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Resolutions 15: Change in Touch

Read from the beginning of this serialized novel at Resolutions.”

The laughter and chatter of the dinner guests had long since dissolved into the walls, and the apartment was quiet once again. Max had completed his cleanup tasks and retreated into standby mode with a polite bow. The bedroom lights were dimmed to the “Evening Wind Down” preset, and the only sound left was the steady churn of the dishwasher running in the other room. 

Graham lay beneath the covers, arms resting loosely over his chest. Tobias lay beside him, propped slightly on one elbow. His undershirt clung to his frame, and his gym shorts rode high up his thighs, exposing a glint of metal from his Shield. 

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Quid pro quo

Office politics 

“Your golden boy is a walking lawsuit.” 

Jules Wexler dropped the thick personnel file onto Landon Shaw’s desk with the dramatic flair of someone who had earned the right to make it land like a gavel. The manila folder splayed open, exposing a collage of typed complaints, red-ink annotations, and HR bleeding red flags. 

Landon didn’t flinch. He glanced down, uninterested. His espresso was still steaming, untouched, beside a single Montblanc pen that cost more than some of his junior associates made in a month. 

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Resolutions 14: Brotherhood Bonding

Read from the beginning of this serialized novel at Resolutions.”

The kitchen counters were already gleaming when Graham began wiping them for the third time. The vacuumed carpets still showed orderly, parallel lines without tread marks from socked feet. Not a speck of dust had had time to settle on the baseboards. Still, Graham couldn’t sit still. Max’s suggestion—no, Max’s assignment—to begin dinner prep echoed in the back of his mind. Tobias would be home in under two hours, and his calendar noted their shared evening meal: Quality Bonding. Despite, or perhaps because of, another emotional roller coaster of a day, Graham had been looking forward to dinner with his husband. 

He opened the fridge and stared into its sterile glow. The ingredients sat there like foreign objects—chicken breasts, leafy greens, and trimmed root vegetables. It wasn’t just that Graham didn’t know what to make. He didn’t know what to feel

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Spent casings (chapters 1 and 2)

Chapter 1 

The inside of U-Shoot-It Firing Range and Supply smelled like oil, sweat, and scorched earth, like the air after a lightning storm, but heavier. Will Reed hesitated outside the doorway, one hand resting awkwardly on his hip like he didn’t know what to do with it. The front desk guy had given him a clipboard and a set of eye and hearing protection without looking up. Standing outside the range’s heavy double doors, he realized he had no idea what came next. The rules were pinned bold, red, and unapologetic to the wall: No rapid fire. Always point downrange. Cross-lane shooting is explicitly forbidden. 

The flannel shirt he’d pulled from the rack at the discount store itched against his skin. It still smelled of sizing spray and had the price tag on the inside of the left armpit. He owned the shirt since he paid for it, but it was still just a costume for him. Instead of wearing it, the shirt wore him. He stretched the hearing protection over his head and settled the pads over his ears, then adjusted the baseball cap he’d bought on a whim last week. The brim was too stiff, and the logo too clean. 

He looked wrong in this place, and he knew it. 

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Resolutions 13: Graham’s Submission

Tobias emerged from the bedroom just after seven on Saturday morning, fastening the final button on the jacket of one of his new suits. The garment was impossibly sharp—dark gray with broad shoulders, a tapered waist, and a subtle sheen that made him appear slightly more angular, more authoritative, and more defined. 

Still in pajama bottoms and a soft old sweatshirt, Graham paused mid sip of his coffee. The sight of Tobias dressed like that—the clean lines, the high collar, the quiet clink of cufflinks—hit him like a wave. He’d always been attracted to Tobias, but a different set of feelings stirred within him now. The suit made Tobias appear larger than life, and Graham, by comparison, smaller and meeker. Insignificant. Still reeling from Tobias’ dismissal and Max’s muddling of his thoughts the day before, Graham averted his eyes, lest his husband’s inexplicable new magnetism confuse him further. 

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Bound in black and blue

Donovan hadn’t been expecting mail. The knock at the door startled him out of his whiskey-hazed stupor, where he’d been curled on the couch, nursing the ache of something old but still sharp. Patrick was out running laps around the neighborhood, steady and consistent as ever, which left Donovan alone as usual, with his thoughts for company. 

He shuffled to the door, opened it, and stopped. 

A large, sleek black box sat on the welcome mat. The return label rubbed away into smudged illegibility, but he knew what it was. His stomach tightened as he bent to pick it up. 

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Resolutions 12: Routine Mastery

Read from the beginning of this serialized novel at Resolutions.”

Friday morning arrived with a soft, mechanical hum. The Shields buzzed lightly before sunrise, prompting Tobias and Graham to wake at precisely 6 a.m., no alarm necessary. 

Max, already active in the kitchen, greeted them with their prepared schedules for the day. Tobias barely glanced at his before nodding, arms already sliding into his pressed shirt. Still adjusting to the upgraded Shield’s constant presence, Graham blinked sleepily at the charted blocks of time displayed on the tablet screen. 

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