This particular story is an emotional tale told through the point of view of the main character, Chauncey Irving, or 'Chance' as he's to be known. There's drama, heartache, humor, romance, and some spicy scenes.
A little bit about it:
Starting in 1934, Chance sweeps us up into his world, one of tribulations, hope, love, and loss. He takes us back in time to his life in the early 1900s where as a runaway orphan on the streets of New York City, he gets everything he's always dreamed of, only to lose it all one fell swoop, setting off a chain reaction that leads him down a dangerous path of vice and self-destruction. With every passing day, his life spirals more and more out of his control until he finds himself enlisting in the French Foreign Legion in the mid-1920s.
This is the story of a young man, clinging onto hope and finding the will to move toward a future where he can become the man he knows is buried somewhere deep inside, and perhaps even find the love and family he never thought he’d have again.
Here's a scene:
(please note this is pre-edits)
At this point I had to decide whether my pride was worth the price of losing a leg, especially since my not listening to him is what had gotten me into this mess in the first place. “Can you help me, please?” I stretched the bag up to him, and braced myself as he grinned broadly and took it from me.
“Of course I can, Hummingbird. That’s what I’m here for.”
“I thought it was to make my life miserable,” I muttered, ignoring the pet name. Did I mention the pet names? Except now he was doing it to annoy me. Also, they weren’t just any pet names. Oh no. This was Jacky we were talking about.
He arched an eyebrow at me as he knelt down, and roughly tore at the cloth around my wound. Opening the bag, he proceeded to take out various sharp looking implements, none of them being the one I wanted most. I jumped with a yelp when he stuck one of the shiny metal forceps into my leg.
“Where’s the M?” I cried anxiously, refusing to believe he was about to do this without giving me anything to numb the pain.
“Sorry, Buttercup. There ain’t none.” He continued to dig around, and I grabbed my leg fiercely, gritting my teeth as newly formed drops of sweat starting dripping down my brow.
“What do you mean there ain’t none?” I felt the color draining from my face as I started to panic. Snatching the bag, I emptied its contents onto the ground. Damn it all to hell, he was right. Everything in the bag was designed to bring me pain, none of it to ease it. What kind of medical bag didn’t have any morphine? I held my leg tightly, the pain excruciating. At one stage, I thought I was going to either black out or be sick. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll lose the leg.”
“Too late.” He flicked his wrist and the bullet popped out. He caught it, wiped it up, and stuck it in his pocket. I wanted to ask what he was going to do with it, but I was too busy sweating over the sharp, curved slice of metal he'd started threading.
“Shit, you mean it’s not over?”
He shook his head as he started to stitch me up. “You can hardly walk around with a gaping hole, now can you?”
I snorted. “You do, and you seem just fine.”
He tugged at the needle, and I saw stars. “Jesus Christ!” That earned me another tug. “What the hell was that one for?”
“Since when are you religious?”
“I’m not, but someone else might be.”
I couldn’t believe he managed to say that with a straight face. I wanted to beat the hell out of him. I even pulled back a fist then begrudgingly put it back down with a resigned sigh. If I swung at him, I’d just come off as more of a pansy than I already felt. I probably had about as much strength in me at the moment as a wet noodle. Also, he had sort of helped me out. I suppose. With a hearty pat on the shoulder, he grinned. “Like I said, Snuggle-pup, that’s what I’m here for.” He started to get up and suddenly paused, patting his front pockets with a frown.
“What?” I asked warily.
He pulled out a thin, long metal box, and smiled brightly. “Huh, would you look at that? There was some M after all.”
Chance not only has a talent for stirring up trouble, but for rubbing people the wrong way--except for Jacky of course. The man has some unholy, inexhaustible supply of good cheer, much to Chance's annoyance. Of course, even nice guys like Jacky have a limit. Question is, will Chance be the first to push him toward it?
x Charlie x