Trembling on the floor, pressed beneath a row of seats in a dark theater, college freshman Jason Tripp listens to the terrifying sound of gunshots, as an unknown shooter moves methodically through the theater, randomly murdering men, women, and children attending a student performance of Hamlet. Junior Liam Norcross drapes his massive body on top of Jason, sheltering the younger man from the deathly hail of bullets, risking his life willingly, and maybe even eagerly.
As a result of the shared horror, an extraordinary bond forms between the two young men, which causes discomfort for family and friends, as well as for Jason and Liam, themselves. And added to the challenge of two previously “straight” men falling into a same-sex love, are the complications that arise from the abundance of secrets Liam holds with regard to a past family tragedy. The fledgling passion between the men seems bound to fade away into the darkness from which it emerged.
Jason, however, is inexplicably called to rescue his hero in return, by delving into Liam’s shady past and uncovering the mystery that compels the older man to act as the college town’s selfless savior.
The Art of Hero Worship takes the reader on a voyage from the dark and chilling chaos that accompanies a mass shooting to the thrill of an unexpected and sensual romance.
At this point he’s in the back of the theater, and the shooting hasn’t slowed down at all. Gunshots ring out steadily in the shadowy darkness... always in sets of three, letting me know where he is. I’m scared... so fucking scared... but not too scared to wonder what I did to deserve this special little slice of hell.
And I’m frozen... I can’t even move enough to swallow my spit. I know what I have to do—I have to look for Ginny, but I can’t since I’m frozen solid, like a leg of lamb in a walk-in freezer.
“I’ve been shot! Oh, sweet Jesus, I’ve been shot!”
Earsplitting blasts of sound—one, two, three. The gunshots have a life and a plan—no, a mission—all their own, to maim and kill by ripping through the flesh of everyone in this theater. I’m panting and sweating and wishing to God I knew how to pray because I’d so pray right now.
And as suddenly as it started, the shooting stops. Is it over? With the utmost caution, I exhale the breath I’ve been hanging onto so jealously... as if part of me fears I’ll never get the chance to take another. But one more wary breath moves in and out, and I know I have to get hold of myself so I can find her. Because it’s over now.... yes, I think maybe it’s ov—
Life-sucking and blood-spattering and gurgle- inducing, evenly spaced sets of three that are becoming so horribly predictable. I brace myself for the impact because I just know the next pop is going to come with excruciating pain that explodes in my head or my back or, if I’m lucky, my ass. Or, if I’m not so lucky, in all three places, one right after another.
This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening.
Is nineteen too old to want my mommy?
“Get down! Get on the floor!” Somebody yells. Too late for that. I’m already flat on the floor in the narrow space between the rows of seats; my head is bleeding all over the arm it’s resting on.... My left arm? My right arm? Somebody else’s arm? Not so sure. Not so sure it matters.
“Don’t shoot me—please don’t—”
Mia Kerick Adult is an award-winning author of stories involving the type of life events that are riveting to read about, but you probably wouldn’t want to experience first hand. Into her fictional disasters, she sprinkles a sufficient quantity of touching and spicy adult LGBTQ romance to keep her readers coming back for more.
Having relocated from Boston, Massachusetts to rural New Hampshire, Mia lives with her doting husband, four brilliant and accomplished young adult children who will one day likely contribute to the establishment of world peace (Mia believes in self-fulfilling prophecies), and at least three too many cats. She suffers with a severe case of mall-withdrawal, which leads to frequent online shopping, and an overly personal relationship with the UPS driver.