Part of Series
Mark Jennings is at a crossroads. His finance job in the Atlanta nonprofit scene stresses him out, his mother is dying, and his relationship with Brian Jacobs has crashed and burned. He needs a distraction, some way to relax, and a massage seems like just the thing. He never expected his massage therapist, Antonio Roberto, to become his best friend. Despite their differences—Antonio is a divorced single father—the two men forge a firm friendship that weathers Mark’s reconciliation with Brian and Antonio’s questionable taste in women. Over the years, Antonio remains constant in his support, though others in Mark’s life come and go through a revolving door. When a young boy runs away from the group home where he works, Mark finds another door opening. Through it all he holds on to the things his loved ones taught him—about family, about friends and lovers, about life and death. Most importantly, he realizes that sometimes the greatest gift of all is a second chance.
Author
T.A. Webb is the writing name for the Mean Old Bear That Could. He's worked with people living with HIV/AIDS and with children in the foster care system for over twenty years, and took the smaller pay for the chance to make a difference for those who can't help themselves. After hours, he's the proud single papa of two (now three) rescue dogs, was born and raised in Atlanta, where he still lives, and is a pretty darned good country cook. His sister taught him to read when he was four, and he tore his way through the local library over the next few years. Always wanting more, he snuck a copy of The Exorcist under his parents' house to read when he was eleven and scared the bejesus out of himself. Thus began a love affair with books that skirt the edge, and when he discovered gay literature, he was hooked for life. To reach him, please email AuthorTAWebb@aol.com, visit him on Facebook at www.facebook.com/authortawebb orhttps://www.facebook.com/twebb7813, tweet him on Twitter @TomBearAtl, or visit him blog at www.tom-webb.blogspot.com.
