. Not only were my dreams dead, but so were my parents. They’d sacrificed so much, and it was all for nothing.

“What the hell am I going to do now?”

CHAPTER1

EZRA

My breath formed clouds in the frosty morning air, each exhale a reminder of the chill settling in my bones. With each stride along the gravel path that looped through Byrd Park, I couldn’t help but compare that solitary run to the rigorous training sessions of my past. My muscular physique still cut a formidable figure, but where there had once been the promise of Olympic gold, now there was only the rhythmic thud of my sneakers against the pavement and the hollow ache of what could have been.

I tried to focus on the present—the way the early sunlight dappled through the leaves, the distant chatter of birds beginning their day—but memories intruded unbidden. The roar of an ecstatic crowd, the surge of adrenaline as I won event after event, and then the shattering pain that tore through my wrist, killing my dreams in one final blow.

Now, I ran not towards victory but away from the specter of my old identity. Each step was a search for a new sense of self, for something beyond the accolades and the intensity of competition that had defined me for so long. 

As my run wound down, I slowed to a walk. I made my way to Percolate, a local coffee shop that had become a refuge of normality. Here, no one knew of my shattered dreams or the medals that gathered dust in a box beneath my bed. I was just another customer enjoying the simple pleasure of a steaming cup of coffee.

The bell above the door chimed as I entered, and I chose a table in the corner, far from the morning bustle, and sipped my black coffee, appreciating its robust flavor and the warmth it spread through my hands.

Gazing out of the window, I watched as people passed by, absorbed in the mundanities of their daily lives. No one moved with the precision of an athlete; their motions were unhurried, purposeful but not driven by the ticking clock of competition. A pang of wistfulness hit me—I missed the exhilaration, the camaraderie, the sense of being part of something bigger than myself.

But as I sat there, surrounded by the comforting hum of conversation and the occasional clink of porcelain, I allowed myself to wonder if perhaps there was glory in the quiet too. Maybe there was strength to be found not in the leaps and bounds of a race well run, but in the gentle steps of a journey just begun.

The sharp click of a mug being set down on the tabletop pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up to find Sarah Rodriguez standing before me, her kind eyes meeting mine with an understanding that seemed to reach into my very soul. We’d been close in high school, but my Olympic dreams had kept us apart.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, her voice as warm as the coffee I cradled between my hands.

“Of course not,” I replied, gesturing to the chair across from me. “Jesus, I haven’t seen you in forever.” The morning light streaming through the window played in her long brown hair, giving her an almost ethereal glow.

Sarah sat down, her posture relaxed yet attentive. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around to help you more after your injury,” she began, her tone gentle. “I can only imagine what you’re going through.”

I exhaled slowly. Admitting vulnerability wasn’t something I was accustomed to, but Sarah’s presence made it feel like the most natural thing in the world. “It’s been tough,” I admitted. “Sports was my life, and now...” My voice trailed off as I stared into the dark liquid in my cup, seeing my distorted reflection staring back.

“Life has a way of throwing us curveballs,” Sarah murmured. “But remember, it’s not just about the fall—it’s about how you get back up.”

I chuckled without humor. “Not sure where to get up to. Everything I knew, everything I was working towards, is gone.”

“Maybe this is your chance to discover new parts of yourself, Ezra. Parts that were overshadowed by your athletic career.” Sarah’s gaze held mine, unwavering in her belief. Then she reached across the table and took my hand. Sarah slowly turned it over, examining the scar from my surgery.

“Easy for you to say,” I countered, my frustration surfacing despite my efforts to keep it at bay. Pulling my hand out of hers, I put it in my lap, out of sight.

“True, I haven’t walked in your shoes, but I’ve had my share of challenges,” she responded, a smile touching the corners of her lips. “Challenges that forced me to grow in ways I never expected.”

I leaned back, absorbing her words. The idea of growth felt foreign, yet the seed of curiosity was planted. “And what if I try to and fail?” I asked, a flicker of fear passing through my eyes. “I’m pretty damn good at the failure part.”

“Then you’ll try again,” Sarah said firmly. “Failure isn’t the end, Ezra. It’s part of the journey. And I’ll be here to support you every step of the way.”

For the first time since my injury, I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a path forward—one that didn’t revolve around medals and podiums, but around new beginnings.

“Thank you, Sarah,” I murmured, gratitude lacing my words. “Maybe it’s time to start exploring those new paths, whatever they are.”

“When you’re ready,” she replied. “And you’ll know when you are, trust me.”

“I want to be ready now,” I breathed. “My injury devastated my parents. I’d hoped that winning a medal would let me take care of them the way they took care of me.”

“Are you living with them now?” Sarah asked.

“No,” I shrugged. “The US Olympic committee pays me a pension, and I don’t want to be a burden on them anymore. So I’m living in a small studio apartment on Floyd Avenue.”

“Oh, well, at least you’re being taken care of.” Sarah sipped her coffee.

“The pension is barely enough to pay rent and buy groceries.” I sighed. “I’m bored with sitting in that small apartment watching stupid reality shows. So I’m officially on the hunt for a job that requires little to no skills, since the only thing I ever trained for is gymnastics.”

“Are you willing to do anything?” Sarah asked. “I work over in Scott’s Addition, and I see job openings posted there all the time.”

Scott’s Addition was hipster heaven. It used to be a neighborhood filled with falling down houses and factories. Developers have replaced the factories with overpriced condos, and the wretched houses are no longer there.

“I thought you worked at that day spa over on Main Street.”

“Not anymore.” Sarah chuckled. “My former boss Nesbit wasn’t paying his taxes, so it’s gone. Now I’m managing a hair salon where a decent haircut costs what I make in two days.”

“Do you know of any gigs in your building?” I asked, and I heard a desperate twinge in my voice. “Seriously, anything goes at this point.”

Sarah glanced my way, fishing out her phone from her overflowing purse. “Have you heard of Ascendancy Brands?” she quirked an eyebrow upwards and began deftly tapping onto the glowing screen. “It’s Gabriel Monroe’s baby. Picture a slightly better-than-average looking guy with too much money.” She smirked. “He comes into the salon every Friday for a trim that costs $150 smackers. If you’re looking for a hot sugar daddy, he’s your guy.”