When Cole met Jane, something special happened, and they found love. But when Anthony appeared, his kept secret unravelled, and it ended in disaster.

Can a lucky find in the aftermath help him become who he is and reach the moreness he seeks? And is there room to forgive the unforgivable?

Three Ways

In Sydney, Australia 2013, Cole Brodas searches for love, but does not know where he will find it, or how profound it will be.

Exploring physical, emotional, and spiritual connections with others and ourselves, Three Ways builds on themes of authenticity, honesty, and higher purpose, and broaches the topics of closeting, phobia, trauma, and forgiveness.

An eleven-year labour of love now in its final draft before editing, this bisexual rite-of-passage romance is geared to both mainstream and queer mature audiences, and resides in a sweet spot between not-Young Adult, not-smut, and not about a threesome.

With unforgettable characters, amazing moments, simple profundity, and stretching from the suburbs to the city and its landmarks, it has been quite a journey to write, and led to my growth as a queer author.

When to Expect Release

Intended for self-publication, it will be a while before Three Ways is available for purchase.

While I don’t want to make promises with limited writing time, the slow process of overhauling the manuscript, the Bipolar/ADHD, and in need of downtime, I’ll put it at an April/May finish very tentatively

Once I can find openings with an editor and beta readers, arrange for cover designs, and polish the prose with the suggestions and a critical eye, I may be able to hit the publish button before the end of 2026.

But there will be updates, there will certainly be a cover reveal, I may be able to knock up a mood board and get a trailer done, and you will find a Spotify playlist with the Three Ways “soundtrack.”

What is Next for My Career

I’m already fomenting the next project, which I hope will take eleven months rather than eleven years, building on the experience gained in the re-write/re-structure to create rich but approachable narratives starring rounded characters, with more POVs as the stories demand.

Please Enjoy Chapter One

Three Ways – © T. M. Shannon, all rights reserved.

The woman sat alone, her face deep in the backlight of her iPhone, with Cole Brodas her witness. She wore a cream blouse, jeans belted at her waist, had hair down to her shoulders she tucked and tucked behind her ears, intent on her screen that she ignored her drink in a tall glass.

He chortled. “Probably on Faceplant.”

Jimmy shoved his shoulder, held his glass of Heineken out. “You’ve been drooling over that since you sat down.”

Cole took his glass, ashamed to share the world with inhuman humans. “Women are people. Would you be nice?”

Jimmy stared as Graham arrived. “Ooh, all prim and proper.”

Graham put on a toff hat. “‘Mister Brodas, at your service.’”

“Ugh, you’re both pains.”

Cole drank his Heineken, eyes back to the woman still on her phone and just as attractive as before.

Graham scoffed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What’s that, Lassie? You smell some pussy?”

Cole went to spit beer, tabled his glass. “Fuck, Jimmy, you right?”

Jimmy drained half his beer. “Well, I ain’t a lefty.”

“That’s the same half of the species as your mum.”

“And like you’re not thinking of fucking her brains out.”

“I, well…” Cole sank. “Shit.”

“’Course you are.” Jimmy checked her out. “Pretty hot, bet she’s not a princess either.”

Cole glared. “Just ’cause she’s hot, it doesn’t make her a slut.”

Jimmy sneered. “Meh, moral proselytising.”

Graham frowned. “Where’d you learn such a big word?”

“Ah, piss off ya faggot.” Jimmy drained his beer, banged the empty glass on the table. “C’mon, luck’s running out downstairs.” He left.

Cole stared at Jimmy’s back and drank his beer to more swept hair.

Graham laughed. “Really?”

Cole nodded at the woman. “What do you reckon?”

“Ehh, she’s too big.”

“You’re—she’s normal. You pick up sticks.”

“You and your curves.” Graham drank. “Coming down the pokies?”

Cole shook his head and sighed.

Graham rolled his eyes. “Well, you gonna stare all night, or cause a disturbance in the Force to get her attention?”

Cole’s shoulders fell. “It’d be easier to save Skyrim.”

“Oh, you love that game.” Graham pointed his glass at Cole. “A girl’s not happening if you don’t get off your computer.”

Cole looked down. “Yeah…”

“C’mon, let’s go for a bash.”

Cole stood. Pity and dismay stabbed his heart, and he took his beer with a last look and sigh.

Graham stared. “Right, none of that. I dare you to go pick up.”

“I don’t do dares.”

“Oh, you’re doing this one.”

“No.”

Graham pointed at the woman. “Strap on a pair and get over there.” The words made no dent. “Look, you want Jimmy taking a shot at that?”

“Fucking hell, she’s a human being.”

“You want to keep her away from the caveman? Get over there.”

Cole put a hand up. “Alright, I’m going.” He drained his beer.

“Settle down with the Dutch courage.”

Cole wiped his mouth. “Just, can you keep Jimmy downstairs?”

“It’ll be right, he only gives a shit about free spins tonight.” Graham smiled. “Happy trails, Mister Brodas.”

Cole the dickhead kept his vigil as he fought off moves—the woman laughed at a post and clutched her stomach. “Interesting conversation…” He blinked, crackled his neck and knuckles, and went.

His guts ached. His heart thumped. He wiped his palms on his pants. Disembodied at the point of no return, Cole coasted the rest of the way to her table, paused before her, felt awkward, but still ahemmed. “Is that an interesting conversation you’re having?”

Time froze, served him a pit of agony on a bed of please turn to me.

She blinked, glanced about with parted lips, and caught up. “Sorry?”

Cole took her in as he said his line again, nice lipstick on kind lips, eyes heightened by light eyeshadow, her eyebrows fine-tuned.

She glanced at her phone. “Maybe.”

“Could I interrupt or rescue you from it?”

She ermed.

“Well, if that doesn’t grab you, how about a compliment and a lame pick-up line?”

She chuckled, scratched her shoulder, tipped her head. “Such as?”

“I like how you tuck your hair behind your ears, but gotta say I love how it frames your face.”

“Whoa.” She smiled, tucked behind both ears, eased her shoulders back. “You’ve been watching me.”

“Yeah, from the table over there.” He nodded to it. “My mate caught me staring.”

“Oh.” She shifted on her stool. “And the line?”

He sought heaven falling, mind running—Skyrim leapt in. “Are you an adventurer like myself? ’Cause I just took an arrow to the knee.” His crowd booed.

She blanked out. “Yeah, nah, I don’t get it.”

He winced. “It’s from this game I play, whole bunch of town guards with knee injuries. Doesn’t slow them much.”

She smirked. “It’s not a joke if you have to explain.”

He tisked. “I know, but that’s fair. The peril of real life is there’s no save point.”

She tipped her head. “Hmm?”

Hope flared and set him up. “Yeah, I could reload from the save and ask, ‘Are you a bin chicken? ’Cause I’ve been checking you out.’”

She grinned and locked her phone. “That’s more like it.”

He loosened up, stayed on target, and liked her ears.

“So, what brought you over here?”

He grinned. “A little push out the chair.”

She leant in. “Just a push, or were you dared?”

“Well…”

She bit her lip.

He went from a royal flush to the cesspit, eyed his former table, and replaced his impediment with raw confidence. “Alright, I got dared, but I challenged myself to ask if I can get your next drink, and if it’s no, I won’t spend the night wondering what might’ve been.”

Her eyebrows rose as she looked him over. “You’re not giving up.”

Cole shook his head. “Nope.”

She crossed her arms and leant on the table. “Can I be honest?”

His guts churned. “Please.”

“You’ve given me two compliments, a lame pick-up line, a worse one, a dose of honesty—but you should’ve kept quiet about that.”

“Not my best move.”

“I’ll give you points.” She unfolded, left arm sent to the table, right hand to her thigh. “But you had me with your eyes and your neck in that collar.” She smiled, eyes a-twinkle. “Sorry to be difficult, but I wanted to see what you had.”

He chuckled. “Well, you’re something. I thought I was toast with the Skyrim reference.”

“Lucky you saved.” She swept her hair. “What’s your name?”

He put his right hand on the table, left to his hip. “Cole Brodas. And you?”

She looked at his hand, and her shoulders widened. “Jane Preston.”

He eyed her tall glass, just dregs and melted ice. “And can I sort you out with another drink?”

She pursed her lips, glanced at the bar. “You could, but I not a fan of guys bringing me drinks.”

“Then why not come get it with me?”

She eyed the crowd. “We’ll lose the table.”

He shrugged. “I’ll find us somewhere else.”

“Really…”

He turned serious. “I know you’re worried ’bout a guy slipping a pill in your drink, and it’s packed. But I’d be honoured if you joined me.”

She laughed. “And a charming gentleman to boot. I’d love to.”

He shook his head. “Made me pull out all the stops, Not Plain Jane.”

She grinned.

“Shall we?”

Jane stood from her stool and passed Cole.

He moved away but caught her perfume—floral, sweet, delightful.

She glanced back to eyes level with hers, then led him to the bar.

He leant in, asked her order, his beer paired to a vodka lemonade. A man turned with drinks in hand, Cole stepped back to let him pass, then moved closer to Jane.

The bartender came, asked Jane’s order, and she turned to Cole.

Cole gave it.

The bartender poured Cole’s beer to halfway, built Jane’s with a slice of lemon on top, and put the finished drinks on the bar. “Sixteen, thanks.”

Cole paid, he and Jane took their own drinks, and he led her towards the now-taken table, then the end of the bar, glass out for her to cheers.

She clinked with him. “You find good places in bars.”

“I used to work in hospo, plus this is my work local.”

“Cool. And what do you do for work, Mister Brodas?”

He said he did accounts admin in funds management, while she said she was office manager and PA at a company joining an Asia-Pacific net-work.

“You do alright?”

She took a sip. “The pay’s good, don’t have to stress about my HECS debt. But I’m underappreciated, and my boss…”

He bristled. “Not a sleaze, is he?”

“Thank God, no. Just a spoilt little so-and-so.”

He grinned. “Like what, John McEnroe or Mister Darcy’s poodle?”

Jane lost it, held her stomach. “Darcy’s poodle.” She wiped her eyes.
“That’s all I’ll see when he goes off now.” She went again.

“Careful, you’ll fall over.”

They swapped suburbs, Jane in Annandale, Cole in Liverpool. They traded commutes, train for him, light rail for her but bike on Wednesday.

Cole thought of her on a bike in Lycra. “Like serious?”

“Just keeping fit.”

She asked about his friends, and he mentioned his colleagues down on the pokies. He asked her, hers a colleague, a pair from university, and one from year twelve, with acquaintances further out.

He asked about the rent. She lived with her dad and paid board. She asked if he did okay. He told her of his savings and quiet time. He moved to suburb of birth, and she told of the move from Haberfield. She asked if he moved, and he listed the seven places he had lived before eighteen.

“That’s some travel.”

“Tell me about it. Was shit uprooting and fitting in at new schools.”

“And your move to Liverpool?”

“Year and a half ago, after I started work in the city.”

He dared to ask her age, her twenty-six, him thirty-one, neither into their horoscopes but he shared his love of the inherent mythology.

Jane got her drink to halfway and put it on the bar top. “Sorry, gotta go to the loo. Can you watch my drink?”

“Sure.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Thanks.”

Cole stared as she left. “And when are you asking for her number?”

Jane returned, asked about his games, spoke of romantic comedies, while the pair edged together, eye contact firm, shoulders relaxed, play-ful smiles shared as they finished drinks and returned to the bar.

Cole leant on the bar, right hand on it, beer in the left. Jane smiled at him and moved her vodka to the right hand to put her left on his.

Electricity shot up his arm into his scalp, joys and rewards, imprints of her looks, clear and short nails, that perfume, her very tone set in his memory by neurochemical fire. Geiger counter all crackles, he longed for her number.

Jane smiled. “Are you on Facebook?”

He returned to reality. “I never touch it. Kinda old-fashioned.”

“So, phone and texts?”

“And face-to-face for the bonus of hand contact and perfumes.”

She moved her hand over his, sent her glass beside her arm, flicked her hair, and drew a line down her jaw to her collar. “You think well.”

He turned all charm and swagger. “Well, I’m liking you.”

Jane blushed, pulled her collar out. “You better not be playing with a girl’s heart.”

He grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it. But speaking of phones, can I get your number?”

She tipped her head. “We’ll talk another meeting, yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

She chuckled, turned careful. “So, I don’t give my number, too many creeps and weirdos.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t get down. If you can trust me, I’ll get yours instead.”

His eyebrows rose. “Definite Not Plain Jane territory.”

“Especially because this is a test.”

“Ahh, nice.”

“I’m going to give you someone else’s number. I’d like you to send a photo to it, then they’ll send it to me.”

He tipped his head. “What sort?”

She paused then pursed her lips. “One that shows me your sense of humour. You send that, and I’ll make a call.”

“Alright.” He left her hand, put his beer on the bar, got his Windows Phone out, and opened his texts. Given the number, he yawned from his hellish week—went to gallery, sent the photo, and pocketed his phone.

Jane’s eyebrows rose, and the call went through. “Hi dad.”

Cole’s jaw dropped.

“I’m at a bar, sorry it’s pretty crazy. Did you get a picture?” She held on. “Oh, thank goodness. Can you send it and his number?” She smiled at Cole. “From Liverpool, dad, and I’m out with the girls tonight anyway.” A nod. “See you in the morning.” She hung up.

Cole shook his head. “Wow.”

She nodded. “You’re pretty sure of yourself. Two guys ran for it the minute I called, and the third got a call from dad and turned white.”

He nodded satisfaction. “Great move to keep the perverts at bay.”

“And if it’s not dad, it’s a friend.” Her iPhone du-ga-dinged.

“Uh-oh.”

Phone unlocked, she read the text, opened the photo. “Is this you?”

He grinned at the shot of him on his knees, head back, arms up, with his gamepad in hand. “What’d your dad say?”

She turned the phone back. “‘Ha-ha-ha very funny, nice movie taste, ‘Pass Go, collect two hundred dollars’’”

Cole scoffed. “Serious?”

She showed him.

He smiled. “Winning all the points.”

Her phone du-ga-dinged again. She checked the text. “Ooh, the girls are here, I gotta run. You sticking around?”

He yawned. “Nah, been a crazy week, need some quiet time.”

She glanced sidelong, eyes twinkles. “You’re old, I’ll leave you be.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Been a pleasure, Not Plain Jane.”

She shifted closer to him. “Same, Mister Brodas.”

Custom told him to make a move. “I’ll let you go.”

She frowned. “Without a goodbye kiss?”

His gentleman gland tipped its hat. “Nah, I won’t spoil the company or conversation, but I’ll stub a toe tonight, break a glass tomorrow, make that kiss really mean something next time.”

She gaped then beamed. “You really are one of the good ones.”

“Best compliment ever. Hear from you over the weekend.”

“Talk to you then.”

He strutted for the stairs, waved at Jane for a smile and went downstairs to George Street, floated to the crowd at the pedestrian lights, and slapped the button to cross to Wynyard station. “Sa-fucking-weet.”