Diamond Heart (Cherrywood Grove #2) by M.A. Hinkle

Title: Diamond Heart

Series: Cherrywood Grove, Book Two

Author: M.A. Hinkle

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: February 4, 2019

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 60900

Genre: Contemporary YA, LGBT, contemporary, YA, high school, twins, arts/music/theater, gay, ace, panromantic, gender-bending, learning disability/social anxiety, family drama

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Synopsis

Gareth has a problem. He got expelled. Now he and his twin brother, Morgan, have to start over at an artsy new private school, and it’s all Gareth’s fault. Not to mention Morgan’s crippling social

anxiety and Gareth’s resting jerk face aren’t making them any friends, and their father is furious with him. Gareth could live with this, but Morgan’s mad at him too, and Morgan is the only person alive who can make Gareth feel guilty.

Good thing Gareth has a plan. Cute, bubbly Felix, a student at their new school, has a crush on Morgan, and they both want to act in their school’s production of Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Gareth figures it’s the perfect way to help Morgan come out of his shell and set him up with Felix. Then, maybe Morgan will forgive him, and Gareth can go back to not caring about anything or anyone.

But Gareth has another problem. He’s been cast as Oberon, and Felix is Titania. Oh, and Morgan doesn’t like Felix back. And maybe Gareth is enjoying the play and making new friends and having a
good time at his new school. And maybe—just maybe—he’s got a crush on Felix. Can Gareth keep up his tough-guy act long enough to repair his relationship with Morgan, or will Felix get caught in the fallout of Gareth’s dumb schemes?

Review 

My Rating - 5 Stars!

Diamond Heart is a complicated Young Adult novel by MA Hinkle.

Garreth is the messed up twin while Morgan is the star student, but both have their share of issues. After losing their mom to suicide, their lives have become filled with anxiety and angst. You immediately get the feel of their family dynamics, as they call their father by his first name, Trevor. 'Nuff said.

Enter Felix, a student at the twins' new school. They all end up spending time together, under circumstances that aren't quite clear, with truths not quite being revealed. Felix is a great guy and he and Garreth manage to bond, as they both know the pain of losing a parent. 

These teens have a lot to deal with; mental heath issues, anxiety issues, panic attacks, and guilt. Each situation is well developed and well explored. 

Garreth's been weighed down by guilt and can't allow himself to be content or happy. He spends all his time and energy trying to protect his brother. His constant disparaging of himself is tiring and crippling.

One impressive and memorable quote is "being happy is a lot of work." This expertly exposes the power one has over their own feelings. Of course, changing how you feel is never easy, which is clearly established. 

In the end, I love the personal growth that both twins experience. It's inspiring and rewarding. The journey is well worth taking.

Diamond Heart is a tender coming of age tale, that's multi-layered, raw and real. MA Hinkle does a fantastic job authenticating this time in one's life of wondering who you are and where you belong. This tale perfectly explores the dilemma of not liking who you are, but not knowing how to change.

Excerpt

Diamond Heart

M.A. Hinkle © 2019

All Rights Reserved

Everything started when I punched a guy in the face, but I only realized this was more than a regular Tuesday once my twin brother Morgan got home from school looking like he’d been hit by a truck.

Not literally. Morgan resembled the guy on the cover of a romance novel—not Fabio, the Twilight knockoffs, where they were angsty instead of buff. Morgan’s hair was always windswept, except when he pulled it back as per the school dress code. While our school had a dress code, at least it was gender neutral, so anyone could wear whatever they wanted as long as their skirt hit below the knee and their hair was kept out of their face.

Morgan’s hair is always kept out of his face, is what I’m saying.

I was hoping word hadn’t gotten around school, but what a stupid hope. Morgan was ashen. I got to my feet. “Morgan—”

He shook his head without changing his expression.

Crap. I tried to stand still as Morgan went through his getting home ritual: shoes placed in a neat straight line next to the door, tie loosened but not taken off, laptop removed from bag, bag hung
on the hook next to the empty one where mine belonged. I put my hands behind my back so he wouldn’t see me digging my fingernails into my palm.

Morgan finished and turned to me. I couldn’t read his expression. “So what happened this time?”

I tried to make my mouth work. But for one thing, I had a bad feeling Morgan already knew the answer. For another—

If he didn’t already know, explaining would be impossible. This went deeper than being dumb and teenage and angry. This was about Morgan and his nerves and me protecting him the only way I knew how. If I could explain it out loud, I wouldn’t have been in this mess. I could have talked things out with Warren Beauregard III (really, truly his name in the year of our Lord 2016) the way Sesame Street taught me, and we would sing a song, and everyone would have gone home happy after learning about the letter of the day.

But before I could figure out how to put it into words, my father came downstairs.

My father—excuse me, Dr. Trevor Lewis, PhD and some other fancy letters—was a professor of Welsh literature. He spent most of his time buried in books written in a language barely anyone spoke, writing papers seven other people would read. Whenever he tried to tell me about it, my soul left my body from sheer boredom.

I didn’t see him much. In order to focus on his research, Trevor taught night classes, which meant all the good people working full-time jobs and going through school snored their way through his
English 101. Therefore, he was at home while I was in school, and I was at home while he was at school. It worked well. I didn’t have to see him and remember we looked alike and I hated it, and he didn’t have to see me and remember the family disappointment.

“Let’s sit in the parlor, boys.” His voice was cool.

The change of scenery wasn’t for anyone’s comfort; the furniture was so old it doubled as a torture device. Morgan and I took our usual spot on the couch, Trevor in the chair across from us. Morgan chewed on his lower lip. I wanted to do the same, but I also didn’t want Trevor to see he had me over a barrel.

“The principal decided to avail me of a number of things about you, Gareth,” said Trevor, after a long, long minute of staring at me. He still hadn’t raised his voice. “He said you are, in most
respects, a brilliant student. A leader in class discussions, consistently high achieving on standardized tests, and well liked by your teachers. I was aware of all of this.”

I did not relax. Before everything else, Trevor was a rhetorician. He was not reassuring me; he was laying out background before he launched into his thesis. According to family legend, when he defended his dissertation, the evaluators only asked one question apiece because his argument about whatever he studied was so watertight.

“What I did not know is you have also been consistently on the verge of expulsion from the moment you started high school. I don’t see the point of going into detail of the reasons. I’m sure you’re aware—swearing, uniform violations, lashing out at other students.”

The expulsion part was news to me, which was not going to help my case.

Trevor waited, not to see if I wanted to respond. He was pausing for effect. “And it has only been by the grace of the aforementioned good qualities and my not inconsiderable donations to your school that you have not been run out for conduct unbecoming a member of their academy.”

I bit my tongue. Literally. It hurt. Sometimes, I appreciated Trevor’s frankness. Take when he talked about college. He always said, “I expect both of you to attend either the school where I teach
or the University of Wisconsin, unless you get into an Ivy League college.” It might sound controlling, but I knew exactly where I stood with him—in the garbage.

“You’re getting kicked out?” Morgan asked, as though I should have led with it when he came in the door.

“I guess, but I just found out too.” I didn’t even know my school expelled people. Then again, I was the only kid ever written up for fighting on school grounds.

Morgan stiffened like we were going over the first drop on a roller coaster, only there was no track at the bottom to catch us. “I can’t stay there by myself.”

Now that was news to me. Among other things, Morgan was valedictorian, first chair violinist in orchestra, and student council secretary. (He’d be president, but then he’d have to talk.) All the teachers thought he was God’s gift to academia, and he’d been fielding college recruiters since we were in eighth grade. And everybody adored Morgan. Girls wanted to bang him, guys wanted to be him/possibly also bang him, nonbinary people high-fived him, et cetera. I wasn’t exactly an outcast, but I wasn’t anyone’s first choice for gym, either.

Trevor’s expression was unreadable. Behind his glasses, his eyes were the color of a freezing winter sky. My father had never been cuddly, but he used to talk to us more, before my mom killed
herself four years ago. Suicide should have been the low point, but things only went downhill in our family from there. After the funeral ended and all the flowers were thrown away, we never talked about her again. I hadn’t bothered trying, but Morgan had, and Trevor dismissed him. Not in so many words, maybe, but we got the hint.

Anyway, as long as Morgan was calm and under control, he and Trevor had long and involved conversations about books and crap. But the second Morgan faced something more complicated than
precalculus, Trevor was out the door faster than blinking, leaving Morgan alone with his deep-breathing exercises. And me. I always cleaned up the mess, whether or not I made it.

To be fair, I usually made it.

I got to my feet, one hand clenched in a fist. I wasn’t going to hit Trevor—no use. It wouldn’t get a rise out of him. But the pain helped me concentrate so my voice would come out calmly, the same
way it did at fancy dinner parties when one of Trevor’s too-rich friends asked me a question that drove me up a wall. I knew Morgan hadn’t meant to say anything out loud, nor would he appreciate it if I answered him right now. So I put on my best Trevor face and pretended Morgan wasn’t hyperventilating beside me. “Well, this is all pretty shitty. When do I find out?”

Trevor’s expression hadn’t changed an inch; he might have been staring at one of the insipid paintings hung on the wall. “You’ve been suspended for the rest of the week while they decide. In the
meantime, I suggest you research alternative options. I have enough work preparing for midterms.”

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood so I wouldn’t answer. Morgan was about ready to barf all over the fancy Persian rug, but he almost always was. I couldn’t tell if it was
worse than usual.

“You wanna help me search?” I asked. If I didn’t give Morgan some kind of out, he would sit there until the end of time, caught in his own head.

Morgan stood, jerkily. He nodded at Trevor and followed me upstairs.

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NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

Meet the Author

M.A. Hinkle swears a lot and makes jokes at inappropriate times, so she writes about characters who do the same thing. She’s also worked as an editor and proofreader for the last eight years, critiquing everything from graduate school applications to romance novels.

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RELEASE BLITZ & REVIEW - Death Of A Bachelor by MA Hinkle

Title: Death of a Bachelor

Author: M.A. Hinkle

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: October 29, 2018

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 75,200

Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, bisexual, enemies to lovers, grief/grieving, UST (unresolved sexual tension), teenage kids, family drama, humorous

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Synopsis

Cathal Kinnery is an arrogant, overeducated jerk, and Damon Eglamore is not afraid to tell him so. But Damon married Cathal’s best friend, so they have an uneasy truce. Then she passes away. Now they’re stuck together in close quarters, trying to honor her memory without shouting at each other all the time.

At first, they have no idea how to move forward. Damon is a chef, but all his favorite recipes remind him of his late wife. Cathal would love to start tomcatting around town again, except for that annoying promise he made to his best friend about looking after Damon.

Then Damon’s son comes to them for help, convinced the only way to win over his first crush is a gender-bending Shakespeare production. After that, Cathal talks Damon into taking up baking as a new way to use his talents. Next thing they know, they’ve begun a new life working as a team instead of jumping at each other’s throats. But can they trust each other long enough to make it last, or will they fall into old bad habits again?

Review 

My Rating - 5 Stars!

Death Of A Bachelor is a fantastic novel by debut author MA Hinkle.  

It's the story of two men, Cathal and Damon, who have disliked each other for years but are brought together in grief after losing Damon's wife, who was Cathal's best friend. 

Damon's lost and unable to cope with his loss, and Cathal is there to help him out, to help him rebuild his life. What starts as anger and dislike ends with an amazing friendship, and more. First they have to deal with old misunderstandings and misconceptions. 

I love Cathal and Damon. I love their story. Their banter is off the charts witty and fantastic. And their relationship with Damon's son Felix is wonderful, entertaining and fun. I truly appreciate all that Felix brings to the story.

In the end, the relationship that develops between Cathal and Damon is gripping and emotional. Cathal helps Damon to see that there's still brightness in the world, and they can mourn their loss together. 

MA Hinkle does an amazing job with this story. Death Of A Bachelor is unique and powerful story of starting over, family and love.  It's a slow burn love story at it's finest. 

Excerpt

Death of a Bachelor
M.A. Hinkle © 2018
All Rights Reserved

First Prologue: Cathal Crushes Olives and Damon’s Dreams.
December 31st, 1997

The man sitting at the end of the bar was older than Damon, maybe twenty-four. He had a thin, foxlike face and long, dark hair that he twirled around a finger as he wrote on a napkin, and he was wearing a Cherrywood College shirt under his suit jacket. A martini sat untouched in front of him, and his eyes were lost in thought. Definitely gay, but he wasn’t…intimidating. Unlike every other man who wasn’t on the dance floor or making out with someone else.

Damon sat next to him and gestured to the bartender for a beer. He was already a little drunk, but if he wanted to relax, he’d have to get a lot drunk. The other patron continued writing out a math problem. He finished his equation, considered it, and then scribbled the whole thing out, his brow furrowed. Scowling, he drank the martini at one go. Only then did he glance in Damon’s direction. “Fuck off,” he said, biting the olive from the swizzle stick. “I’m not looking for company tonight. I came here to get drunk.”

Damon colored, but he kept the embarrassment from his voice. “Why’d you think I came here for anything different?”

“There’s plenty of room, but you sat by me.” He looked at Damon, taking him all in, and his eyes narrowed further. The scowl fit his face too well, and Damon didn’t appreciate his scrutiny. “And guys like you don’t come here for the conversation.”

Damon didn’t care for the man’s tone. But he was the first to admit he didn’t know what he was doing—and, anyway, he was drunk enough not to care. “I wasn’t aware anyone came here for conversation.”

The man snorted. “It’s not the fucking sixties anymore. Gays can have meet-cutes as easily as everyone else.” He gestured to the bartender for another martini, rubbing his forehead.

Damon didn’t know what he meant, and he wanted to ask what kind of guy this man thought he was. But he had a feeling that would piss him off, and he was looking for a good time. Instead, he took another drink of his beer. “I’m Damon,” he said, without expecting much.

The man accepted another martini from the bartender and sipped it, looking at Damon over the top. “Cathal.”

Damon drummed his fingers on the bar, wondering if he ought to cut his losses and head to a straight bar after all. But he settled for finishing his beer in one long drink.

Cathal watched him. Not friendly watching. At this point, Damon didn’t know how to leave, so he signaled for another beer. “What were you working on?”

Cathal glanced at the napkin and made a face. “Bullshit. It doesn’t matter.”

Damon screwed the cap off his second beer and took a drink. “Who comes to a bar and does their homework?”

Cathal raised his eyebrows. His face was dangerous, but he couldn’t be that bad. Too scrawny. “Who comes to a bar already drunk?” He tilted his head to the side and smiled. Not a nice smile. Damon was starting to wonder if he had a nice smile, or if he always looked like someone had pissed in his drink. “Oh. I know. Guys like you.”

Damon frowned, feeling the first stirrings of anger. “You said that before. What do you mean?”

Cathal leaned toward Damon. His voice was calm, unhurried, but his eyes were full of fire, the sort that burns unnoticed and then flares up to take a tree down in seconds. “Guys like you. Guys who are maybe straight, maybe not, who come to one of our places for a little fucking fun and then go home to their wife or girlfriend or whatever. Never mind that it’s guys like you—guys with enough gay in them to be scared when they see one of us—who cause the goddamn trouble in the first place, because you’re not man enough to face down what’s inside you.” He drank the rest of his martini and bit off the olive again, viciously. “Don’t say you play for both teams if you’re only going to bat for one side.”

Damon blinked. It wasn’t only that he was surprised by the onslaught. He was hurt, too. “Are you this much of an asshole to everyone, or just me?” His temper was throbbing now, but he wasn’t drunk enough to punch Cathal. Even though he wanted to be, because he could never match him with words.

“Everyone,” said Cathal, like he was proud of it. He got up. “If you want a fuckbuddy for the night, that’s fine. So do plenty of guys here. But go find someone who doesn’t care if you’re throwing the rest of us under the bus, because I do.” He reached to tuck the napkin into his pocket; Damon grabbed his wrist, even though he had nothing to say. Cathal shot him a look that promised every possible bad thing in the known universe. And some unknown things.

Damon let go of him, scowling. “I’m not like that. I’m not.”

Cathal smiled that prim, insipid smile again. “Yes, you fucking are.” He walked off without another word.

Damon sat there, stunned. Then he turned around and finished his beer at a go.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

Meet the Author

M.A. Hinkle swears a lot and makes jokes at inappropriate times, so she writes about characters who do the same thing. She’s also worked as an editor and proofreader for the last eight years, critiquing everything from graduate school applications to romance novels.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

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