J’ai tendance a oublié à quel point cette série est poignante entre chaque tome.
En effet, à chaque fois que je referme un de ces livres, je suis toujours bouleversée. Et puis le temps passe, et souvent il s’agit d’une ou plusieurs années avant qu’un autre tome paraisse.
Je dois dire que je n’avais que quelques brefs souvenirs du tome précédent.
Pour ma défense, le début de celui-ci est vraiment particulier. J'étais tout autant perdue que Robbie. Et puis, vient le moment où tout s’éclaire et se remet en place. J’ai été tellement, mais tellement bouleversée à ce moment là. Je me disais « Non, comment une telle chose a pu se réaliser ? »
Et à partir de cet instant, ça en a été fini de moi. J’étais à fond dedans, happée par les personnages, l’intrigue, l’écriture, par TOUT.
Robbie et Kelly sont extrêmement touchants ensemble, mais j’aurais aimé assister aux prémices de leur histoire, et ne pas en avoir qu’un bref aperçu.
Mais ce qui m’a le plus touché, c’est Carter. Carter dévasté, qui se voilait la face depuis si longtemps. Et en même temps que la perte, tout se fait jour en lui, trop tardivement hélas. Bref, j’ai vraiment hâte de lire le prochain tome, qui je le sais par avance ne sortira pas tout de suite, mais qui vaut largement le temps d’attente.
Quand Dieu décide de se mêler de la vie sentimentale de Satan, ça donne une nouvelle totalement irrévérencieuse à prendre au 10ème degrés!
C'est bourré d'humour et complètement barré. C'est du TJ Klune quoi! Dommage que par rapport aux nombres de pages, le début soit si long.
Disponible gratuitement sur le site de l'auteur ;-)
“Oh dear,” Linus Baker said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “This is most unusual.”
That was an understatement. He watched in rapt wonder as an eleven-year-old girl named Daisy levitated blocks of wood high above her head. The blocks spun in slow, concentric circles. Daisy frowned in concentration, the tip of her tongue stuck out between her teeth. It went on for a good minute before the blocks slowly lowered to the floor. Her level of control was astounding.
“I see,” Linus said, furiously scribbling on his pad of paper. They were in the master’s office, a tidy room with government-issued brown carpet and old furniture. The walls were lined with terrible paintings of lemurs in various poses. The master had showed them off proudly, telling Linus painting was her passion, and that if she hadn’t become the master of this specific orphanage, she’d be traveling with a circus as a lemur trainer or even have opened up a gallery to share her artwork with the world. Linus believed the world was better off with the paintings staying in this room, but he kept the thought to himself. He wasn’t there to engage in amateur art criticism. “And how often do you—er, you know? Make things float?”
The master of the orphanage, a squat woman with frizzy hair, stepped forward. “Oh, not often at all,” she said quickly. She wrung her hands, eyes darting back and forth. “Perhaps once or twice . . . a year?”
“A month,” the woman amended. “Silly me. I don’t know why I said a year. Slip of the tongue. Yes, once or twice a month. You know how it is. The older the children get, the more they . . . do things.”
“Is that right?” Linus asked Daisy.
“Oh yes,” Daisy said. “Once or twice a month, and no more.” She smiled beatifically at him, and Linus wondered if she’d been coached on her answers before his arrival. It wouldn’t be the first time it’d happened, and he doubted it’d be the last.
“Of course,” Linus said. They waited as his pen continued to scratch along the paper. He could feel their gazes on him, but he kept his focus on his words. Accuracy demanded attention. He was nothing but thorough, and his visit to this particular orphanage had been enlightening, to say the least. He needed to jot down as many details as he could to complete his final report once he returned to the office.
The master fussed over Daisy, pulling her unruly black hair back, fixing it in place with plastic butterfly clips. Daisy was staring forlornly at her blocks on the floor as if she wished they were levitating once more, her bushy eyebrows twitching.
“Do you have control over it?” Linus asked.
Before Daisy could open her mouth, the master said, “Of course she does. We’d never allow her to—”
Linus held up his hand. “I would appreciate, madam, if I could hear from Daisy herself. While I have no doubt you have her best interests in mind, I find that children such as Daisy here tend to be more . . . forthright.”
The master looked to speak again until Linus arched an eyebrow. She sighed as she nodded, taking a step back from Daisy.
After scribbling a final note, Linus capped his pen and set it and the pad of paper back in his briefcase. He stood from his chair and crouched down before Daisy, knees groaning in protest.
Daisy gnawed on her bottom lip, eyes wide. “Daisy? Do you have control over it?”
She nodded slowly. “I think so? I haven’t hurt anyone since I was brought here.” Her mouth twisted down. “Not until Marcus. I don’t like hurting people.”
He could almost believe that. “No one said you did. But sometimes, we can’t always control the . . . gifts we’re given. And it’s not necessarily the fault of those with said gifts.”
That didn’t seem to make her feel better. “Then whose fault is it?”
Linus blinked. “Well, I suppose there are all sorts of factors. Modern research suggests extreme emotional states can trigger instances such as yours. Sadness. Anger. Even happiness. Perhaps you were so happy, you accidentally threw a chair at your friend Marcus?” It was the reason he’d been sent here in the first place. Marcus had been seen in hospital in order to have his tail looked after. It’d been bent at an odd angle, and the hospital had reported it directly to the Department in Charge of Magical Youth as they were required to do. The report triggered an investigation, which was why Linus had been assigned to this particular orphanage.
“Yes,” Daisy said. “That’s exactly it. Marcus made me so happy when he stole my colored pencils that I accidentally threw a chair at him.”
“I see,” Linus said. “Did you apologize?”
She looked down at her blocks again, shuffling her feet. “Yes. And he said he wasn’t mad. He even sharpened my pencils for me before he gave them back. He’s better at it than I am.”
“What a thoughtful thing to do,” Linus said. He thought about reaching out and patting her on the shoulder, but it wasn’t proper. “And I know you didn’t mean him any harm, not really. Perhaps in the future, we will stop and think before we let our emotions get the better of us. How does that sound?”
She nodded furiously. “Oh yes. I promise to stop and think before I throw any more chairs with nothing but the power of my mind.”
Linus sighed. “I don’t think that’s quite what I—”
A bell ran from somewhere deep in the old house.
“Biscuits,” Daisy breathed before running toward the door.
“Only one,” the master called after her. “You don’t want to spoil your supper!”
“I won’t!” Daisy shouted back before slamming the door behind her. Linus could hear the little pitter-patter of her footsteps as she raced down the hall toward the kitchen.
“She will,” the master muttered, slumping down in her chair behind her desk. “She always does.”
“I believe she’s earned it,” Linus said.
She rubbed a hand over her face before eyeing him warily. “Well, that’s it, then. You’ve interviewed all the children. You’ve inspected the house. You’ve seen that Marcus is doing well. And while there was the . . . incident with the chair, Daisy obviously means no harm.”
He believed she was right. Marcus had seemed more interested in having Linus sign his tail cast rather than getting Daisy into any trouble. Linus had balked, telling him it wasn’t his place. Marcus was disappointed, but bounced back almost immediately. Linus marveled—as he sometimes did—how resilient they all were in the face of everything. “Quite.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what you’re going to write in your report—”
Linus bristled. “Absolutely not. You will be provided with a copy once I’ve filed it, as you know. The contents will be made clear to you then, and not a moment before.”
“Of course,” the master said hastily. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you—”
“I’m glad you see it my way,” Linus said. “And I know DICOMY will certainly be appreciative as well.” He busied himself with this briefcase, rearranging the contents until he was satisfied. He closed it and snapped the locks in place. “Now, unless there is anything else, I’ll take my leave and bid you—”
“The children like you.”
“I like them,” he said. “I wouldn’t do what I do if I didn’t.”
“That’s not always how it is with others like you.” She cleared her throat. “Or, rather, the other caseworkers.”
He looked at the door longingly. He’d been so close to making his escape. Clutching his briefcase in front of him like a shield, he turned back around.
The master rose from her chair and walked around the desk. He took a step back, mostly out of habit. She didn’t come any closer, instead, leaning back against her desk. “We’ve had . . . others,” she said.
“Have you? That’s to be expected, of course, but—”
“They don’t see the children,” she said. “Not for who they are, only for what they’re capable of.”
“They should be given a chance, as all children should. What hope would they have to be adopted if they’re treated as something to be feared?”
The master snorted. “Adopted.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Something I said?”
She shook her head. “No, forgive me. You’re refreshing, in your own way. Your optimism is contagious.”
“I am positively a ray of sunshine,” Linus said flatly. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I can show myself—”
“How is it you can do what you do?” she asked. She blanched as if she couldn’t believe what she’d said.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Work for DICOMY.”
Sweat trickled down the back of his neck into the collar of his shirt. It was awfully warm in the office. For the first time in a long time, he wished he were outside in the rain. “And what’s wrong with DICOMY?”
She hesitated. “I mean no offense.”
“I should hope not.”
“It’s just that . . .” She stood from her desk, arms still folded. “Don’t you wonder?”
“Never,” Linus said promptly. Then, “About what?”
“What happens to a place like this after you file your final report. What becomes of the children.”
“Unless I’m called to return, I expect they continue to live as bright and happy children until they become bright and happy adults.”
“Who are still regulated by the government because of who they are.”
Linus felt backed into a corner. He wasn’t prepared for this. “I don’t work for the Department in Charge of Magical Adults. If you have any concerns in that regard, I suggest you bring it up with DICOMA. I’m focused solely on the well-being of children, nothing more.”
The master smiled sadly. “They never stay as children, Mr. Baker. They always grow up eventually.”
“And they do so using the tools that one such as yourself provides for them should they find themselves aging out of the orphanage without having been adopted.” He took another backward step toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to catch the bus. It’s a rather long trip home, and I don’t want to miss it. Thank you for your hospitality. And again, once the report is filed, you will be sent a copy for your own records. Do let us know if you have any questions.”
“Actually, I do have another—”
“Submit it in writing,” Linus called, already through the door. “I look forward to it.” He shut it behind him, the latch clicking in place. He took a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “Now you’ve gone and done it, old boy. She’ll send you hundreds of questions.”
“I can still hear you,” the master said through the door.
Linus startled before hurrying down the hall.
He was about to leave through the front door when he paused at a bright burst of laughter coming from the kitchen. Against his better judgment, he tiptoed toward the sound. He passed by posters nailed to the walls, the same messages that hung in all the DICOMY-sanctioned orphanages he’d been to. They showed smiling children below such legends as we’re happiest when we listen to those in charge and a quiet child is a healthy child and who needs magic when you have your imagination?
He stuck his head in the kitchen doorway.
There, sitting at a large wooden table, was a group of children.
There was a boy with blue feathers growing from his arms.
There was a girl who cackled like a witch; it was fitting seeing as how that’s what her file said she was.
There was an older girl who could sing so seductively, it brought ships crashing onto the shore. Linus had balked when he’d read that in her report.
There was a selkie, a young boy with a fur pelt resting on his shoulders.
And Daisy and Marcus, of course. Sitting side by side, Daisy exclaiming over his tail cast through a mouthful of biscuit. Marcus grinned at her, his face a field of rusty freckles, tail resting on the table. Linus watched as he asked her if she would draw him another picture on his cast with one of her colored pencils. She agreed immediately. “A flower,” she said. “Or a bug with sharp teeth and stinger.”
“Ooh,” Marcus breathed. “The bug. You have to do the bug.”
Linus left them be, satisfied with what he’d seen.
He made his way to the door once more. He sighed when he realized he’d forgotten his umbrella once again. “Of all the—”
He opened the door and stepped out into the rain to begin the long journey home.
En ce moment, pour une raison qui m'échappe encore, je rencontre souvent dans mes lectures des personnages homosexuels, bisexuels, ou autres.
Je me suis donc presque naturellement tournée vers cet ouvrage dont la description semblait assez amusante.
Pourtant, quand j'ai commencé à lire les premiers chapitres, je me suis demandé dans quelle genre d'aventure je m'étais fourrée. La présentation du personnage de Gus, figé dans ses habitudes et aux sourcils très expressifs, était certes amusante, mais de là à avoir envie de la suivre plus longtemps...
Et puis Casey est arrivé. Et il a tout changé. Autant pour moi en tant que lectrice que pour Gus. Et ce livre est devenu attachant. Ou, plutôt, Gus l'est devenu. Je n'avais qu'une envie, moi aussi, en lisant, c'était de serrer ce bisounours grognon dans mes bras ! Ainsi que ses amies, très impliquées mais complètement surréalistes.
Autant vous le dire : il y a beaucoup de cannabis dans l'histoire et certains passages sont tellement ahurissants que c'est à se demander sous l'emprise de quel produit ils ont été écrits. Notamment les sites internet WTF que Gus parcourt pour comprendre comment se comporter comme une personne normale (je crois pouvoir dire que la réponse N'EST PAS sur internet !)
Mais c'est une jolie histoire de tendresse, avec des gens pas très sûrs d'eux et pas mal d'humour.
Et rien que pour ça, ça vaut la peine d'être lu.
Sinon, vous pourrez déjà apprécier le prologue :
« Ne laissez jamais personne vous dire que ce que vous êtes n’est pas bien.
Il n’y a rien de mal à être homosexuel. Ou hétérosexuel. Ou bisexuel.
Il n’y a rien de mal non plus à être asexuel, demisexuel, pansexuel ou aromantique.
Vous êtes vous-mêmes et si quelqu’un vous le reproche, souvenez-vous d’une chose :
Vous êtes exactement comme vous êtes censés être. »
Encore une fois, du grand TJ.
Je ne peux pas vraiment parler de l'histoire sans risquer de vendre la mèche. Même si on comprend assez rapidement qui est Art, c'est plus sympa de plonger dans cette histoire sans savoir de quoi il en retourne. Sachez en tout cas, que c'est de l'inédit venant de cet auteur. C'est un thème qu'il n'a encore jamais abordé dans ces précédents opus.
Quoiqu'il en soit, une fois commencé, difficile de lâcher ce livre. Comme à son habitude, TJ Klune passe avec maestria des scènes comiques aux scènes dramatiques. Et encore une fois, il a créé des personnages terriblement attachants, Art en tête, qu'il est difficile de quitter.
La romance est secondaire et vient tardivement. L'histoire tourne principalement autour de Art. Cependant il y est beaucoup question d'amour et des liens très forts qui peuvent unir deux personnes.
Les habitués de TJ y trouveront leur compte. Les autres deviendront fans avec ce livre. C'est un livre pour tous, même les non-initiés à la romance M/M.
Moi j'ai déjà hâte de lire sa prochaine pépite.
Ce livre est un OVNI
Je ne sais pas s'il en existe d'autres du même genre aux Etats-Unis, mais il ne ressemble vraiment à aucun de ceux que j'ai déjà lus. En fait, il est tellement...bizarre, que j'ai du mal à savoir si j'ai apprécié ou pas. Et ça ne va pas être facile de le commenter !
- une petite ville ordinaire. Le garagiste, un père de famille connu et apprécié de tous, meurt dans un accident de voiture. Son fils, 20 ans, a du mal à faire son deuil. Un pressentiment lui dit que l'accident est louche. Le shériff, le FBI s'en mêlent... Une sorte d'enquête policière, non ?
- Le fils a l'impression d'une présence, de rêves étranges, de messages de l'au-delà, ... Un roman fantastique à la Stephen King ?
- Et là, tombe littéralement du ciel...un ange! Il va être beaucoup question de foi, de desseins divins, de limbes et de paradis, et de l'archange Michel qui a l'air pas commode! ça devient plutôt inhabituel!
- L'ange est un bel homme, le fils est homosexuel, et ils tombent amoureux... on revient vers une romance MM?
- Si on ajoute à tout ça des personnages secondaires hilarants, comme le trio des tantes ou le voisin bavard, on est plus vers la comédie de mœurs.
Et au total, vous comprendrez que je ne sais pas comment présenter cette histoire attachante par certains aspects, déroutante par d'autres! Je la recommanderais bien juste pour que chacun découvre ce qu'une imagination débordante peut faire en mélangeant tous ces ingrédients!
FireStoned 16:36: SHADOW STAR IS STRAIGHT. HE LOVES REBECCA FIRESTONE. STOP MAKING HIM GAY, IT’S WEIRD. HE’S NOT GAY. NOT EVERYTHING NEEDS TO BE GAY ALL THE TIME. I DON’T UNDERSTAND YOU SLASH SHIPPERS. STOP MAKING THINGS GAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Nick Bell stared at his phone as he shifted on his bed in his room. “Not gay,” he muttered to himself. “He has sequins on his costume.” He thought about deleting the comment, but others were already responding to it, coming after FireStoned with a vengeance, so he decided to leave it up. Whoever FireStoned was, they’d learn fast that one absolutely did not comment on a ShadowStar744 fic like that. After all, Nick was one of the most popular writers in the Extraordinaries fandom (even if he’d had to use the screen name of ShadowStar744 since Shadowstar 1-743 were already taken, those bastards), and slash would always be more popular than the hetero nonsense FireStoned seemed to want. Straight people, Nick thought as he shook his head. He’d never understand them.
The other forty-two comments, though. They weren’t too shabby. Especially for a shorter chapter that ended on the thirty-second cliffhanger in a row. Thank god his fans understood. They were the only reason he’d continued writing what could be considered a quarter-of-a-million-word masturbatory ode to Shadow Star. Without them, the fic probably would have ended a long time ago, or worse, been one of those unfinished works that turned into a cautionary tale for new people in the fandom. He could deal with the occasional idiot like FireStoned.
Nick switched over to Tumblr and reblogged a few more things, thumb twitching over a rather risqué drawing of Shadow Star in an evocative pose that was both physically impossible and erotic, but decided against it. Ever since his dad had discovered what Tumblr was and that his son had accidentally posted a drawing that apparently no one under the age of eighteen should be looking at, he’d kept things clean. It was the only way that Dad had let him keep his Tumblr page at all, even after the powers that be decided showing something as inconsequential as nipples could be considered pornography. That, and his dad had demanded the password. Nick had nightmares of his father logging on himself and posting to all of Nick’s followers that he’d be grounded if anything remotely explicit showed up on his page again, just like he’d threatened to do.
Nick had been mortified.
Which, of course, was made worse when Dad frowned, and as if it were an afterthought, said, “Also, I feel like we need to discuss how it’s a naked man on your page, Nicky. Unless it’s just supposed to be artistic. I don’t get art.”
What Nick said next weren’t words, not really. They were a combination of sounds better suited to a nature documentary on the mating habits of elks in the Pacific Northwest. His brain had shorted out as he’d tried to come up with a logical explanation as to why he’d decided to reblog a picture of Shadow Star with a comically large bulge that made him look like he needed to seek medical attention immediately.
His father waited.
Finally, Nick said, “Yeah. So. Um.”
And Dad said, “Right. Have you had sex?”
“No, Dad, oh my god, why would you even—”
“Do you know what condoms are?”
“Yes, Dad, oh my god, I know what condoms are—”
“Good. That means you’ll use them if, and when, you decide to have sex. Which won’t be for a very long time.”
“Yes, Dad, oh my—I mean no, I’m not having sex, why would you even say that?”
“If it were with a girl, I’d be telling you the same thing. Wrap it, Nicky. Always wrap it before you stick it anywhere.” He tilted his head and squinted at his only son. “Or if it’s stuck in you. It don’t matter to me one way or another. What’s that called? Bottoming? I don’t care if you’re a bottom or the other one. Use protection.”
Nick had gone into a full-blown meltdown: synapses firing, eyes bulging, breath caught in his chest as he started to hyperventilate. His father had been there, of course, as he always was when Nick lost his mind a little bit. He sat next to Nick, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and waited until his son’s head started to clear.
They didn’t say much after that. Bell men weren’t the greatest when it came to feelings, but Aaron Bell had made it clear, perverts were everywhere, and that while some of the people Nick interacted with online might be nice, they might also be men in their late forties still living in their mothers’ basements, waiting to lure in an unsuspecting sixteen-year-old for nefarious deeds like making their victims into hand puppets or wearing their skin.
And while Nick didn’t think that would happen to him, he wasn’t sure. He was a cop’s kid. He knew the statistics, had grown up hearing stories of some of the terrible things Dad had seen on patrol. He didn’t want to end up as someone’s hand puppet, so he didn’t reblog porn anymore, no matter how tasteful it was.
(Which meant he’d also had to scrub his other Tumblr page which was considerably more adult, but the less said about that one, the better.)
And that was how he’d come out to his father at the age of fifteen.
Because of Extraordinary porn.
He’d been so young, then, so naïve. He was sixteen now. A man. And yes, perhaps he was a man who once bought a pillow off Etsy with Shadow Star’s face on it. He had tracked the delivery at the top of every hour, making sure that the moment it was on their doorstep, he was the one who got to the door first. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed by it (even if it was now hidden under his bed), it was just…there’d be a lot of questions, and Nick hadn’t been in the mood to answer said questions.
(It does need to be said that three days after receiving the pillow, he kissed it—even though he knew it wasn’t exactly normal.)
But Nick was still a man. He’d promised to make good decisions this new school year, a clean slate for both of them. New day, new dawn, blah, blah, blah.
He was shoving his feet into his beat-up Chucks when there was a knock at the door. That too had been part of their agreement. Nick would be trusted to have his door closed if he was responsible enough to do his own laundry so his father wouldn’t see any evidence that Nick had been…exploring himself. Nick loved his dad, but his singular talent for making Nick’s life excruciating was something that needed to be addressed.
“Breakfast,” Dad called through the door. “You better be getting ready, Nicky.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “I am.”
“Uh-huh. Stop your Tumblring and get your butt downstairs. French toast waits for no man.”
“Be right there. And it’s not Tumblring, you philistine. God, it’s like you don’t know anything at all.”
He heard his dad’s footsteps retreat down the hall toward the stairs. The floorboards squeaked, something they’d talked about fixing for years. But that was…well. That was Before. When things had been right as rain and everything had made sense. Sure, his dad had worked too much back then too, but she’d always been there to rein him in, telling him in no uncertain terms that he would be home for dinner at least three times a week, and they would eat as a family. She didn’t ask for much, she pointed out. But it was understood by all that she wasn’t asking.
Dad still worked too much.
Nick pushed himself off the bed. He turned his phone to vibrate (muttering about Tumblring under his breath) and crossed the room to his desk to slip it into his backpack.
She was there on his desk, as she always was, trapped in a photograph. She smiled at him, and it hurt, even now. Nick suspected it always would, at least a little bit. But it wasn’t the ragged, gaping hole it’d been two years ago, or even the constant ache of last year. Seth, Jazz, and Gibby didn’t walk on eggshells around him anymore like they thought he’d burst out crying at the slightest mention of moms.
Dad had taken the photo. It’d been on one of their summer trips out of the city. They’d gone to the coast of Maine to this little cottage by the sea. It’d been weirdly cold, and the beach had been rocks instead of sand, but it’d been…nice. Nick had moaned about being away from his friends, that there wasn’t even any Wi-Fi, and could his parents possibly be any more barbaric? His father laughed, and his mother patted his hand, telling him he’d survive.
He hadn’t been too sure about that.
But then, he’d been thirteen, and so of course he’d been overly dramatic. Puberty was a bitch, causing his voice to break along with a group of zits that had decided to nest against the side of his nose. He was gawky and awkward and had hair sprouting everywhere, so it was in his very nature to be overly dramatic.
Only later did Nick find out his father had taken the photo.
It’d been halfway through the trip, and they decided to find the local lighthouse that was supposed to be scenic, which was code for boring. It’d taken a couple of hours because it was in the middle of nowhere, and the paper map she insisted on was absolutely useless. But then they nearly drove past a sign half-hidden by a gnarled old tree, and she shouted, “There!” Brightly, full of excitement. Dad slammed on the brakes, and Nick laughed for the first time since he’d set foot in the state of Maine. She looked back at him, a wild grin on her face, her light hair hanging down around her face, and she winked at him while his father grumbled and reversed the car slowly.
They found the lighthouse shortly after.
It was smaller than Nick expected, but there was something exhilarating about the way Jenny Bell threw open the car door as soon as they stopped in the empty parking lot, waves crashing in the background. She left the door open, saying, “See? I knew we’d find it. I knew it was here.”
The Bell men followed her. Always.
The frame of the photograph was oak and heavy. He took it from his mom’s nightstand without a second thought. His father hadn’t said a word when he’d seen it on Nick’s desk the first time. It was something they didn’t talk about.
One of the somethings.
She smiled at him every day. She must have seen Dad with the camera, because she was looking right at it, her head on her son’s shoulder. Nick’s head turned toward the sky, his eyes closed.
They looked too much alike. Pale and green-eyed and blond with eyebrows that had minds of their own. There was no doubt where he’d come from. Dad was big, bigger than Nick would ever be, tan skin and dark hair and muscles on top of muscles, though they were softer than they used to be. Nick was skinny and all gangly limbs, uncoordinated on his best day, and downright dangerous on his worst. He’d taken after her, though she’d made being a klutz endearing, whereas he was more likely to break a table or a bone. She’d told him she’d met his dad by literally falling on top of him in the library. She’d been on a ladder, trying to get to the top shelf, and he happened to pass right on by the moment she slipped. He’d caught her, Dad would say, and she’d say, sure, right, except you didn’t because I landed on you and we both fell, and then they’d laugh and laugh.
He looked like her.
He acted like her.
He didn’t know how Dad could stand to look at him some days.
“I’m going to do better,” he told her quietly, not wanting his father to hear. The fact that he spoke to his mom’s photo would probably get him back to the psychiatrist and on even more pills, something Nick was desperate to avoid. “New Nick. You’ll see. Promise.”
He pressed his fingers against his lips, and then to the photo.
Seb et Hudson ne sont plus ensemble depuis sept longues années, mais ça ne les empêches pas d’avoir encore des sentiments chacun de leur côté. Et depuis que Wolf a mis en garde Hudson, Seb s’est promis de le protéger. Et pour cela ils vont devoir être proche à nouveau. Mais si Hudson se montre réticent, ça enchante Sebastian qui voit là une chance de reconquérir à nouveau le cœur de son homme. Apprendra-t-il qu’en fait il n’a jamais perdu cet amour avant que les ennuis arrivent ?
C’est toujours un bonheur de retourner dans l’univers de THIRDS, même si la fin approche à grand pas. Du moins, la fin de THIRDS, car une suite va voir le jour dès l’année prochaine mais je ne dirais pas le nom car c’est un spoil potentiel. Mais avant de lire la fin, je me suis dit qu’il était temps de faire cette chronique que j’aurais dû faire depuis plus d’un mois maintenant.
Enfin, nous suivons Sebastian et Hudson dans un tome ! J’avais tellement hâte que ça arrive ! Depuis l’annonce de leur couple, enfin ancien couple car ils ont rompu plusieurs années auparavant. Et là, enfin, nous avons donc leur tome. Je dois dire que j’étais toute folle quand j’ai vu ce tome car si j’aime Sloane et Dex, j’adore aussi Seb et Hudson. D’ailleurs avec le couple principal de la série, ils sont mon couple favori.
Comme toujours, même si nous nous concentrons sur un couple, les autres personnages ne sont pas oubliés. C’est donc avec bonheur que nous croisons les anciens héros, mais aussi des personnages comme Taylor. Je voulais vraiment avoir des nouvelles de lui et je ne suis pas déçu, même si je suis triste par rapport à ce qu’il a traversé… Rapidement dans le tome nous rencontrons aussi un autre personnage : Trent. Vous voyez ce personnage qu’on aime pas dès la première phrase ? J’avais déjà vécu ça avec des personnages dans cette série, et bien Trent se rajoute au lot. Alors ça ne veut pas dire que c’est un mauvais perso, ni un bon d’ailleurs. Sur ce coup là je ne dirais rien car il faut le découvrir par soit même. Mais il fallait bien que sur un tome parlant de mes chéris il y ait des détails qui ne me vont pas.
D’ailleurs en parlant de détail, enfin façon de parler, il y a Wolf. Ce dernier est un mystère complet jusqu’ici, mais dans ce tome nous en apprenons bien plus à son sujet. Et je dois dire que je ne sais toujours pas quoi penser de lui… D’un côté je voudrais l’apprécier pour qui il est. Mais de l’autre ce qu’il a fait subir à Dex est toujours dans mon esprit alors j’ai du mal avec lui. Après je suis contente d’avoir compris rapidement qui il était vraiment, mais il faut dire que c’est assez simple à trouver.
Pour ce qui est de l’histoire en général du tome je l’ai trouvé bien écrite, comme toujours avec Charlie Cochet. Je ne pense pas que je pourrais être déçu un jour avec elle, surtout dans cette série. Il y a plusieurs rebondissements mais surtout une magnifique histoire d’amour compliqué. Réussir à conjuguer travail et sentiment n’est jamais une mince affaire et encore plus quand ont travail au THIRDS. Mais nos deux héros ne peuvent vivre l’un sans l’autre, même s’il va leur falloir du temps pour oser l’avouer haut et fort.