Summary:
The greatest gift might be what they already have.
After years away building his career, event planner Sebastian Chesnut returns to his small hometown of Fir Falls to reconnect with his mother, sister, and young nieces before his job takes him to London.
He doesn't expect to find his high school boyfriend, Matty, has become a virtual member of Seb's family. Back then, Matty only offered a casual relationship, but Seb fell hard, and history is soon repeating itself. Seb’s afraid to hope for a second chance, no matter how much they’ve grown and despite the family they share. Instead, he focuses on creating a last perfect holiday, which won’t be easy with his sister’s ex planning to take the girls over Christmas.
Seb and Matty might not know what to do about their feelings for each other, but one thing’s for sure—it won’t be Christmas without the kids. Can these star-crossed lovers pull off a holiday miracle?
Yet another new author to me which can be a bit scary but I needn't have worried. Santa's Last Gift if sweet, emotional, family, romance and an all-around feel good story. I tend to give even less away when dealing with Christmas stories as the holiday can often be a character of their own. Holiday season is more than just a time of year, for some it's almost a way of life so I think these tales are far better when you can experience them for yourself. I'll just add the characters are likable, so much so I wish I could wrap Seb and Matty in a big red bow and pull them out of the pages to bring home and get to know. A lovely gem for any holiday library and a perfect one to help get you in the mood for the season.
RATING:
Summary:
According to Liam #2
First Christmas as Mr. & Mr.
What a magical and romantic time for newlyweds. Unfortunately, Bryn and Mike won’t be spending Christmas Eve cuddled up alone in front of a fire roasting chestnuts. They’ve been unexpectedly called upon to play Santa for Mike’s precocious nephew, Liam, when his mother and her boyfriend are called out of state to attend a funeral. It should be easy to make this holiday a special one despite the unforeseen upset, right? All it will take is love, laughter, a little romance, lots of hugs, and a heaping helping of patience when Old Kris Kringle leaves the easy assembly for someone else.
Summary:
Montana #4
An actor in the closet, a sheriff in love, and memories that won’t stay hidden.
Jordan Darby is known as the King of Christmas. The star of eight made-for-TV Christmas movies, the leading man who always gets his girl. Filming at Crooked Tree Ranch in Montana, in the ice and snow, Jordan is fighting to make a go of his new company and dealing with fears of exposure over one huge secret. After all, who the hell would buy into him being a romantic straight lead if rumors about him being gay were proven to be true?
Sheriff Ryan Carter is advising on the new movie being made at Crooked Tree. He hoped this would be one day of work and nothing more. Until, that is, he meets the hero. But while Jordan is sexy, he’s also very much stuck in the closet—everything that Ryan doesn’t need in his life. And then lust becomes part of the equation, and Ryan’s quiet life is thrown into turmoil.
Their story unfolds against the chaos that overtakes the ranch, with Adam regaining memories that terrify him and make him look at Justin differently, and Justin leaving the ranch to make things right. Only through trusting in love and friendship can Justin and Adam learn to look to the future instead of letting the past destroy everything. But will they ever see clearly enough to do that?
I don't generally re-read, or in this case re-listen, to a book in the middle of a series without starting from the beginning. What can I say? It's just the Christmas spirit that's got me listening to some of my favorite holiday reads😉. If you haven't read the previous entries in the author's Montana series before, I highly recommend experiencing them first. However you read it you'll fall in love with the whole Crooked Tree Ranch crew and Sean Crisden continues to bring RJ's words to life.
Audiobook Review December 2018:
Once again another spot on reading by Sean Crisden bringing to life RJ Scott's Snow in Montana. His voice and her words are a match made in heaven, or in this case Montana😉. As much as I loved reading(and re-reading) Snow, listening to Jordan and Ryan come alive added a whole new level of awesome-ness to the story. Definitely a win-win on all fronts.
Original ebook Review December 2016:
What do I say about Snow in Montana that could even begin to come close to successfully express how much I loved the latest installment of the Montana series? It's RJ Scott! Okay, maybe I need to say more, lol. Snow might be Ryan and Jordan's tale but we also get to see Adam and Justin's stories advance. Jordan's contribution to the holiday season might be a list of cheesy Christmas films that most of us secretly classify as a guilty pleasure but when him and Ryan meet, it's less cheese and more spiked punch that threatens to short out your ereader and burn your fingers, but in the absolute best way imaginable. I'd be lying if I said Snow in Montana is just another RJ Scott holiday story because it's so much more than that, it's a little bit of everything, well there's no science fiction or paranormal elements but everything else is there. The fact that it's all wrapped together in a great big Montana sized package with a big bright red bow on top just makes it even better.
RATING:
Summary:
Drake is a musician and singer with a career that has spun out of his control. When he gets an invitation from and old friend to come and spend some downtime in the country, he happily turns of his cell phone and heads to the middle of nowhere.
Artist Scott hopes Drake will find some peace on his little farm, and sets about making his old buddy right at home. Can the two of them fight off Drake's fame and find happiness together, at least for the Christmas season?
Originally release by another publisher.
Summary:
Four steamy and sweet MM holiday romances in one sizzling box set!
This gay romance collection from Keira Andrews includes four of her best-selling holiday novellas:
Eight Nights in December
A geek. A virgin. One sexy holiday.
Orphaned Lucas figures spending Hanukkah with his obnoxious roommate’s family in New York City is better than staying alone on campus upstate. He ends up sharing a room again, this time with his roommate’s brother. Geeky photographer Nate isn’t at all what Lucas expects. In fact, he’s incredibly sexy—especially when he invites Lucas into his darkroom...
Features secret trysts, new adult angst, spinning the dreidel, and of course a happy ending.
In Case of Emergency
Former stepbrothers find Christmas romance under the tree.
After years alone, Daniel Diaz is finally ready to shake up his orderly, solitary life. He's about to leave for a cozy Christmas getaway when he gets the call from the ER that his former stepbrother has been admitted with a concussion and a broken hand—and Cole put him down as his emergency contact. Why the hell would he do that? Daniel barely knows the guy. But Cole has no one else to look after him and strict doctor's orders not to be left alone. So, fine, Daniel will bring him along on vacation...
Features former stepbrothers reconnecting as adults, sexy hot-tub shenanigans, Christmas feels, and of course a happy ending.
Santa Daddy
Mall Santas aren’t supposed to be hot!
Hunter Adams is still a virgin, can’t find a real job, and has no clue what to do with his life. In desperation, he returns to his humiliating old job as an elf at the Santa's Village. The Santa on the job is an unexpectedly sexy lumberjack, twice Hunter's size and age. He’s grumpy and intimidating, but he makes Hunter feel very naughty.When a surprise blizzard traps them alone on Nick’s isolated tree farm, Nick’s daddy instincts kick in...
Features an age gap, steamy mm first times, daddy role-playing and light spanking, and of course a happy ending.
Where the Lovelight Gleams
Will co-stars take their romance offscreen this Christmas?
Actor Ryan Drake is pining. He may get to kiss gorgeous Cary Holloway on the set of their hit sci-fi TV show, but he knows it’ll never happen in real life. Charming Cary has a starlet girlfriend, and despite their sizzling onscreen chemistry, he and Ryan are just friends. Right? Then Cary accepts Ryan’s invite to spend the holiday with his family in Canada. Little does Ryan know, Cary’s coming to terms with his bisexuality and deep attraction to his co-star...
Features delicious pining, sexual awakening, snowball fights, cozy holiday cheer, and of course a happy ending.
Grab these sexy holiday romances now—available together in digital and print for the first time!
Original Review December 2017:
Daniel Diaz has decided to step outside of his norm to try and shake up his life by getting away for the weekend with the new man in his life. Fate has other plans. Cole Smith wasn't expecting to break his hand and wind up with a concussion but it happens and his former stepbrother gets called and decides to watch over his concussion protocol when he finds no one else is around. So Daniel's weekend getaway has an extra passenger. What happens when he gets to the cabin and finds his new man has a surprise of his own? Will Cole's longtime crush on his former stepbrother finally lead to something?
I've read a few tales by Keira Andrews and never have I been disappointed. In Case of Emergency was just as good as I have come to expect from Miss Andrews and to make it even better, its wrapped in a giant Christmas bow. Most of us want to shake things up at one time or another so its easy to understand Daniel's desire and his fears. Its easy to tell someone to do something different but its not so easy to do so yourself. Its equally easy to understand Cole's longtime crush, most of us have that one crush from our younger years that never really faded and if they were to come back into our lives hints of that crush would quickly return.
With In Case of Emergency, its really no secret where Daniel and Cole's journey will end but its the getting there that is fun, heartwarming, and entertaining. If you're wondering about Daniel's new man that he's to spend the weekend with, well for that part of the story you'll have to read for yourself but I will say that even though this is fun and full of holiday heart there is some drama that fits perfectly with the characters and the setting. I may not be adding this one to my annual re-read list but I will definitely be looking forward to revisiting Daniel and Cole again.
RATING:
Santa Daddy
Original Review December 2018:
Hunter Adams returns home for the holiday with a degree and no real job he plays elf one last time for the closing mall. Nick Spini is a bit of a hermit with a tree farm who is roped in by his friend to play Santa before the mall closes for good. When Santa and elf meet, its not exactly cute or super friendly but the attraction is definitely there. Will Hunter and Nick find happiness over the holiday or will their holiday desires be just that, a holiday fling?
I'm going to start out by saying that daddy kink is, well I can't say it is outside my comfort zone because I really don't have a comfort zone, I'll read anything and everything but to be honest daddy kink is not something I typically go looking for but if it is in a story I think sounds interesting then that's fine. So, I don't have a lot of experience in the genre to speak to the accuracy of the depiction but I would have to say Keira Andrews does a pretty darn good job with Hunter and Nick's desires.
As for Hunter and Nick, I love the connection between the two and despite the extra heat of the trope of daddy kink, Santa Daddy is at heart a gem of a holiday rom-com. That is not to say there isn't some drama but for the most part this is heartwarming story of discovery. I don't want to give anything away but I will say one of my favorite moments is when Hunter tells Nick that he may be daddy in the bedroom but not the rest of the time. That scene really spoke volumes to me because, yes, Hunter feels lost in the job/employment area and yes, he's younger than Nick but he's not willing to be a pushover. He may not realize that having a "real job" doesn't have to mean office but he won't let Nick's fears push him away without a fight.
That's probably more spoilers than I really wanted to touch on but we all know it'll be a HEA, however the real "meat-and-potatoes" part of the story is in the journey getting from point A to point Z. Santa Daddy has a way of sucking you in until you won't want to put it down till you reach the last page and once you do, you'll probably wish you read it slower to savor this Christmas treat. Whether you decide to file it under rom-com, May/December, daddy kink/adult, or just simply holiday romance doesn't really matter because in the end you will have read an entertainingly fun and romantic story and personally I can't ask for more.
RATING:
Where the Lovelight Gleams
Original Review November 2015:
Sometimes the unexpected and never-imagined-possible can bring the most treasured gifts. Ryan and Cary definitely have chemistry onscreen but what Ryan discovers offscreen is what holiday romances are all about and Keira Andrews does it beautifully once again.
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Random Tales of Christmas 2019
Santa's Last Gift by Sandine Tomas
Chapter 1
Sebastian
“SEB? GOT a minute?” It was not the request, but rather the tone, that tipped him off to the severity of the issue. Bracing himself, Sebastian nodded for Trevor to continue. The young man swallowed. “We’ve gotten a ‘note’ from the client about the ice sculpture.”
Well, that was unexpected, as Seb had personally supervised the installation of the crystalline swan ice sculpture, and it was a prime example of the Ice Palace’s most classic work. He’d made a point of keeping the variables of this late-November event under tight control so he could wrap it up and head out for his vacation with an abundance of calm.
One raised eyebrow gave his assistant permission to elaborate. Trevor fussed with his collar before continuing, “They don’t think the swan is the appropriate, um, bird.”
The bad feeling grew. “And what bird would they prefer?”
“A turkey.”
Seb knew his face must have darkened into the shade his employees referred to as “get-out-of-the way plum.”
“I thought they indicated on the event intake form that we shouldn’t have a Thanksgiving theme since Thanksgiving was two days ago?”
“Yes. It said that. And I confirmed. But the CEO was shown a photo and he asked what a swan had to do with anything. And then he said it should be a turkey ‘for obvious reasons.’”
Four hours until the event started, and Seb had a five-foot ice sculpture to replace. It was par for the course. He winced because turkeys were ugly birds compared to swans. But what the client wanted, the client got.
“Call Ned at the Ice Palace and tell him we’ll pay double rate if they can deliver the turkey sculpture in two hours. Let me know. I’ll handle Lacey.”
Lacey Anderson was the president of Anderson Events, and Sebastian’s boss. He’d served as her VP and right-hand person for the past five years. She specialized in corporate events from an intimate dinner for three hundred to an elaborate three-day retreat for a thousand on a private island. Sebastian had made it snow in Palm Springs in May and transformed South Dakota into a tropical paradise in January.
As expected, Lacey bellowed like a bull when he called her, and then creatively used the word “turkey” in relation to the client for a solid fifteen minutes. Seb remained restrained—he could turn purple on occasion but he rarely vented. He knew his trademark single swan ice sculpture had a double meaning. But that icy edge was his best asset—work the problem and get it done.
When Lacey was done lambasting the idiocy of the C-suite, she paused to ask, “Your holiday plans still set?”
“Absolutely. I’m finally keeping my promise to see my family.”
It had been five years since Sebastian visited his family back home in Fir Falls, New York. At that time his sister Stephanie had still been married and his niece Chance was an infant. He’d meant to go home when Rowen was born, but he’d been new then, working with Lacey, and it was important he impress her. His family was counting on him. No matter how much he missed them, he had to do right and ensure they were secure. His mother’s throat-clogged admission five years ago on how behind she’d gotten on the mortgage was etched as indelibly in his heart as if she’d used a chisel.
One of the best ways to impress his new boss was to help their clients’ success. The year Rowen was born, a charitable foundation had scheduled a fundraiser for December 13th and the following December, a telecom giant had hired Anderson Events to take its top executives to a retreat in Cancún, so he hadn’t made it home for Christmas either of those years, and the corporate events had rolled into each other… and now Stephanie was divorced and Chance was five and he still hadn’t met three-year-old Rowen. Unless FaceTime counted, and Seb’s firm opinion was that it did not. His family deserved better.
Lacey let out something between a chuckle and a sigh. He could imagine her expression, long fingers tracing her temples and her nose scrunched.
“Guess you’ll be talking about it to them?” she asked, husky voice sounding even deeper than usual.
“Not much else to do in Fir Falls but talk.” He aimed for a light tone but his voice betrayed him. The conversation ahead would be anything but easy. Swallowing, he said, “See you in a month, Lacey. I’ll call…. Okay?”
“You’d better,” she ordered before adding, “Take care, Seb.”
THE DRIVE from New York City to Fir Falls took about four hours. Given that it was December 1st, holiday decorations had already sprouted everywhere, and driving past the festooned lampposts and storefronts on his way out of the city prompted an aggrieved sense of nostalgia. Growing up, the spelling of his last name—Chesnut—had given him a ridiculous amount of grief at this time of year. Too many “you’re kiddings” and “you spelled it wrongs.” Frankly, it had been exhausting. His mother had always taken it in stride and politely explained to every schoolteacher that indeed her son did know how to spell his surname—there was no T in it.
It only became more obnoxious as he got older, when his college peers thought it was a grand idea to burst into song about roasting chestnuts by open flames… for the entire month of December. Because that was so original.
Planning holiday events these past five years had also soured the festivities for him. Last year he’d arranged for acrobats to perform at an event during dinner. They’d swung overhead dressed as holiday ornaments, tinseled and sparkling, covered in hundreds of miniature Christmas balls and wired with flashing lights. The evening had concluded with a dessert of frozen hot chocolate mousse while a dusting of snow shimmered down from the rafters above. The snow was edible, a mix of cornstarch, flour, vegetable oil, and glitter sugar. It misted over the tables like fairy dust, although he’d personally been bothered by how it landed on the shoulders of his bespoke tuxedo and made it look like he had dandruff. Most of the guests had been enchanted, but there were always a couple who found an event not as exotic as they’d expected. Each holiday event had become a challenge to top the last presentation.
But if the holidays were mostly humbug to Sebastian and chestnuts could go roast themselves into the underworld, seeing his family again was something he was greatly anticipating.
The rental BMW purred beneath his hands as he pulled off the I-86 onto the narrow, curvy state highway that led to Fir Falls. Much as his own name led to confusion, so did his hometown’s, as it featured neither an abundance of fir trees nor a waterfall.
The town was named for the Fir family who had founded it in 1851 and started the glass factory that had employed most of its residents. When the factory shut down, the town could have fallen into backwater despair. But with a cache of vintage glassware from its prime years, a boom in antique and art stores, and some savvy marketing, Fir Falls had reinvented itself as a hipster attraction.
Seb’s nerves peaked as he turned down the street to his family home. He wasn’t completely sure what to expect…. Certainly, living in the twenty-first century made it easier to stay in touch; he talked to his mother every week and his sister Steph nearly as often, the girls fairly frequently too. Steph was determined that her daughters know their Uncle Seb, but being with everyone in person for a month….
His mother’s trusty Volvo looked lonely without his dad’s red Ford truck parked beside it in the driveway. He’d been attending NYU when his dad had died eight years ago of a heart attack. Dad’s sudden death had precipitated the spiral of events that ignited his commitment to provide financially for his mom and sister, even if that meant not taking a vacation to see them in years.
Shaking off his melancholy, he pulled out the front door key he’d never relinquished and snuck in to surprise them all. They’d been expecting him the next day, Friday. But he’d been anxious to see his family and left Thursday afternoon in the hope the surprise would be welcome. Four weeks with his family—his heart felt full. Silently he went straight for the living room.
The decorated-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life Christmas tree dominated the space in front of the picture window, while the dancing flames of the fireplace cast a warm amber glow on the tableau of his capering nieces: Chance, twirling in a sequined tiara and tulle-trimmed pink gown, and little Rowen, in candy-cane-striped footed pajamas, upside down in an attempted somersault.
And between them, dancing with Princess Chance while keeping out of Rowen’s way, was Matthew Starr—the boy who had broken Seb’s heart—whom Seb had last seen at high school graduation ten years ago.
Matthew
AN HOUR ago, thirty-odd pounds of three-year-old exuberance had slammed against Matthew’s knee as he entered his favorite home in the entire world. “Airplane,” Rowen shouted.
“Row, let Uncle Matt take his coat off first,” their grandmother Cheryl had admonished. But Matt didn’t bother; he swooped Rowen aloft and swished her around the foyer like a kamikaze plane.
Rowen and her older sister, Chance, were the children of his best friend, Stephanie.
“Unc Matt, again, again,” demanded Rowen, pulling on his pant leg with her tight little grip. She was a petite child whose dark eyes and charcoal hair gave her a definite resemblance to pictures of her late grandfather. Matt remembered John Chesnut as a tall, reserved man with kind eyes. He knew how much Stephanie regretted that the girls had never known their grandfather and that Rowen had never met her Uncle Sebastian at all.
The family had accepted Sebastian’s absence for years, the busyness of his job preventing him from visiting. From Stephanie’s description of her brother’s career, Matt envisioned him as a glorified party planner.
It was hard for Matt to understand how someone could have a family like this and not want to be with them all the time. Matt had returned to Fir Falls four years ago after his parents had moved to Florida. As an only child, Matt was accustomed to being alone, but the friendship he had developed with Stephanie and then her family—well, it was the best part of Matt’s life.
As Matt finally slipped his coat onto the rack in the entranceway, Chance skipped in wearing a Princess Aurora gown, complete with tiny jeweled slippers and glittery pink crown. Matt melted on the spot. She was a vivacious girl with fair skin and hair the color of a daffodil in the sun. Her eyes were a gray-blue, like her grandmother’s. And her Uncle Sebastian’s.
“Look at you, Your Highness. Pretty as a cupcake.”
“I love cupcakes,” Rowen said with an earnest nod.
“I know you do.”
“But not pink,” she added with a frown. “Yuck.”
“Nobody likes pink cupcakes,” Chance declared with older sister authority. “Except for Valentine’s Day. Then they’re okay.” She changed topics with the lightning speed Matt had grown to expect from her. “Dance with me, Uncle Matt.” Chance held her arms up.
Smiling, he followed her into the living room where the Christmas tree blazed with riotous glory. Cheryl had lit a fire that gave the room an antique sheen. He found the Disney playlist on his phone and thumbed up the volume. Spinning Chance in a pirouette, he kept an eye on Rowen, who was wearing the Christmas pajamas he’d given her yesterday. He’d gifted both girls a matched set that made him think of elves and Christmas magic, and sleepwear didn’t count as a present, he’d told Steph when she protested that he was spoiling the girls.
Seeing that Rowen was about to topple over, Matt attempted to catch her while continuing his spin with Chance, overbalanced, and landed in a heap on the rug. He caught the sly grin that Chance gave her sister as they simultaneously pounced on him, Chance tackling his knees while Rowen belly-flopped across his chest. When Rowen froze midflop to stare up, Matt turned his head and nearly stopped breathing in surprise.
Sebastian Chesnut stood openmouthed, gazing at them as if he had no idea what to make of the scene. Matt supposed it did look baffling, seeing his once-upon-a-time high school fling sprawled on the living room carpet of Sebastian’s childhood home, shrieking nieces piled atop him. Oh, but did Sebastian look fine—his supple black leather jacket just reached his hips and the trim fit showed off the breadth of his shoulders. He had his father’s ebony hair and his mother’s lighter eyes—which right now were appraising the tangle of bodies with a hint of disapproval. Scrambling to his feet, Matt straightened his sweatshirt, which had ridden up, exposing his belly. The girls ducked behind him like shy bunnies, and he put a hand on each instinctively to reassure them.
Now that he was vertical, he realized that he and Sebastian were the same height; it was just his long legs that made Sebastian look taller. Or maybe it was the initial perspective of seeing him from the ground…. He’d surpassed Matt in muscles even back in high school, but mamma mia, Sebastian had grown into a stunning man. A moment later, Cheryl entered from the adjacent kitchen and after her own shocked moment embraced her son tightly. Still holding him, she said to Matt, “You remember Sebastian. You two were friends in high school?”
The memories of hurried secret make-out sessions heated Matt’s pale cheeks. With a grin that turned just a little crooked, he put his hand out.
“Baz.”
Snow in Montana by RJ Scott
Chapter 3
Ryan
“Morning, Sunshine,” Saul said and slid a coffee across the table.
Ryan took it and grunted his thanks. His brother knew there was no way he would be capable of much rational speech this early in the morning, and they’d dropped into this system whereby perpetually cheerful Saul, the oldest of five boys, made everything better. How Saul could be this awake at 5:00 a.m., Ryan didn’t know.
Saul ran a bar. Carter’s Bar was his baby, and even though he had staff, he couldn’t have closed much before 2:00 a.m.
“What time do you need to be at Crooked Tree?”
Ryan glanced at his watch, but it was a blurry mess without his glasses or contacts. “Six.”
Something bumped his hand and he glanced sideways at the plate of toast.
“Eat,” Saul ordered.
“Yes, Dad,” Ryan snarked, then took a few bites. It was coffee he really wanted, and Sam might well have food he could scrounge when he got to the ranch. Or maybe Ashley had baked. Still, the toast helped, and the coffee began to work to sharpen his senses.
“Eddie is bringing the kids up on the weekend,” Saul said.
Ryan didn’t have to look to know that Saul had his ever-present diary notebook out on the table. Somehow the eldest Carter hadn’t let go of that need to look after all his brothers. There were columns for all of them in age order, and in there, Ryan knew, there would be notes of his shifts and anything else Ryan had mentioned. Saul was eighteen years and three days older than Ryan, and the other three Carter boys ranged in the middle.
Saul had been just old enough to take responsibility for his brothers at eighteen, including the baby Ryan. “How is he?”
“You’d know if you called him,” Saul admonished in that soft tone that made Ryan feel guilty in an instant.
“Last time I called he hung up on me,” he explained.
Saul muttered something and then sighed. “Saying you were going to do a background check on his new girlfriend will do that to a guy.”
“After what Sarah did to him—”
“It’s not our business, and Jenny is lovely, and she’s good with the kids.”
“Says the brother who knows exactly where we are and what we’re doing every minute of every freaking day.”
Saul changed the subject. “Thought we’d do a barbecue. Be here at noon?”
Ryan wanted to point out he wasn’t going to be anywhere else. He was on duty until eleven. He lived over the bar, sharing the apartment with Saul, so of course he’d be here.
“I’ll be there.”
Saul scratched something in the diary—probably some kind of tick in the attendance column.
“Bring a friend,” Saul said, his tone that infuriating mix of hope and interference. “How about Mark? I liked him. He was nice.”
Ryan was really not going there at 5:00 a.m. in the freaking morning. Mark had lasted exactly a week, right to the point when Mark explained how he wanted him and Ryan to have an open relationship.
“Back off,” he snarled, snapped, and laced it with a little brother’s patented whine. Then he pushed his chair back and stomped out of the kitchen.
“Ryan and Mark, sitting in a tree,” Saul shouted after him.
“Whatever.” He grimaced as he took the steps up to his room two at a time. At least now he was awake.
A shower, his contacts, and dressed in uniform, and he was back in the kitchen. One last coffee and he was out to his car.
When he arrived at Crooked Tree, he walked into chaos. Or at least it looked like chaos to him, but to everyone walking in and out of trailers in the parking lot it was probably highly organized chaos.
“Ryan!”
He turned to face the owner of the voice, spotted Sam and Justin just inside a large tent, and decided that direction was as good as any. He wanted to check in with Justin, see how the man was doing. A couple of people nodded at him, muttered “Officer” or “Sheriff,” but no one stopped to talk. Everyone had something to do, and Ryan wound his way past wires and boxes to what he assumed was the catering tent.
Justin had gone before he got there, leaving Sam and a table groaning with food. Two young guys there, both in chef’s whites, were clearly assisting with the burden of catering for however many people were present.
“Twenty-seven,” Sam explained, “but I catered for more, so help yourself.”
Ryan didn’t hesitate; he grabbed a plate of eggs, crispy bacon, and fluffy pancakes, and stood back in the corner, checking his watch every so often. Ten minutes to go and he’d cleared his plate while watching Sam doing his thing, ordering around his two assistants.
Still no sign of Justin coming back.
In fact, Justin did a very good job of avoiding Ryan, and with ten minutes to kill, Ryan decided to zip up his coat and go looking. Something about the way Justin wouldn’t quite look him in the eye had him feeling off. Justin had secrets—he’d been working for some shadowy kill squad after vanishing years ago with Adam. There was no information that Ryan could dig up, a blank of years that frustrated his analytical law enforcer’s brain.
He finally found his quarry standing with Marcus, hands in his pockets and a stony expression on his face. Marcus had been overwhelmed getting his son back, and Justin had tried hard to fit back into Crooked Tree life, but it was plain to see there was tension between father and son. When Ryan observed the two of them together, he often thought the pressure was going to snap into something more, but there was always a rigidity about Justin. The guy only truly relaxed when he was with Sam.
Justin saw him coming, lifted his chin, and stared. “Sheriff,” he said, with a nod.
“Ryan,” he emphasized, and not for the first time. “Call me Ryan.”
They were surely friends more than professional acquaintances. Being five years older than Justin meant they’d never been at school together, but still… more than just acquaintances, surely.
Another nod and Justin pressed his lips into a thin line. Ryan just knew that Justin wouldn’t be calling him by his first name.
Then they ran out of things to say. Or rather, Ryan wanted to ask questions and Justin didn’t want to answer them. They’d fallen into this weird, stony face-off, and Marcus had long since left.
“Can I talk to you?” Justin asked.
Ryan frowned and looked left and right. Justin was actually addressing him, right? “Of course.”
“Not here, not now. I’ll text you.”
And then he slipped away, sidestepping Ryan in one of his freaky ninja moves, and by the time Ryan made it to the front of the tent, Justin had vanished again.
Well, that wasn’t at all covert and weird. He shook his head and stepped out into the icy early morning half-light.
“Hey,” someone said from his side, “Good morning, Sheriff.”
Jordan was there, in so many layers of coats and scarves that it was difficult to see any more than a thin strip of his face, but Ryan would recognize those eyes anywhere. Then he remembered Jordan had a twin; was this Micah? They hadn’t looked the mirror image of each other, and Ryan couldn’t recall the color of Micah’s eyes.
Which reminded him he needed to google the man and find out about the father, then look for photos of Jordan and his twin, Micah.
For information purposes only, obviously.
“Hey,” Ryan said, abruptly very unsure.
Something in his tone must have shown hesitation because Jordan—or possibly Micah—pushed down the scarves from his face.
“Jordan. Remember me? I fell asleep in your car.”
Ryan held out a hand and they shook, which wasn’t easy when both were wearing heavy gloves.
Jordan kept talking, his voice less gruff than it had been two days ago, and he was staring right at Ryan.
For a second, Ryan imagined he had egg on his face and dismissed the idea. Just because a guy stared at him didn’t mean he had food on his face. He hadn’t the last time, and he didn’t now.
Still, he brushed at his mouth with his gloved hand, just in case, because Jordan made him feel like he wanted to look perfect.
What the hell? Where did that come from?
“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” Jordan carried on. “I usually don’t go sleeping in sheriffs’ cars.” He smiled, and Ryan’s brain short-circuited because, fuck, dimples.
“You spend a lot of time in sheriffs’ cars?” Ryan asked before his brain caught up with his mouth. I’m losing it.
Jordan shook his head. “No, I guess not. I was dosed up and ill.”
“I know.” And then he recalled the usual thing that normal people might say at this point. Normal, sane, rational, people. “Are you feeling better?”
Jordan wrapped his hands around himself and stamped a bit. “Much. Just freaking cold.”
Ryan searched his brain for an answer to that one while trying not to lose himself staring into those gray eyes. “It’s Montana,” he said lamely.
Jordan chuckled, coughed a little. “So it is. You want me to show you around?”
Ryan didn’t want to take Jordan away from whatever he was supposed to be doing, so he said, “I can do my own thing.”
“No, it’s okay. Follow me.”
Jordan pivoted and led Ryan through the maze of tents and wires, stopping and explaining that this was Production, this was their version of a green room, and this was Editing.
Ryan spoke to everyone, got a feel for the way things were running, and filed away as much information as he could. There wasn’t much he could say, although he had a list of things he needed to check when they were somewhere warmer. Not for his sake—he was plenty warm enough, a Montana native with enough layers to make him look like a snowman—but Jordan still hadn’t got the idea and he was shivering under the coat. Which had Ryan considering one question they hadn’t covered…
“How will you film outside scenes without coats?”
Jordan looked a little panicked for a moment, but it soon cleared and cheerful optimism seemed to carry him through. “We’ll be fine.”
Ryan didn’t want to point out that this was early in the day, and if there were night shoots, Jordan was in danger of becoming a Popsicle.
Jason arrived a little after nine, in uniform and clearly just off shift judging by the tiredness bracketing his eyes.
“Hey, little brother,” he said on a yawn.
That was the way he always addressed Ryan, but somehow, in front of Jordan, Ryan didn’t want to be identified as little. Then, Jason held out a hand, and he and Jordan did that whole awkward glove-slap thing.
“Jason Carter, MFD liaison,” Jason said and yawned again. “Sorry, long night.”
“Thank you for coming.”
Jason did that thing when he smiled and winked and showed way too much happy despite being exhausted. Ryan often wished he could channel Jason’s eternal happiness.
“You’re welcome,” Jason said with another smile. “Show me the way.”
And like that, Ryan’s part in this was over. He watched Jason and Jordan leave to check out whatever pyrotechnics plan they had cooked up, and realized he was standing there like a prize idiot and Jordan was looking back at him and sketching a small wave.
So, Ryan waved back, a thank-you wave—not at all a sexy wave, really—and then he felt even more of an idiot, so he left to find Jay, with his list of concerns in his head.
Jay was in his office, which wasn’t exactly his office anymore; Adam was sitting on one seat, Micah on the other. From the papers spread out on the desk, they were talking horses, and Ryan didn’t really have much to say on that, but he indicated he just needed paper and a pen and wrote out in careful block letters the things he thought needed checking out. Jay mouthed a thank you and placed the paper to one side with a thumbs up.
Ryan moved to leave but stopped when Adam grasped his hand.
“A word?” Adam asked softly and stepped out into the chaos without a jacket.
Ryan immediately went into protective mode, which was his default setting with Adam. After all, Adam had years of missing memories and still suffered from killer headaches. Should he be standing out in the cold? “Everything okay?”
“It’s Justin,” Adam said, worry in his expression.
“What about him?”
“Something’s wrong. He won’t talk to me or Ethan, and he’s quiet.”
“He’s always quiet,” Ryan said, not because he wanted to play devil’s advocate, but because it was the truth. Not only was Justin trained to be stealthy, he also played his cards close to his chest.
Too many secrets.
“No, this is more than normal, and I think it’s my fault.” Adam tapped his shoulder. “My tattoo. I woke up from a dream that I think could have been memories of the man who did the tattoo, and then I dreamed about being on that ranch and seeing the two men with me die. I mean, I’m not entirely sure, but when I told Justin, he just looked really pained and pale.”
Ryan filed away the information. Maybe this was what Justin needed to talk to him about. “I’ll talk to him,” he reassured Adam.
“There was something else…,” Adam murmured, as if he didn’t really want Ryan to hear and ask him what it was.
“What?”
“In the dream….” He hesitated again, then couldn’t look Ryan in the eyes. “Justin was there in the dreams, front and center.”
Too many questions. “I’ll talk to him,” he repeated. Adam turned to leave, but Ryan stopped him with “Are you okay?”
Adam glanced back, a lost expression on his face, one Ryan had seen many times. “Today isn’t a good day, so I gave in and called Ethan. He was coming home anyway, so he’s just leaving earlier. I don’t like doing it, but I just…”
“Need him,” Ryan finished.
“Yeah.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
Sometimes Adam was too lost, needed his fiancé by his side, and Ethan was working his notice at the job in Missoula. They hadn’t worked out what he would do at Crooked Tree, but Ethan wanted to be with Adam full-time and not just between shifts.
Ryan wished they had the budget at the sheriff’s office, but that wasn’t happening anytime soon. They had a rookie and that was pretty much all they could afford.
“No, thank you. I’ll be okay,” Adam said.
And that answered everything. “Good.” Ryan ushered Adam back into the warm office, then left.
Justin was waiting for Ryan next to his car, his hands thrust deep into his jacket, a beanie pulled low on his head. “Hey.”
Justin always looked so wary, as if, at the drop of a hat, Ryan was going to pull his gun and arrest him or shoot him.
“Hey,” Ryan said, and waited for more.
“Is Adam okay? I saw you talking to him.”
Ryan considered lying, but Justin wasn’t stupid. “He thinks that he remembered something and wanted to talk to me about it.”
Justin gave a sharp nod. He was in constant movement from one foot to the other, his expression fixed on Ryan, but Ryan imagined he was aware of every single inch of his surroundings. Whoever trained him way back had done a good job.
“What exactly did he think he remembered?” Justin asked.
“You know I can’t divulge information like that.”
For the longest time, Justin stared at him, his expression blank. Then he sighed. “Tell me he’s okay.”
Ryan wished he could say that, wanted to be able to say that he was, but he would be lying. “You should talk to him,” he advised, because that was the best he could do.
Justin looked down and kicked at a stone next to his boot. “He won’t talk to me. He’s avoiding me, or I’m avoiding him, fuck knows.” When he returned his gaze to Ryan, there was real grief in his eyes. “He’s remembered something and he looks so beaten down. How can I help him?”
That was the most Justin had exposed of himself to Ryan, ever, and part of Ryan, the compassion that wished he could help, wanted desperately to explain that Adam was dealing with memories that made no sense.
He couldn’t.
“Find him. Talk to him if you can,” Ryan said, and then he added with feeling, “I’m sorry, Justin.”
“Not your fault.” Justin drew himself tall. “I’ve got him. I’ll do what’s best for him.” He added, “Always.”
If only it was that easy.
They shook hands, and Justin walked back up to Branches.
Justin held too many secrets, and that scared Ryan. Because after today, with what Adam had told him, secrets could destroy Justin and Adam and any friendship they may have.
And likely rip families apart in the process.
Gay Romance Holiday Collection by Keira Andrews:
Eight Nights in December
Heart thudding from his run through town, Hunter stopped short inside the storage room, the back door to the parking lot slamming shut behind him with a gust of frigid air. He blinked at the vision standing in front of him like a mirage amid the stacks of dusty boxes and crates.
Was he still asleep? Was this a fever dream? Because mall Santas were supposed to be old and kind of short and schlubby. It was the law of the universe or something.
Yet this Santa—probably mid-forties and wearing shiny black boots, red velvet pants with fuzzy white cuffs, and a matching red velvet coat hanging open—was something out of a Details lumberjack photo shoot or one of those fireman calendars Hunter’s mom got every year that he used to secretly jerk off to as a teenager.
A white tank top stretched over Santa’s broad, muscular chest, dark hair peeking out the top of the cotton, his nipples hard and skin a warm olive. His short hair and full, trimmed beard were way more pepper than salt, but the scattered silver highlights were crazy sexy. He had to be at least six-two and towered over Hunter, arching a dark eyebrow.
Please ask if I’ve been naughty or nice.
“About time.”
Hunter blinked at him, his porno fantasy evaporating as he tried to catch his breath. “Huh?”
“You’re late,” Santa accused gruffly.
“Oh. Right.” A burst of anxiety froze out the sizzle of lust that had warmed Hunter’s veins. “I know, sorry.” He panted softly, pulling off his wool hat. His hair fell over his forehead, and he pushed a strand out of his eye. “I overslept.”
Santa stared at him as if he was profoundly stupid and/or pathetic. “It’s almost noon.”
What are you, my father? Hunter squirmed with embarrassment. He despised being late, but he couldn’t turn back time now and erase the last twenty minutes. He hadn’t intended to stay up until almost four playing God of War, and then he’d set his alarm for ten p.m. instead of a.m. because he was a tool.
He knew this—he didn’t need inappropriately hot Santa to remind him. Mall Santas were also supposed to be jolly and kind, not judgy assholes. He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You’re not my boss. And where’s Mr. Tremblay?”
“Broke his hip.”
“Oh. Shit, that sucks.” Old Mr. Tremblay had been Pinevale’s mall Santa for as long as Hunter could remember. “Um, I’m Hunter. Hunter Adams.” A couple hours north of Toronto, Pinevale wasn’t so small that he knew everyone in town, but Hunter definitely would have remembered seeing this guy around. Where on earth had John found him?
“I’m Mr. Spini.”
A first name was apparently unforthcoming. Who did this guy think he was? Hunter was twenty-three, not some kid. Before Hunter could say as much, John Singh bustled in through the mall entrance beyond the boxes, pushing wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and wearing an incredibly ugly reindeer sweater with fuzzy antlers. In his fifties, he and his husband, Desmond, lived a few blocks from Hunter’s mom. He was short, stout, and always in a hurry, but was usually smiling. Not now, though.
“Hunter! Finally.”
“I know, I know. Sorry.” Hunter’s face went hot as he shrugged off his backpack and pulled out the ridiculous candy-cane tights. Keeping his head down, he unlaced his boots and stripped off his jeans, goosebumps spreading over his skin in the chill of the storage room, the floor freezing. As he tugged the tights over his boxer briefs, he looked up and met Santa’s gaze, which swept down Hunter’s body.
“What?” Hunter shoved his socked feet into the too-tight black slippers with toes curved inward and golden bell on the ends. He muttered, “I look lame, I know.”
Not all of us can look unfairly hot in these costumes.
Santa said nothing as John handed him the padded belly, long white beard, and red velvet hat with white trim. “Final touches.”
Hunter buttoned the green velvet jacket that barely covered his ass and junk, the fluffy white cuffs landing two inches above his wrists. The seams were snug around his shoulders, and he couldn’t really lift his arms. Last time he played elf was his senior year of high school, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d grown in five years. He’d been a late bloomer, although usually he still felt like that pimply, bony kid.
“Good thing this is the last year for Santa’s Village.” Not that he’d be desperate enough to be an elf again next year. He was getting a real job in January if it killed him. A job that didn’t require a humiliating costume.
Then he felt like a dick and quickly added, “I just mean because the costume’s too small on me now. It sucks that the mall’s closing.” Even though it was the Mall That Time Forgot and was super depressing.
John had been the mall manager for ages, and he’d been a good boss. When Hunter had emailed him on the off chance he had seasonal work, he hadn’t been thinking of playing elf again, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and all that. He’d been lucky John had given him the job at all.
John waved his hand. “No offense taken. Gotta move with the times. Did you hear they’re putting in a Marshall’s and an Outback Steakhouse? And the old grocery store on Lake Street is shutting down and a big one’s going here. It’ll be box stores: Treeview Plaza instead of Treeview Mall. The new owners are keeping me on to manage, so I’m good. Security, snow removal—there’s still a lot to coordinate.” Sweat beaded on his brown skin, and he swiped a hand over his forehead. “It’s a sauna out there—the heater’s stuck on high.”
Hunter shivered. “Yet it’s freezing back here.”
John grimaced. “Same in my office and the bathrooms, but obviously there’s no sense in paying to fix it. The last day is December thirty-first, and then they’re tearing this old dog down and rebuilding come spring. But first we need to give this mall one last Christmas to remember. Right, team?”
Santa buckled the wide black belt around his fake belly, his long white beard obscuring the lower part of his face. He muttered, “Why did I agree to this?”
“Because you’re a good friend who’s doing me a favor at the last minute. I’ll find someone else for next weekend, I promise. Plus all the money’s going to buy toys for kids and turkey dinners. With the factory closing down this summer, it’ll be a lean Christmas for a lot of folks. So that’s why you agreed to this, for the record.”
Santa only grumbled under his breath in response, jamming the hat on his head.
“Wait. All the money?” Hunter’s stomach dropped. “Are we not getting paid?” After three unpaid internships in Toronto since he’d graduated university and still no actual jobs, he’d come home early to Pinevale for the holidays to live in his old bedroom and play mall elf one more time. At least he’d be getting minimum wage—or so he’d assumed.
“No, no!” John clapped Hunter on the shoulder. “You’ll be paid. But Mr. Tremblay had offered to give up his salary this year and donate it to Toys and Turkeys—that’s what we’re calling the fund. Nick followed suit.”
“Oh.” Hunter glanced at Santa—this Nick Spini, who watched him with a disdainful sneer.
Shit. Was Hunter being selfish? Doing eight-hour shifts Saturday and Sunday for two weekends would give him money for presents for his mom, sister, and his new niece. He’d been hoping to find some other seasonal work during the week since Pinevale wasn’t big enough to warrant a full-time Santa’s Village, and with the tiny, ancient mall closing, there wasn’t enough demand for pictures with Santa for more than the two weekends.
Granted, he’d spent the majority of the last four days since he’d taken the Greyhound home playing video games and eating Doritos instead of job hunting, but he’d just wanted to not think about the mess of his life for a little while. The internship he’d just quit had expected twelve-hour days just like the other places, and he was burned-out.
Familiar acid flooded his belly. Before Hunter could explain that he needed to make money for working after more than a year of interning for “experience” and “connections” and to “get his foot in the door”—only to have said doors slammed in his face as soon as he tried to actually earn a living, Nick said, “Can we get this over with?”
Instead of calling him out for being a bag of dicks, John only laughed. “That’s the holiday spirit. Come on, Grinch. Time to grow that heart. I know you’re not used to being around people, but just think, What would Eric have said and done? Then do that.”
Nick huffed, and Hunter couldn’t tell if he was pissed or kind of laughing? Wondering who Eric was, Hunter grabbed his elf hat and followed Nick out of the storeroom after they stashed their stuff in an old staff locker. His eyes were drawn to how the red velvet stretched across Nick’s wide shoulders. He was a mountain of a man.
They made their way over the ugly brown brick floor, a weird cobblestone that was probably done in the seventies before there were accessibility laws. Half the stores had closed already, and although John had hung wreathes and garlands on the brown brick walls, Treeview Mall was clearly in its death throes.
It was windowless, low-ceilinged, and one story in a square horseshoe shape, like a time capsule of ugly seventies design. The handful of old men who spent hours a day in the tiny food court area with only two greasy food options—Roy’s Burgers or Donut Time—watched silently as they passed, paper coffee cups in front of them. The peppy strains of “All I Want for Christmas is You” played through the mall’s speakers, Mariah’s voice echoing on the cobblestones.
The women who worked in La Belle Style, the old-lady clothing store that was sticking it out to the mall’s bitter end, gathered in the doorway as they passed. “Hunter!” Mrs. Buckingham called. “Don’t you look adorable!”
He gave his mom’s friend a weak smile, cringing as he felt hundreds of eyes on him as they reached the line of families, restless kids exclaiming in excitement at seeing Santa. The kids squealed and cried, “Santa!” and Nick jolted before waving at them as if remembering he was Santa.
Tugging down his green jacket, Hunter felt like a bigger loser than usual as he followed in Nick’s wake. Hunter was five-eight, so not super short or anything, but he was a scrawny kid in comparison. He was blond and could barely grow a beard, and Nick was teeming with hair and muscles and manliness. Which was weird for Santa Claus, but he was working it, definitely catching the attention of the moms waiting in line in front of Santa’s Village.
Hunter supposed elves weren’t supposed to be manly, but the merry ding! of the golden bells on his shoes with each pinched step didn’t do anything for his self-esteem. Not that he was planning on picking up guys at the mall—he was hopeless in that department. Still, he felt as gangly as he had back in high school.
The village was an ancient gingerbread house sort of thing that had seen far better days, but John had strung it with tons of colored Christmas lights and garlands to cover how faded and decrepit the painted plywood was.
Nick settled himself on a wide bench. The line of people were roped off at the end of the fake candy path that wound through little snow-sprayed Christmas trees, so at least in the village there was a bit of breathing room. Hunter was surprised there was such a sizable crowd, but there wasn’t much to do in Pinevale.
He frowned at the bench. “No throne thingy?”
John shook his head. “The whole sitting-on-Santa’s-lap thing is inappropriate these days.” He pointed to the bench, which had a backrest. “This way the kid can sit beside Santa, and there’s room on both sides if siblings want to come up together.”
“No one’s sitting on my lap,” Nick growled.
Hunter rolled his eyes. “You realize you have to be nice to the kids, right?”
Nick only stared at him above his fake white beard. His eyes were a steely gray flecked with yellow, and it was really annoying how hot he still was even though he was apparently a dick.
John clapped his hands, putting on a big grin. “Okay, showtime!” As he led Hunter back down the path, he whispered, “Nick’s a grump, but his bark is worse than his bite.”
Hunter wanted to ask how John knew him, but there wasn’t time. “If you say so.”
“Trust me. Okay, you remember how it goes? I take the money from the parents, and you ask the kids their names and escort them to Santa.” He peered around. “Where’s our photographer… There she is.”
“Hey, guys!” Courtney Campbell joined them with a smile, her dark ponytail swishing and a big camera around her neck. She was in her forties and ran Pinevale’s little photography store. She wore jeans and a snowman sweater, and it didn’t seem fair that she didn’t have to dress up. “Hunter, didn’t expect to see you pulling on the candy-cane tights again.”
Well, I’m almost twenty-three, I can’t get a real job, I’m freeloading off my sister in TO, I have a shit-ton of student debt, I honestly hate working in an office, I’m still a virgin, and I have no clue what I want to do with my life, so why not make the humiliation complete by being a mall elf again?
He managed to smile. “Yeah. Me either.”
“Hunter’s doing me a favor,” John said. “I had to beg, but he agreed.”
Hunter gave him a grateful smile for the lie. “It’s no problem.”
John winked at him and turned to the line of people. “Sorry for the delay, folks! Rudolph got a flat!” The crowd laughed agreeably, and John murmured to Hunter, “Fa la la la la!”
Gah la la la la was more like it, but Hunter slapped on a smile, trying to choke down the worry about money and his future and what he’d do after the holidays. His mom would let him stay as long as he wanted, but what was he going to do? What did he even want to do?
He’d gotten an English lit degree because that’s what he was good at, and it was useless in the real world aside from ticking off the requirement of most companies to have a BA in something. He couldn’t even get an entry-level job, and he’d worked his ass off at those internships.
His gut twisted, pulse kicking up and his breath catching. Fuck, he just felt so out of control.
“It’s Santa!” a little girl squealed, jerking Hunter back to the present. His life was an aimless shit-show, but at least he had a job to do. He took a deep breath and pulled on his green elf hat, the white fuzzy brim already too hot on his forehead. No matter. Even with a grumpy, brawny, stupidly sexy Santa to put up with, he was going to be his best elf self. With bells on—literally.
Chapter 1
Sebastian
“SEB? GOT a minute?” It was not the request, but rather the tone, that tipped him off to the severity of the issue. Bracing himself, Sebastian nodded for Trevor to continue. The young man swallowed. “We’ve gotten a ‘note’ from the client about the ice sculpture.”
Well, that was unexpected, as Seb had personally supervised the installation of the crystalline swan ice sculpture, and it was a prime example of the Ice Palace’s most classic work. He’d made a point of keeping the variables of this late-November event under tight control so he could wrap it up and head out for his vacation with an abundance of calm.
One raised eyebrow gave his assistant permission to elaborate. Trevor fussed with his collar before continuing, “They don’t think the swan is the appropriate, um, bird.”
The bad feeling grew. “And what bird would they prefer?”
“A turkey.”
Seb knew his face must have darkened into the shade his employees referred to as “get-out-of-the way plum.”
“I thought they indicated on the event intake form that we shouldn’t have a Thanksgiving theme since Thanksgiving was two days ago?”
“Yes. It said that. And I confirmed. But the CEO was shown a photo and he asked what a swan had to do with anything. And then he said it should be a turkey ‘for obvious reasons.’”
Four hours until the event started, and Seb had a five-foot ice sculpture to replace. It was par for the course. He winced because turkeys were ugly birds compared to swans. But what the client wanted, the client got.
“Call Ned at the Ice Palace and tell him we’ll pay double rate if they can deliver the turkey sculpture in two hours. Let me know. I’ll handle Lacey.”
Lacey Anderson was the president of Anderson Events, and Sebastian’s boss. He’d served as her VP and right-hand person for the past five years. She specialized in corporate events from an intimate dinner for three hundred to an elaborate three-day retreat for a thousand on a private island. Sebastian had made it snow in Palm Springs in May and transformed South Dakota into a tropical paradise in January.
As expected, Lacey bellowed like a bull when he called her, and then creatively used the word “turkey” in relation to the client for a solid fifteen minutes. Seb remained restrained—he could turn purple on occasion but he rarely vented. He knew his trademark single swan ice sculpture had a double meaning. But that icy edge was his best asset—work the problem and get it done.
When Lacey was done lambasting the idiocy of the C-suite, she paused to ask, “Your holiday plans still set?”
“Absolutely. I’m finally keeping my promise to see my family.”
It had been five years since Sebastian visited his family back home in Fir Falls, New York. At that time his sister Stephanie had still been married and his niece Chance was an infant. He’d meant to go home when Rowen was born, but he’d been new then, working with Lacey, and it was important he impress her. His family was counting on him. No matter how much he missed them, he had to do right and ensure they were secure. His mother’s throat-clogged admission five years ago on how behind she’d gotten on the mortgage was etched as indelibly in his heart as if she’d used a chisel.
One of the best ways to impress his new boss was to help their clients’ success. The year Rowen was born, a charitable foundation had scheduled a fundraiser for December 13th and the following December, a telecom giant had hired Anderson Events to take its top executives to a retreat in Cancún, so he hadn’t made it home for Christmas either of those years, and the corporate events had rolled into each other… and now Stephanie was divorced and Chance was five and he still hadn’t met three-year-old Rowen. Unless FaceTime counted, and Seb’s firm opinion was that it did not. His family deserved better.
Lacey let out something between a chuckle and a sigh. He could imagine her expression, long fingers tracing her temples and her nose scrunched.
“Guess you’ll be talking about it to them?” she asked, husky voice sounding even deeper than usual.
“Not much else to do in Fir Falls but talk.” He aimed for a light tone but his voice betrayed him. The conversation ahead would be anything but easy. Swallowing, he said, “See you in a month, Lacey. I’ll call…. Okay?”
“You’d better,” she ordered before adding, “Take care, Seb.”
THE DRIVE from New York City to Fir Falls took about four hours. Given that it was December 1st, holiday decorations had already sprouted everywhere, and driving past the festooned lampposts and storefronts on his way out of the city prompted an aggrieved sense of nostalgia. Growing up, the spelling of his last name—Chesnut—had given him a ridiculous amount of grief at this time of year. Too many “you’re kiddings” and “you spelled it wrongs.” Frankly, it had been exhausting. His mother had always taken it in stride and politely explained to every schoolteacher that indeed her son did know how to spell his surname—there was no T in it.
It only became more obnoxious as he got older, when his college peers thought it was a grand idea to burst into song about roasting chestnuts by open flames… for the entire month of December. Because that was so original.
Planning holiday events these past five years had also soured the festivities for him. Last year he’d arranged for acrobats to perform at an event during dinner. They’d swung overhead dressed as holiday ornaments, tinseled and sparkling, covered in hundreds of miniature Christmas balls and wired with flashing lights. The evening had concluded with a dessert of frozen hot chocolate mousse while a dusting of snow shimmered down from the rafters above. The snow was edible, a mix of cornstarch, flour, vegetable oil, and glitter sugar. It misted over the tables like fairy dust, although he’d personally been bothered by how it landed on the shoulders of his bespoke tuxedo and made it look like he had dandruff. Most of the guests had been enchanted, but there were always a couple who found an event not as exotic as they’d expected. Each holiday event had become a challenge to top the last presentation.
But if the holidays were mostly humbug to Sebastian and chestnuts could go roast themselves into the underworld, seeing his family again was something he was greatly anticipating.
The rental BMW purred beneath his hands as he pulled off the I-86 onto the narrow, curvy state highway that led to Fir Falls. Much as his own name led to confusion, so did his hometown’s, as it featured neither an abundance of fir trees nor a waterfall.
The town was named for the Fir family who had founded it in 1851 and started the glass factory that had employed most of its residents. When the factory shut down, the town could have fallen into backwater despair. But with a cache of vintage glassware from its prime years, a boom in antique and art stores, and some savvy marketing, Fir Falls had reinvented itself as a hipster attraction.
Seb’s nerves peaked as he turned down the street to his family home. He wasn’t completely sure what to expect…. Certainly, living in the twenty-first century made it easier to stay in touch; he talked to his mother every week and his sister Steph nearly as often, the girls fairly frequently too. Steph was determined that her daughters know their Uncle Seb, but being with everyone in person for a month….
His mother’s trusty Volvo looked lonely without his dad’s red Ford truck parked beside it in the driveway. He’d been attending NYU when his dad had died eight years ago of a heart attack. Dad’s sudden death had precipitated the spiral of events that ignited his commitment to provide financially for his mom and sister, even if that meant not taking a vacation to see them in years.
Shaking off his melancholy, he pulled out the front door key he’d never relinquished and snuck in to surprise them all. They’d been expecting him the next day, Friday. But he’d been anxious to see his family and left Thursday afternoon in the hope the surprise would be welcome. Four weeks with his family—his heart felt full. Silently he went straight for the living room.
The decorated-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life Christmas tree dominated the space in front of the picture window, while the dancing flames of the fireplace cast a warm amber glow on the tableau of his capering nieces: Chance, twirling in a sequined tiara and tulle-trimmed pink gown, and little Rowen, in candy-cane-striped footed pajamas, upside down in an attempted somersault.
And between them, dancing with Princess Chance while keeping out of Rowen’s way, was Matthew Starr—the boy who had broken Seb’s heart—whom Seb had last seen at high school graduation ten years ago.
Matthew
AN HOUR ago, thirty-odd pounds of three-year-old exuberance had slammed against Matthew’s knee as he entered his favorite home in the entire world. “Airplane,” Rowen shouted.
“Row, let Uncle Matt take his coat off first,” their grandmother Cheryl had admonished. But Matt didn’t bother; he swooped Rowen aloft and swished her around the foyer like a kamikaze plane.
Rowen and her older sister, Chance, were the children of his best friend, Stephanie.
“Unc Matt, again, again,” demanded Rowen, pulling on his pant leg with her tight little grip. She was a petite child whose dark eyes and charcoal hair gave her a definite resemblance to pictures of her late grandfather. Matt remembered John Chesnut as a tall, reserved man with kind eyes. He knew how much Stephanie regretted that the girls had never known their grandfather and that Rowen had never met her Uncle Sebastian at all.
The family had accepted Sebastian’s absence for years, the busyness of his job preventing him from visiting. From Stephanie’s description of her brother’s career, Matt envisioned him as a glorified party planner.
It was hard for Matt to understand how someone could have a family like this and not want to be with them all the time. Matt had returned to Fir Falls four years ago after his parents had moved to Florida. As an only child, Matt was accustomed to being alone, but the friendship he had developed with Stephanie and then her family—well, it was the best part of Matt’s life.
As Matt finally slipped his coat onto the rack in the entranceway, Chance skipped in wearing a Princess Aurora gown, complete with tiny jeweled slippers and glittery pink crown. Matt melted on the spot. She was a vivacious girl with fair skin and hair the color of a daffodil in the sun. Her eyes were a gray-blue, like her grandmother’s. And her Uncle Sebastian’s.
“Look at you, Your Highness. Pretty as a cupcake.”
“I love cupcakes,” Rowen said with an earnest nod.
“I know you do.”
“But not pink,” she added with a frown. “Yuck.”
“Nobody likes pink cupcakes,” Chance declared with older sister authority. “Except for Valentine’s Day. Then they’re okay.” She changed topics with the lightning speed Matt had grown to expect from her. “Dance with me, Uncle Matt.” Chance held her arms up.
Smiling, he followed her into the living room where the Christmas tree blazed with riotous glory. Cheryl had lit a fire that gave the room an antique sheen. He found the Disney playlist on his phone and thumbed up the volume. Spinning Chance in a pirouette, he kept an eye on Rowen, who was wearing the Christmas pajamas he’d given her yesterday. He’d gifted both girls a matched set that made him think of elves and Christmas magic, and sleepwear didn’t count as a present, he’d told Steph when she protested that he was spoiling the girls.
Seeing that Rowen was about to topple over, Matt attempted to catch her while continuing his spin with Chance, overbalanced, and landed in a heap on the rug. He caught the sly grin that Chance gave her sister as they simultaneously pounced on him, Chance tackling his knees while Rowen belly-flopped across his chest. When Rowen froze midflop to stare up, Matt turned his head and nearly stopped breathing in surprise.
Sebastian Chesnut stood openmouthed, gazing at them as if he had no idea what to make of the scene. Matt supposed it did look baffling, seeing his once-upon-a-time high school fling sprawled on the living room carpet of Sebastian’s childhood home, shrieking nieces piled atop him. Oh, but did Sebastian look fine—his supple black leather jacket just reached his hips and the trim fit showed off the breadth of his shoulders. He had his father’s ebony hair and his mother’s lighter eyes—which right now were appraising the tangle of bodies with a hint of disapproval. Scrambling to his feet, Matt straightened his sweatshirt, which had ridden up, exposing his belly. The girls ducked behind him like shy bunnies, and he put a hand on each instinctively to reassure them.
Now that he was vertical, he realized that he and Sebastian were the same height; it was just his long legs that made Sebastian look taller. Or maybe it was the initial perspective of seeing him from the ground…. He’d surpassed Matt in muscles even back in high school, but mamma mia, Sebastian had grown into a stunning man. A moment later, Cheryl entered from the adjacent kitchen and after her own shocked moment embraced her son tightly. Still holding him, she said to Matt, “You remember Sebastian. You two were friends in high school?”
The memories of hurried secret make-out sessions heated Matt’s pale cheeks. With a grin that turned just a little crooked, he put his hand out.
“Baz.”
Snow in Montana by RJ Scott
Chapter 3
Ryan
“Morning, Sunshine,” Saul said and slid a coffee across the table.
Ryan took it and grunted his thanks. His brother knew there was no way he would be capable of much rational speech this early in the morning, and they’d dropped into this system whereby perpetually cheerful Saul, the oldest of five boys, made everything better. How Saul could be this awake at 5:00 a.m., Ryan didn’t know.
Saul ran a bar. Carter’s Bar was his baby, and even though he had staff, he couldn’t have closed much before 2:00 a.m.
“What time do you need to be at Crooked Tree?”
Ryan glanced at his watch, but it was a blurry mess without his glasses or contacts. “Six.”
Something bumped his hand and he glanced sideways at the plate of toast.
“Eat,” Saul ordered.
“Yes, Dad,” Ryan snarked, then took a few bites. It was coffee he really wanted, and Sam might well have food he could scrounge when he got to the ranch. Or maybe Ashley had baked. Still, the toast helped, and the coffee began to work to sharpen his senses.
“Eddie is bringing the kids up on the weekend,” Saul said.
Ryan didn’t have to look to know that Saul had his ever-present diary notebook out on the table. Somehow the eldest Carter hadn’t let go of that need to look after all his brothers. There were columns for all of them in age order, and in there, Ryan knew, there would be notes of his shifts and anything else Ryan had mentioned. Saul was eighteen years and three days older than Ryan, and the other three Carter boys ranged in the middle.
Saul had been just old enough to take responsibility for his brothers at eighteen, including the baby Ryan. “How is he?”
“You’d know if you called him,” Saul admonished in that soft tone that made Ryan feel guilty in an instant.
“Last time I called he hung up on me,” he explained.
Saul muttered something and then sighed. “Saying you were going to do a background check on his new girlfriend will do that to a guy.”
“After what Sarah did to him—”
“It’s not our business, and Jenny is lovely, and she’s good with the kids.”
“Says the brother who knows exactly where we are and what we’re doing every minute of every freaking day.”
Saul changed the subject. “Thought we’d do a barbecue. Be here at noon?”
Ryan wanted to point out he wasn’t going to be anywhere else. He was on duty until eleven. He lived over the bar, sharing the apartment with Saul, so of course he’d be here.
“I’ll be there.”
Saul scratched something in the diary—probably some kind of tick in the attendance column.
“Bring a friend,” Saul said, his tone that infuriating mix of hope and interference. “How about Mark? I liked him. He was nice.”
Ryan was really not going there at 5:00 a.m. in the freaking morning. Mark had lasted exactly a week, right to the point when Mark explained how he wanted him and Ryan to have an open relationship.
“Back off,” he snarled, snapped, and laced it with a little brother’s patented whine. Then he pushed his chair back and stomped out of the kitchen.
“Ryan and Mark, sitting in a tree,” Saul shouted after him.
“Whatever.” He grimaced as he took the steps up to his room two at a time. At least now he was awake.
A shower, his contacts, and dressed in uniform, and he was back in the kitchen. One last coffee and he was out to his car.
When he arrived at Crooked Tree, he walked into chaos. Or at least it looked like chaos to him, but to everyone walking in and out of trailers in the parking lot it was probably highly organized chaos.
“Ryan!”
He turned to face the owner of the voice, spotted Sam and Justin just inside a large tent, and decided that direction was as good as any. He wanted to check in with Justin, see how the man was doing. A couple of people nodded at him, muttered “Officer” or “Sheriff,” but no one stopped to talk. Everyone had something to do, and Ryan wound his way past wires and boxes to what he assumed was the catering tent.
Justin had gone before he got there, leaving Sam and a table groaning with food. Two young guys there, both in chef’s whites, were clearly assisting with the burden of catering for however many people were present.
“Twenty-seven,” Sam explained, “but I catered for more, so help yourself.”
Ryan didn’t hesitate; he grabbed a plate of eggs, crispy bacon, and fluffy pancakes, and stood back in the corner, checking his watch every so often. Ten minutes to go and he’d cleared his plate while watching Sam doing his thing, ordering around his two assistants.
Still no sign of Justin coming back.
In fact, Justin did a very good job of avoiding Ryan, and with ten minutes to kill, Ryan decided to zip up his coat and go looking. Something about the way Justin wouldn’t quite look him in the eye had him feeling off. Justin had secrets—he’d been working for some shadowy kill squad after vanishing years ago with Adam. There was no information that Ryan could dig up, a blank of years that frustrated his analytical law enforcer’s brain.
He finally found his quarry standing with Marcus, hands in his pockets and a stony expression on his face. Marcus had been overwhelmed getting his son back, and Justin had tried hard to fit back into Crooked Tree life, but it was plain to see there was tension between father and son. When Ryan observed the two of them together, he often thought the pressure was going to snap into something more, but there was always a rigidity about Justin. The guy only truly relaxed when he was with Sam.
Justin saw him coming, lifted his chin, and stared. “Sheriff,” he said, with a nod.
“Ryan,” he emphasized, and not for the first time. “Call me Ryan.”
They were surely friends more than professional acquaintances. Being five years older than Justin meant they’d never been at school together, but still… more than just acquaintances, surely.
Another nod and Justin pressed his lips into a thin line. Ryan just knew that Justin wouldn’t be calling him by his first name.
Then they ran out of things to say. Or rather, Ryan wanted to ask questions and Justin didn’t want to answer them. They’d fallen into this weird, stony face-off, and Marcus had long since left.
“Can I talk to you?” Justin asked.
Ryan frowned and looked left and right. Justin was actually addressing him, right? “Of course.”
“Not here, not now. I’ll text you.”
And then he slipped away, sidestepping Ryan in one of his freaky ninja moves, and by the time Ryan made it to the front of the tent, Justin had vanished again.
Well, that wasn’t at all covert and weird. He shook his head and stepped out into the icy early morning half-light.
“Hey,” someone said from his side, “Good morning, Sheriff.”
Jordan was there, in so many layers of coats and scarves that it was difficult to see any more than a thin strip of his face, but Ryan would recognize those eyes anywhere. Then he remembered Jordan had a twin; was this Micah? They hadn’t looked the mirror image of each other, and Ryan couldn’t recall the color of Micah’s eyes.
Which reminded him he needed to google the man and find out about the father, then look for photos of Jordan and his twin, Micah.
For information purposes only, obviously.
“Hey,” Ryan said, abruptly very unsure.
Something in his tone must have shown hesitation because Jordan—or possibly Micah—pushed down the scarves from his face.
“Jordan. Remember me? I fell asleep in your car.”
Ryan held out a hand and they shook, which wasn’t easy when both were wearing heavy gloves.
Jordan kept talking, his voice less gruff than it had been two days ago, and he was staring right at Ryan.
For a second, Ryan imagined he had egg on his face and dismissed the idea. Just because a guy stared at him didn’t mean he had food on his face. He hadn’t the last time, and he didn’t now.
Still, he brushed at his mouth with his gloved hand, just in case, because Jordan made him feel like he wanted to look perfect.
What the hell? Where did that come from?
“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” Jordan carried on. “I usually don’t go sleeping in sheriffs’ cars.” He smiled, and Ryan’s brain short-circuited because, fuck, dimples.
“You spend a lot of time in sheriffs’ cars?” Ryan asked before his brain caught up with his mouth. I’m losing it.
Jordan shook his head. “No, I guess not. I was dosed up and ill.”
“I know.” And then he recalled the usual thing that normal people might say at this point. Normal, sane, rational, people. “Are you feeling better?”
Jordan wrapped his hands around himself and stamped a bit. “Much. Just freaking cold.”
Ryan searched his brain for an answer to that one while trying not to lose himself staring into those gray eyes. “It’s Montana,” he said lamely.
Jordan chuckled, coughed a little. “So it is. You want me to show you around?”
Ryan didn’t want to take Jordan away from whatever he was supposed to be doing, so he said, “I can do my own thing.”
“No, it’s okay. Follow me.”
Jordan pivoted and led Ryan through the maze of tents and wires, stopping and explaining that this was Production, this was their version of a green room, and this was Editing.
Ryan spoke to everyone, got a feel for the way things were running, and filed away as much information as he could. There wasn’t much he could say, although he had a list of things he needed to check when they were somewhere warmer. Not for his sake—he was plenty warm enough, a Montana native with enough layers to make him look like a snowman—but Jordan still hadn’t got the idea and he was shivering under the coat. Which had Ryan considering one question they hadn’t covered…
“How will you film outside scenes without coats?”
Jordan looked a little panicked for a moment, but it soon cleared and cheerful optimism seemed to carry him through. “We’ll be fine.”
Ryan didn’t want to point out that this was early in the day, and if there were night shoots, Jordan was in danger of becoming a Popsicle.
Jason arrived a little after nine, in uniform and clearly just off shift judging by the tiredness bracketing his eyes.
“Hey, little brother,” he said on a yawn.
That was the way he always addressed Ryan, but somehow, in front of Jordan, Ryan didn’t want to be identified as little. Then, Jason held out a hand, and he and Jordan did that whole awkward glove-slap thing.
“Jason Carter, MFD liaison,” Jason said and yawned again. “Sorry, long night.”
“Thank you for coming.”
Jason did that thing when he smiled and winked and showed way too much happy despite being exhausted. Ryan often wished he could channel Jason’s eternal happiness.
“You’re welcome,” Jason said with another smile. “Show me the way.”
And like that, Ryan’s part in this was over. He watched Jason and Jordan leave to check out whatever pyrotechnics plan they had cooked up, and realized he was standing there like a prize idiot and Jordan was looking back at him and sketching a small wave.
So, Ryan waved back, a thank-you wave—not at all a sexy wave, really—and then he felt even more of an idiot, so he left to find Jay, with his list of concerns in his head.
Jay was in his office, which wasn’t exactly his office anymore; Adam was sitting on one seat, Micah on the other. From the papers spread out on the desk, they were talking horses, and Ryan didn’t really have much to say on that, but he indicated he just needed paper and a pen and wrote out in careful block letters the things he thought needed checking out. Jay mouthed a thank you and placed the paper to one side with a thumbs up.
Ryan moved to leave but stopped when Adam grasped his hand.
“A word?” Adam asked softly and stepped out into the chaos without a jacket.
Ryan immediately went into protective mode, which was his default setting with Adam. After all, Adam had years of missing memories and still suffered from killer headaches. Should he be standing out in the cold? “Everything okay?”
“It’s Justin,” Adam said, worry in his expression.
“What about him?”
“Something’s wrong. He won’t talk to me or Ethan, and he’s quiet.”
“He’s always quiet,” Ryan said, not because he wanted to play devil’s advocate, but because it was the truth. Not only was Justin trained to be stealthy, he also played his cards close to his chest.
Too many secrets.
“No, this is more than normal, and I think it’s my fault.” Adam tapped his shoulder. “My tattoo. I woke up from a dream that I think could have been memories of the man who did the tattoo, and then I dreamed about being on that ranch and seeing the two men with me die. I mean, I’m not entirely sure, but when I told Justin, he just looked really pained and pale.”
Ryan filed away the information. Maybe this was what Justin needed to talk to him about. “I’ll talk to him,” he reassured Adam.
“There was something else…,” Adam murmured, as if he didn’t really want Ryan to hear and ask him what it was.
“What?”
“In the dream….” He hesitated again, then couldn’t look Ryan in the eyes. “Justin was there in the dreams, front and center.”
Too many questions. “I’ll talk to him,” he repeated. Adam turned to leave, but Ryan stopped him with “Are you okay?”
Adam glanced back, a lost expression on his face, one Ryan had seen many times. “Today isn’t a good day, so I gave in and called Ethan. He was coming home anyway, so he’s just leaving earlier. I don’t like doing it, but I just…”
“Need him,” Ryan finished.
“Yeah.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
Sometimes Adam was too lost, needed his fiancé by his side, and Ethan was working his notice at the job in Missoula. They hadn’t worked out what he would do at Crooked Tree, but Ethan wanted to be with Adam full-time and not just between shifts.
Ryan wished they had the budget at the sheriff’s office, but that wasn’t happening anytime soon. They had a rookie and that was pretty much all they could afford.
“No, thank you. I’ll be okay,” Adam said.
And that answered everything. “Good.” Ryan ushered Adam back into the warm office, then left.
Justin was waiting for Ryan next to his car, his hands thrust deep into his jacket, a beanie pulled low on his head. “Hey.”
Justin always looked so wary, as if, at the drop of a hat, Ryan was going to pull his gun and arrest him or shoot him.
“Hey,” Ryan said, and waited for more.
“Is Adam okay? I saw you talking to him.”
Ryan considered lying, but Justin wasn’t stupid. “He thinks that he remembered something and wanted to talk to me about it.”
Justin gave a sharp nod. He was in constant movement from one foot to the other, his expression fixed on Ryan, but Ryan imagined he was aware of every single inch of his surroundings. Whoever trained him way back had done a good job.
“What exactly did he think he remembered?” Justin asked.
“You know I can’t divulge information like that.”
For the longest time, Justin stared at him, his expression blank. Then he sighed. “Tell me he’s okay.”
Ryan wished he could say that, wanted to be able to say that he was, but he would be lying. “You should talk to him,” he advised, because that was the best he could do.
Justin looked down and kicked at a stone next to his boot. “He won’t talk to me. He’s avoiding me, or I’m avoiding him, fuck knows.” When he returned his gaze to Ryan, there was real grief in his eyes. “He’s remembered something and he looks so beaten down. How can I help him?”
That was the most Justin had exposed of himself to Ryan, ever, and part of Ryan, the compassion that wished he could help, wanted desperately to explain that Adam was dealing with memories that made no sense.
He couldn’t.
“Find him. Talk to him if you can,” Ryan said, and then he added with feeling, “I’m sorry, Justin.”
“Not your fault.” Justin drew himself tall. “I’ve got him. I’ll do what’s best for him.” He added, “Always.”
If only it was that easy.
They shook hands, and Justin walked back up to Branches.
Justin held too many secrets, and that scared Ryan. Because after today, with what Adam had told him, secrets could destroy Justin and Adam and any friendship they may have.
And likely rip families apart in the process.
Gay Romance Holiday Collection by Keira Andrews:
Eight Nights in December
Chapter One
As he rounded the staircase, Lucas McKenzie could already hear the pounding bass emanating from above. He cringed, knowing without a doubt it was coming from his room.
Well, Sam Kramer’s room.
It was also technically Lucas’s room, but Sam didn’t let that stop him from doing exactly what he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it. As the star forward on Brookfield University’s basketball team, Sam was used to getting his way, and Lucas didn’t have the energy to argue most of the time.
Lucas trudged through the hallway, weaving around revelers celebrating the end of the December exam period. Everyone on the floor except Lucas was a senior, and although he knew some of them well enough to say hi to, it didn’t go further than nods and smiles.
Heart already skipping at the thought of making small talk, he stepped over the drunken people sitting in his doorway and was greeted by a can of cold beer that bounced off his chest and rolled to a stop under the foot of his bed.
“Buddy!” Everyone was Sam’s buddy. “School’s out!” He whooped loudly, his muscled arms thrust over his head. Dark-haired Sam was tall and gorgeous; his chiseled features and sculpted muscles would be just as at home on a movie screen as they were on the basketball court.
Lucas ignored the acid flooding his belly and gave Sam a thumbs-up. “I’m totally stoked!” He’d learned early on in the semester that the best way to deal with Sam was to agree with everything he said. Besides, Lucas should be stoked. Exams were over, and what kind of college student didn’t love partying and getting wasted?
From Lucas’s estimation, he was apparently the only one.
“Grab a beer and party with us!”
Nodding and smiling, Lucas retrieved the beer from under his bed and popped the top after stashing his backpack in the closet—currently the only part of the small room that wasn’t occupied by a fellow student. How were there so many people crammed in? Sweat prickled the back of his neck, and beer foamed out over his fingers. He gulped from the can.
A girl Lucas recognized as living down the hall was sprawled on his bed, sticking her tongue down the throat of a guy who looked old enough to be in his seventh or eighth year of college. Lucas thought wistfully of curling up under the covers and watching a movie on his laptop.
“Holidays are here!” Sam’s proclamation was met with a loud cheer from the partygoers. Lucas kept the rictus smile on his face as he worked his way into the hallway, holding his can of beer aloft in a toast. He escaped back toward the stairwell, hoping that he wouldn’t run into—
“Lucas!” Andrea Price materialized in front of him, grinning widely.
“Hey, Andrea. Um…” Say something. This is the part where you say something. “How’s it going?”
“Great! I’m so glad exams are over. I can’t wait to go home.”
“Me either.” Lucas found it easier to just lie. “Uh, well, enjoy the party.”
Andrea touched his arm, her fingers light on his bicep. “I thought maybe we could hang out in my room downstairs.” She looked up at him from under lashes thick with mascara.
Lucas groaned inwardly. Andrea was a fellow freshman and a beautiful girl—blonde and petite with a bright smile—but she just wasn’t Lucas’s type.
Not by a long shot.
He’d dated girls before, and he knew plenty of them found him attractive, but he wasn’t sure why. He had no fashion sense to speak of, and although he was almost six feet, he didn’t have bulging muscles like Sam and the other athletes. Yet the other day he’d overheard Andrea and her friend cooing about his “golden hair” and “sparkling green eyes—like emeralds!”
Vast exaggerations.
Unfortunately, he didn’t find women attractive. At least, not in the way they found him. “Oh, I… Um, I’ve got a really bad headache. I’m just going to get some air.” Wait, would she think that was an invitation to go make out? He blurted, “Alone.”
Her face fell just a fraction before she smiled again. “Sure, I understand. Feel better. And merry Christmas if I don’t see you again tonight.”
“Right. You too. Um, thanks.” He forced a bright, “Merry Christmas!” and winced inwardly at how awkward he sounded.
Leaving a disappointed Andrea in his wake, Lucas reached the stairwell and headed up one more flight to the roof. He would love to have her for a friend, but she seemed incapable of reading his signals, so he’d started avoiding her a few weeks earlier. He didn’t want to lead her on or anything.
He’d briefly considered dating her so he could meet some other people, but he’d sworn when he left Michigan he’d stop pretending. Besides, it would be a dick move to date Andrea knowing he was using her. He had to come out and start being himself—whoever that was.
All signs point to being a total loser, he thought, cursing himself.
He was too chickenshit to join the campus gay association, so now he didn’t date women or men. He told himself it would be his New Year’s resolution to have the balls to join the club and at least meet some other LGBT people. Joining would make it official—still a bit of a scary prospect.
Frigid night air greeted him as he pushed the door open. A group of five or six people huddled together nearby, puffing away on cigarettes. Lucas nodded to them and walked to the other side of the roof, which was usually deserted. Leaning against the waist-high brick wall, he peered out, his breath clouding in front of his face.
He knew being antisocial wouldn’t help him fit in at Brookfield, but parties made him stupidly anxious. What if he said the wrong thing? He was terrible at small talk. Plus, he looked like he was having a seizure when he danced, and he hated loud music and having so many people around.
Maybe he could just tell Andrea he was gay, and she would be cool with it and they could hang…
But what if she wasn’t cool with it? His stomach clenched. What if she told everyone and Sam freaked out? Sam had been pissed enough to get stuck with a freshman roomie, and though he’d warmed to Lucas in his way, what if he was a homophobe? Lucas hadn’t heard him using any slurs, but…
Thanks to his father’s job in sales for Ford, Lucas had moved around a lot over the years and never made lasting friends. He’d hoped college would change that, but so far, not so much. He only had himself to blame, but the more he stressed about making friends the more he screwed it up and wanted to hide.
The bass from downstairs thudded through the soles of his sneakers, more bearable now at least. The campus spread out before him, lights twinkling merrily on the trees that lined the drives, winding their way around the stately old buildings.
It was December eighteenth, the last day of the fall semester. Lucas was fairly confident he’d done well on his last exam—organic chemistry, ugh—and he had hoped Sam’s parents would have already picked him up. Sam lived in New York City, a few hours away from the tiny town in upstate New York that was home to Brookfield. Lucas wanted nothing more than to relax in his room and have an early night after being up late studying for the past two weeks.
Clearly he’d have to wait until tomorrow when the campus emptied to get some peace and quiet. Yet as much as he wanted some time to himself, Lucas knew that the next couple of weeks would be a little too quiet.
Tomorrow, all the students who hadn’t already gone home would be taking off, leaving the campus a ghost town. The dorm advisor had told him he was the only one on his floor not going home for the holidays, and although he would be glad for the respite from the constant partying, spending Christmas completely alone was a depressing prospect. He enjoyed being by himself for the most part, but he was afraid loneliness would creep in and make itself a home.
He thought of his father and quickly took a gulp of beer to ward off the tightness in his throat. Some more smokers arrived, laughing gaily as they piled out onto the roof. Taking another swig of beer, Lucas stayed in the shadows.
*
“Uhhh.”
Another sharp rap on the door echoed through the room, and Lucas forced himself to open his eyes, since it sounded like Sam wasn’t yet able to form words. It didn’t feel like Lucas had been sleeping long, but the light streaming through the window told a different story.
“Samuel, it’s your mother.” Her voice was soft yet firm on the other side of the door.
“Uhhh,” Sam repeated, his head still buried under his duvet.
Lucas kicked empty beer cans under the bed and tried to cover up the evidence of the previous night’s activities, shoving Sam’s bong in a drawer. When he opened the door, he smiled brightly, not without some effort. “Mrs. Kramer? I’m Lucas.”
“How nice to finally meet you.” She extended her hand and shook his firmly, the jewels on her tasteful rings sparkling.
He stood aside as she swept into the room, surveying the piles of Sam’s dirty clothes, books, and discarded pizza boxes. Mrs. Kramer looked to be in her early fifties, although Lucas couldn’t be sure. Sam rarely mentioned his family; most of his conversations revolved around basketball, partying, and girls. Many, many girls.
Sam’s mother was an average height, with dark brown, bobbed hair betraying no hint of gray. Her black skirt and camel-colored coat were crisply pressed.
“Samuel.”
Sam groaned again unintelligibly.
Lucas smiled at Mrs. Kramer. “He’s not really a morning person, but I guess you know that.”
“Indeed I do.” She marched the few steps over to Sam’s bed, heels clicking on the tile floor. With a brisk motion, she yanked off the duvet. “Time to get up, young man.”
Sam, clad only in his briefs, groaned again before rolling over onto his back and opening his eyes. “Mom, chill. I thought you were coming later.”
“It is later. Almost noon.”
Sam whined, “What’s the rush?”
“Hanukkah starts tonight at sundown, which I’ve mentioned to you a number of times. So get up and get moving. It’s a three-hour drive home, and I have things to do.”
Grumbling under his breath, Sam stood and shuffled off to the bathroom down the hall, leaving Lucas and Mrs. Kramer alone. Lucas smiled. “I’d offer you a seat, but…”
Returning his smile, she perched on the side of Sam’s bed. “This is fine.” She glanced around the room one more time before focusing her attention on Lucas. “Are your parents coming today as well?”
Lucas hated this part. The creased faces and murmured apologies. The pity. “No, I don’t have any family.” He forced a smile. “But it’s cool. I’ll get the place to myself for a couple of weeks. It’ll be great.”
“No family? None at all?” Mrs. Kramer regarded him with a new interest that unnerved him a little.
“Well, I have some cousins in Texas, but I’ve never met them.”
“What happened to your parents?”
Lucas blinked in surprise. Usually people beat around the bush for a while before getting to that question. “My mom died when I was little; my dad in September. Cancer.”
“I’m so sorry to hear it.” Her face pinched in concern. “That must have been very difficult for you.”
Difficult didn’t really begin to cover it, but Lucas nodded. “Yeah.”
“That’s why you didn’t start school until October. I remember Sam wasn’t too happy to find out he’d be sharing a room after all. I told him he should have moved off campus, but he insisted on the dorm. I can only imagine that’s due to the large number of young ladies living here.” Her smile was wry.
“Yeah, Sam was thrilled to have me move in. But my profs were all really good about me starting late, especially since I’m only a freshman.”
His father had insisted Lucas finally enroll in university for the fall, since the doctors hadn’t expected him to make it to summer. When September rolled around, Lucas and his dad fought for days, Lucas refusing to leave his bedside while his father was adamant that at twenty, Lucas had already put off his future for long enough. Lucas won the battle, and had held his father’s hand as he slipped away.
The school had been very accommodating about his late start, but now he was alone on a campus where everyone in his classes already made friends at the start of the year and, thanks to a housing shortage, his roommate was a senior jock. Lucas could move out—aside from the life insurance, his dad had left him a fair amount of money—but then he’d be even more isolated.
He cleared his throat, eager to move on to another topic. “So, Hanukkah starts tonight. That must be fun.”
“Yes, it’s a nice time of year. What will you do for Christmas?”
“Oh, just hang out or whatever. I’m not religious, so it’s no big deal.”
“Hmm.” She stood and surveyed the room again. “Do you have a suitcase, or one of those duffel bags my son likes so much?”
“I’m sorry?” Lucas’s duffel was somewhere at the bottom of his closet, and unless—
“Pack your bag, Lucas. You’re going to spend the holidays with us.”
“Oh, that’s so nice of you, but I couldn’t impose.” Despite how lonely he might be over Christmas by himself, he was definitely looking forward to time away from Sam.
“You can, and you will. There’s simply no way I’m leaving you here all alone.”
“I really appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. Really.”
Sam returned, looking marginally more awake than when he left. His mother turned to him. “Samuel, Lucas will be coming to spend the holidays with us. Do you know where he keeps his overnight bag?”
Getting to his feet, Lucas was very tempted to tug on Mrs. Kramer’s arm to get her to pay attention to what he was saying. “Thank you, but I’m not even Jewish. I don’t want to intrude on your Hanukkah.”
She waved him off. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re more than welcome, and I’m not leaving you to…” She gazed around, nose wrinkling. “This.”
Yawning widely, Sam clapped him on the shoulder. “Dude, there’s no point in arguing. Trust me.”
Lucas opened his mouth to protest, but he couldn’t think of a single good reason he should stay on campus alone for the holidays. Even if he had to put up with Sam, maybe he could do some sightseeing or something.
Half an hour later, Lucas found himself in the back of the Kramer family SUV, heading toward New York City as the first snowflakes of the season drifted down.
As he rounded the staircase, Lucas McKenzie could already hear the pounding bass emanating from above. He cringed, knowing without a doubt it was coming from his room.
Well, Sam Kramer’s room.
It was also technically Lucas’s room, but Sam didn’t let that stop him from doing exactly what he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it. As the star forward on Brookfield University’s basketball team, Sam was used to getting his way, and Lucas didn’t have the energy to argue most of the time.
Lucas trudged through the hallway, weaving around revelers celebrating the end of the December exam period. Everyone on the floor except Lucas was a senior, and although he knew some of them well enough to say hi to, it didn’t go further than nods and smiles.
Heart already skipping at the thought of making small talk, he stepped over the drunken people sitting in his doorway and was greeted by a can of cold beer that bounced off his chest and rolled to a stop under the foot of his bed.
“Buddy!” Everyone was Sam’s buddy. “School’s out!” He whooped loudly, his muscled arms thrust over his head. Dark-haired Sam was tall and gorgeous; his chiseled features and sculpted muscles would be just as at home on a movie screen as they were on the basketball court.
Lucas ignored the acid flooding his belly and gave Sam a thumbs-up. “I’m totally stoked!” He’d learned early on in the semester that the best way to deal with Sam was to agree with everything he said. Besides, Lucas should be stoked. Exams were over, and what kind of college student didn’t love partying and getting wasted?
From Lucas’s estimation, he was apparently the only one.
“Grab a beer and party with us!”
Nodding and smiling, Lucas retrieved the beer from under his bed and popped the top after stashing his backpack in the closet—currently the only part of the small room that wasn’t occupied by a fellow student. How were there so many people crammed in? Sweat prickled the back of his neck, and beer foamed out over his fingers. He gulped from the can.
A girl Lucas recognized as living down the hall was sprawled on his bed, sticking her tongue down the throat of a guy who looked old enough to be in his seventh or eighth year of college. Lucas thought wistfully of curling up under the covers and watching a movie on his laptop.
“Holidays are here!” Sam’s proclamation was met with a loud cheer from the partygoers. Lucas kept the rictus smile on his face as he worked his way into the hallway, holding his can of beer aloft in a toast. He escaped back toward the stairwell, hoping that he wouldn’t run into—
“Lucas!” Andrea Price materialized in front of him, grinning widely.
“Hey, Andrea. Um…” Say something. This is the part where you say something. “How’s it going?”
“Great! I’m so glad exams are over. I can’t wait to go home.”
“Me either.” Lucas found it easier to just lie. “Uh, well, enjoy the party.”
Andrea touched his arm, her fingers light on his bicep. “I thought maybe we could hang out in my room downstairs.” She looked up at him from under lashes thick with mascara.
Lucas groaned inwardly. Andrea was a fellow freshman and a beautiful girl—blonde and petite with a bright smile—but she just wasn’t Lucas’s type.
Not by a long shot.
He’d dated girls before, and he knew plenty of them found him attractive, but he wasn’t sure why. He had no fashion sense to speak of, and although he was almost six feet, he didn’t have bulging muscles like Sam and the other athletes. Yet the other day he’d overheard Andrea and her friend cooing about his “golden hair” and “sparkling green eyes—like emeralds!”
Vast exaggerations.
Unfortunately, he didn’t find women attractive. At least, not in the way they found him. “Oh, I… Um, I’ve got a really bad headache. I’m just going to get some air.” Wait, would she think that was an invitation to go make out? He blurted, “Alone.”
Her face fell just a fraction before she smiled again. “Sure, I understand. Feel better. And merry Christmas if I don’t see you again tonight.”
“Right. You too. Um, thanks.” He forced a bright, “Merry Christmas!” and winced inwardly at how awkward he sounded.
Leaving a disappointed Andrea in his wake, Lucas reached the stairwell and headed up one more flight to the roof. He would love to have her for a friend, but she seemed incapable of reading his signals, so he’d started avoiding her a few weeks earlier. He didn’t want to lead her on or anything.
He’d briefly considered dating her so he could meet some other people, but he’d sworn when he left Michigan he’d stop pretending. Besides, it would be a dick move to date Andrea knowing he was using her. He had to come out and start being himself—whoever that was.
All signs point to being a total loser, he thought, cursing himself.
He was too chickenshit to join the campus gay association, so now he didn’t date women or men. He told himself it would be his New Year’s resolution to have the balls to join the club and at least meet some other LGBT people. Joining would make it official—still a bit of a scary prospect.
Frigid night air greeted him as he pushed the door open. A group of five or six people huddled together nearby, puffing away on cigarettes. Lucas nodded to them and walked to the other side of the roof, which was usually deserted. Leaning against the waist-high brick wall, he peered out, his breath clouding in front of his face.
He knew being antisocial wouldn’t help him fit in at Brookfield, but parties made him stupidly anxious. What if he said the wrong thing? He was terrible at small talk. Plus, he looked like he was having a seizure when he danced, and he hated loud music and having so many people around.
Maybe he could just tell Andrea he was gay, and she would be cool with it and they could hang…
But what if she wasn’t cool with it? His stomach clenched. What if she told everyone and Sam freaked out? Sam had been pissed enough to get stuck with a freshman roomie, and though he’d warmed to Lucas in his way, what if he was a homophobe? Lucas hadn’t heard him using any slurs, but…
Thanks to his father’s job in sales for Ford, Lucas had moved around a lot over the years and never made lasting friends. He’d hoped college would change that, but so far, not so much. He only had himself to blame, but the more he stressed about making friends the more he screwed it up and wanted to hide.
The bass from downstairs thudded through the soles of his sneakers, more bearable now at least. The campus spread out before him, lights twinkling merrily on the trees that lined the drives, winding their way around the stately old buildings.
It was December eighteenth, the last day of the fall semester. Lucas was fairly confident he’d done well on his last exam—organic chemistry, ugh—and he had hoped Sam’s parents would have already picked him up. Sam lived in New York City, a few hours away from the tiny town in upstate New York that was home to Brookfield. Lucas wanted nothing more than to relax in his room and have an early night after being up late studying for the past two weeks.
Clearly he’d have to wait until tomorrow when the campus emptied to get some peace and quiet. Yet as much as he wanted some time to himself, Lucas knew that the next couple of weeks would be a little too quiet.
Tomorrow, all the students who hadn’t already gone home would be taking off, leaving the campus a ghost town. The dorm advisor had told him he was the only one on his floor not going home for the holidays, and although he would be glad for the respite from the constant partying, spending Christmas completely alone was a depressing prospect. He enjoyed being by himself for the most part, but he was afraid loneliness would creep in and make itself a home.
He thought of his father and quickly took a gulp of beer to ward off the tightness in his throat. Some more smokers arrived, laughing gaily as they piled out onto the roof. Taking another swig of beer, Lucas stayed in the shadows.
*
“Uhhh.”
Another sharp rap on the door echoed through the room, and Lucas forced himself to open his eyes, since it sounded like Sam wasn’t yet able to form words. It didn’t feel like Lucas had been sleeping long, but the light streaming through the window told a different story.
“Samuel, it’s your mother.” Her voice was soft yet firm on the other side of the door.
“Uhhh,” Sam repeated, his head still buried under his duvet.
Lucas kicked empty beer cans under the bed and tried to cover up the evidence of the previous night’s activities, shoving Sam’s bong in a drawer. When he opened the door, he smiled brightly, not without some effort. “Mrs. Kramer? I’m Lucas.”
“How nice to finally meet you.” She extended her hand and shook his firmly, the jewels on her tasteful rings sparkling.
He stood aside as she swept into the room, surveying the piles of Sam’s dirty clothes, books, and discarded pizza boxes. Mrs. Kramer looked to be in her early fifties, although Lucas couldn’t be sure. Sam rarely mentioned his family; most of his conversations revolved around basketball, partying, and girls. Many, many girls.
Sam’s mother was an average height, with dark brown, bobbed hair betraying no hint of gray. Her black skirt and camel-colored coat were crisply pressed.
“Samuel.”
Sam groaned again unintelligibly.
Lucas smiled at Mrs. Kramer. “He’s not really a morning person, but I guess you know that.”
“Indeed I do.” She marched the few steps over to Sam’s bed, heels clicking on the tile floor. With a brisk motion, she yanked off the duvet. “Time to get up, young man.”
Sam, clad only in his briefs, groaned again before rolling over onto his back and opening his eyes. “Mom, chill. I thought you were coming later.”
“It is later. Almost noon.”
Sam whined, “What’s the rush?”
“Hanukkah starts tonight at sundown, which I’ve mentioned to you a number of times. So get up and get moving. It’s a three-hour drive home, and I have things to do.”
Grumbling under his breath, Sam stood and shuffled off to the bathroom down the hall, leaving Lucas and Mrs. Kramer alone. Lucas smiled. “I’d offer you a seat, but…”
Returning his smile, she perched on the side of Sam’s bed. “This is fine.” She glanced around the room one more time before focusing her attention on Lucas. “Are your parents coming today as well?”
Lucas hated this part. The creased faces and murmured apologies. The pity. “No, I don’t have any family.” He forced a smile. “But it’s cool. I’ll get the place to myself for a couple of weeks. It’ll be great.”
“No family? None at all?” Mrs. Kramer regarded him with a new interest that unnerved him a little.
“Well, I have some cousins in Texas, but I’ve never met them.”
“What happened to your parents?”
Lucas blinked in surprise. Usually people beat around the bush for a while before getting to that question. “My mom died when I was little; my dad in September. Cancer.”
“I’m so sorry to hear it.” Her face pinched in concern. “That must have been very difficult for you.”
Difficult didn’t really begin to cover it, but Lucas nodded. “Yeah.”
“That’s why you didn’t start school until October. I remember Sam wasn’t too happy to find out he’d be sharing a room after all. I told him he should have moved off campus, but he insisted on the dorm. I can only imagine that’s due to the large number of young ladies living here.” Her smile was wry.
“Yeah, Sam was thrilled to have me move in. But my profs were all really good about me starting late, especially since I’m only a freshman.”
His father had insisted Lucas finally enroll in university for the fall, since the doctors hadn’t expected him to make it to summer. When September rolled around, Lucas and his dad fought for days, Lucas refusing to leave his bedside while his father was adamant that at twenty, Lucas had already put off his future for long enough. Lucas won the battle, and had held his father’s hand as he slipped away.
The school had been very accommodating about his late start, but now he was alone on a campus where everyone in his classes already made friends at the start of the year and, thanks to a housing shortage, his roommate was a senior jock. Lucas could move out—aside from the life insurance, his dad had left him a fair amount of money—but then he’d be even more isolated.
He cleared his throat, eager to move on to another topic. “So, Hanukkah starts tonight. That must be fun.”
“Yes, it’s a nice time of year. What will you do for Christmas?”
“Oh, just hang out or whatever. I’m not religious, so it’s no big deal.”
“Hmm.” She stood and surveyed the room again. “Do you have a suitcase, or one of those duffel bags my son likes so much?”
“I’m sorry?” Lucas’s duffel was somewhere at the bottom of his closet, and unless—
“Pack your bag, Lucas. You’re going to spend the holidays with us.”
“Oh, that’s so nice of you, but I couldn’t impose.” Despite how lonely he might be over Christmas by himself, he was definitely looking forward to time away from Sam.
“You can, and you will. There’s simply no way I’m leaving you here all alone.”
“I really appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. Really.”
Sam returned, looking marginally more awake than when he left. His mother turned to him. “Samuel, Lucas will be coming to spend the holidays with us. Do you know where he keeps his overnight bag?”
Getting to his feet, Lucas was very tempted to tug on Mrs. Kramer’s arm to get her to pay attention to what he was saying. “Thank you, but I’m not even Jewish. I don’t want to intrude on your Hanukkah.”
She waved him off. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re more than welcome, and I’m not leaving you to…” She gazed around, nose wrinkling. “This.”
Yawning widely, Sam clapped him on the shoulder. “Dude, there’s no point in arguing. Trust me.”
Lucas opened his mouth to protest, but he couldn’t think of a single good reason he should stay on campus alone for the holidays. Even if he had to put up with Sam, maybe he could do some sightseeing or something.
Half an hour later, Lucas found himself in the back of the Kramer family SUV, heading toward New York City as the first snowflakes of the season drifted down.
In Case of Emergency
Chapter One
Daniel wasn’t sure how many ways he could say it, but he tried again. “I don’t know a Nicholas Smith.”
The woman on the other end of the line somehow persisted. “But this is Daniel Diaz?” She rattled off his number.
Daniel took the cell phone from his ear for a moment to glance at the screen. It definitely said Carleton University. Was this some student prank? Did people even make crank calls anymore? He said, “Yes, that’s the correct number, but there’s been some mistake.”
“But you are Daniel Diaz, aren’t you?”
He sighed. “Yes, but as I said, I don’t know a Nicholas Smith.” Ugh, he just wanted to get home so he could pack and get back on the road. He was actually taking an honest-to-God vacation. With his new, maybe-could-be boyfriend. Which might be a complete disaster. Stomach tightening, he pushed away the unease as the woman spoke again.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, but he’s one of our students. He’s had an accident. Your name and number are listed as his emergency contact.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I have no clue who this guy is.” He switched his wipers to the next setting, the rubber squeaking a little faster as it cleared the wet snow on the windshield.
Traffic crawled along the slushy 417 toward Kanata, a sea of red lights in the December darkness. Normally Daniel came home after eight and missed rush hour. He usually would’ve ignored the call while driving, but at five kilometers an hour, he figured he was safe. He really needed to get Bluetooth set up, but most of his communication was by text anyway, even for work. These days the only person who called him was his mother—
“Shit,” he muttered with a sinking sensation, gripping the steering wheel, the heated leather warm under his fingers.
“Uh, excuse me?”
“Sorry. It just hit me. Is this Cole Smith? Our parents were married for, like, five minutes. It was a million years ago, but a few months back my mom mentioned he was moving to Ottawa. Grad school, or something.”
“Yes, Nicholas Smith is enrolled in our master’s degree in environmental engineering.”
“Why the hell would he put me down for his in-case-of-emergency person? We haven’t talked in years.” He did the math. “Ten years.”
“Well, I’m not sure. But he’s been taken to the hospital, and it’s policy that we inform his emergency contact. That would apparently be you, Mr. Diaz.”
The woman didn’t sound that worried, so it couldn’t be a big deal, but… “He’s okay, right? It’s not anything serious?” He barely remembered nerdy, knobby-kneed little Cole, but he didn’t want anything bad to happen to the guy.
“All I know is that there was an accident, Nicholas was injured, and an ambulance was called. But, no, I don’t believe it’s a life or death situation. However, the campus is closing now for the next three weeks, and I imagine Nicholas’s classmates are already gone. Yours is the only contact number we have.”
Shit, fuck, fuck. As the traffic came to a complete standstill, he closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“I guess it’s up to you whether you go to the ER or not.”
Daniel groaned internally. He still had to pack and finish up a couple of hiring reports, even though the office had just closed for the holidays. “God, I hate hospitals.”
“Doesn’t everyone, Mr. Diaz?”
She had a point, and guilt attacked like a punch to the gut. “Which hospital?”
Of course it was back the way he’d come, and the next exit would take a good ten minutes to reach in the bumper-to-bumper procession. After hanging up, Daniel quickly dialed his mom. She answered on the third ring, and he said, “Hey, Mom. Look, I got a weird call to go to the hospital.”
“What? Are you sick?” Her voice squeaked out at a pitch close to something only dogs could hear.
“No, no. I’m fine. Mom? Listen to me. I’m a hundred percent fine. It’s about Nicholas Smith. Is that your ex’s son?” Not that “ex” narrowed it down. He added, “Cole?”
She sucked in a breath. “Is he hurt? What happened?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m on my way. Carleton called me because he had an accident on campus. Do you know why he would have put me down to contact?”
“Because I told him to, darling. He doesn’t know anyone else in Ottawa.”
“Uh, he doesn’t know me either! I haven’t seen him in forever.” Not since the rebound marriage between Daniel’s mother and Cole’s father predictably imploded after only six months.
“Of course you know him. He’s family. Oh my goodness, what do you suppose happened? Please let him be all right.”
“I’m sure he’s fine. Don’t get worked up.” He pushed the heat button on the Audi’s dash, turning it down. “And Mom, he is not family.”
“You don’t divorce children, Daniel.”
“You got that from Clueless, didn’t you?”
She huffed. “Regardless, it’s accurate.”
Daniel wasn’t going to argue with her about it. “How’s Puerto Vallarta treating you?”
“Divinely! I’ve already had four mango margaritas and it’s not even dinnertime. I wish you could come down, sweetheart. It doesn’t seem right spending Christmas without you.”
“Mom, you know I’ll see you in the new year. Besides, it’s a girls’ trip with your friends. No men allowed, remember?”
“Yes, true. And at least you’re actually taking time off work—although I know you wouldn’t if you had your way. Thank goodness Martin believes in work-life balance. You need to learn from your boss, sweetie.”
Martin Bukowski, the CEO of AppAny, insisted on being called by his first name, wore flip-flops in Ottawa in January, and had installed a massive tube slide between the floors of his headquarters. The work itself—creating apps for small businesses—was actually rather staid. Lots of back-end web development and whatnot. But Martin was determined his company would be edgy and cool, with playgrounds for offices, flexible work schedules, and a staff with a median age of twenty-five.
“Speaking of work-life balance, Cole is a lovely young man. Assuming he’s all right, and pray that he is, maybe you could spend some time with him in the next few months? I’m sure he’s been lonely, on his own in a different city.”
“I barely have time to see my own friends, let alone some dude I don’t even know.” He finally reached the off-ramp and circled around to get back on the highway heading into Ottawa. At least there was less traffic going that way.
“As I always point out, you work far too much.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Mom, I have to hang up now. I can’t talk and drive. I’ll let you know what’s going on with Cole as soon as I can. Love you.”
“Love you too, my darling.”
He’d heard it a million times that he worked too much, but she didn’t understand how important his job was to him. Not many twenty-eight-year-olds made HR director. Granted, he was one of three HR directors working under a VP at AppAny, but it was still an accomplishment.
So what if he worked damn hard? How was that a bad thing? And he was taking a vacation, wasn’t he? At the last minute, even!
Daniel thought wistfully of the hot tub waiting. It was outdoor and boasted a view of the mountains and the frozen lake. Mont-Tremblant in Quebec already had a couple feet of snow, and it would be perfect to cuddle up in the steamy water with a glass or three of merlot. Oh, and Justin. Right.
With a mix of excitement and trepidation, he thought of free and spontaneous Justin. He was so handsome, with his strawberry-blond hair, blue eyes, and mouth that didn’t quit—in more ways than one. Daniel usually preferred to make plans well in advance, but Justin loved the thrill of doing things on the fly. So Daniel had rented a whole chalet for them last-minute thanks to a cancellation. He could be fun too, damn it.
“It’s going to be great,” he muttered. “CYC.”
It’d been his friend Pam who’d pleaded with him to accompany her to a self-help workshop called CYC: Change Your Cadence. Of course he’d flatly refused at first. He tried to keep Sundays completely free to cook and watch all the mindless TV he’d recorded. Crowding into the Kanata Best Western ballroom with a bunch of unhappy people and paying a hundred bucks to some con artist who promised to change their lives was not appealing in any way, shape, or form.
But tears had glimmered in Pam’s eyes as she’d whispered that no one else would go. She and her wife, Christine—make that ex-wife now—had lived in the condo next to Daniel’s rental, where he’d lived for a few years before moving into his new house.
Pam had always been so stoic and practical, the yin to Christine’s flighty, over-emotional yang. When it fell apart, Christine took custody of most of their friends in the divorce, and at thirty-three, Pam had found herself starting over.
Daniel had never seen her cry before, so of course he’d gone with her. The guru was an ex-Marine sergeant from the States who’d made a new career for herself after being shot in Afghanistan and then abandoned by her loser husband in the same month. Her philosophy wasn’t exactly groundbreaking—if what you’ve been doing isn’t working, try something different—but her delivery captured people’s imaginations.
As the other attendees, mostly women but some men, had hopped and twirled and even crawled over the burgundy-and-gray-checked carpet during one of the exercises, literally changing their cadence, Daniel had sat straight-backed in his chair.
Yet Sergeant Becky’s message had permeated his consciousness—he still hadn’t ruled out brainwashing—and later, after the workshop was over, he found himself often attempting to CYC.
Like with this trip.
He wasn’t sure how much he and Justin had in common, but cuddling up together in the hot tub in Mont-Tremblant would be his chance to find out. Before CYC, Daniel would never have agreed to go on a date with someone as…exuberant as Justin, let alone go away with him for a week. And he’d definitely never date anyone in the staff group he managed. Luckily, Justin was under one of the other directors.
Besides, Justin had been so enthusiastic about Daniel, obviously into him and not ashamed to show it. How long had it been since anyone had been interested in that way? It’d been way too long since Daniel have even been willing to attempt a relationship.
Wonder what Trevor’s doing for Christmas.
Grimacing, Daniel tried to banish the memories, acid flooding his gut. He’d simply been too busy to date the last few years. Okay, six years. But he was changing that, wasn’t he? CYC. He’d committed himself to doing things differently, so that was that.
He jabbed a button on the steering wheel with his thumb and turned on the radio, an obnoxiously cheery Mariah Carey Christmas song filling the car. He lifted his thumb to change the station, then left it to prove to himself how open-minded he was being.
Justin had pursued him relentlessly at the office over the past month. He worked for AppAny’s marketing department as a graphic designer and was fresh out of art school. Justin’s attention was flattering, and although Daniel had put him off time and time again, he couldn’t deny it was fun to have someone flirting with him. Of course Daniel insisted they keep it strictly professional at the office.
Except for when Justin had blown him in the Audi in the parking lot the previous week.
Usually Daniel could manage his own sexual needs quite handily—so to speak. But it had been an extra-long day and the lot was almost empty. Justin had smiled so prettily and practically begged to go down on him. Daniel hadn’t been able to resist. CYC and all that.
They hadn’t even actually kissed, but now they’d have a whole week at the chalet to get to know each other. After Daniel dealt with this Cole situation. He took the exit for the hospital, the blue and white neon H on the main building beckoning. What if Cole was really hurt?
“Fuck,” he muttered. It was the last thing he wanted to deal with right then, but obviously he had to at least make sure his former stepbrother was okay.
He took a ticket from the machine, the mechanical arm lifting to admit him to the visitor parking lot. The concrete hospital was brightly lit against the dark sky, and Daniel shoved his hands in the pockets of his knee-length Burberry coat. The temperature hovered around the freezing mark, which was balmy for Ottawa in December. He hadn’t had to bust out his Canada Goose jacket yet, but he’d bring it to the mountains.
As he walked up to the ER, sirens approached, and by the time he neared the door, he was blinded by red lights and had to jump out of the way as paramedics shouted about a GCS of twelve and a head lac and wheeled in a bloody man on a stretcher.
Daniel followed in the stretcher’s wake, stopping in the fluorescent-lit enclosure of the gray waiting room, where a chorus of coughs greeted him. One woman, who was hacking up a lung by the sounds of it, jiggled a wailing baby on her knee. A drunk-sounding man spoke too loudly, evidently to himself, the chairs next to him empty despite the mass of people in the small space, some leaning against walls.
Disinfectant seared Daniel’s nostrils, but not enough to cover the stench of—yep, horribly pink vomit being mopped up in the corner. Sad little red and green Christmas decorations hung from the reception desk; one end of the garland trailed onto the floor. A brown-edged poinsettia sat in front of the clerk’s computer.
Daniel didn’t want to touch anything.
A middle-aged woman with a brunette dye job that showed an inch of gray at the roots glanced up as he reluctantly approached the desk. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’m here to see Cole Smith? Nicholas, I mean. He was apparently brought in by ambulance this afternoon.”
She tapped her keyboard. “You’re family?”
To avoid red tape, he nodded and told a big, fat lie. “He’s my brother.” Working in HR, he knew just how long it could take to deal with privacy regulations.
“He’s in curtain seven.”
Daniel exhaled. “Does that mean he’s okay? Since he’s not in the operating room or whatever?”
“Uh-huh. He’s just fine.” She read from the screen. “Broken hand. Mild concussion. He’ll be ready for discharge.”
Thank Christ. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. Go through the double doors to the right.”
Another child’s wail joined the baby’s. Daniel shuddered. “Is it always like this?”
The woman smirked. “Only on a full moon. Fa-la-la-la-la.”
Daniel gave her a smile and followed her instructions, pushing through the doors and into the ER itself, where another reception desk sat. The doors shut behind him with a whoosh, mercifully dulling the cacophony. A young woman looked up, and Daniel asked, “Curtain seven?”
“Take your first left and look up for the numbers.”
In the long, narrow room, machines beeped and someone moaned behind their curtain, but it was mostly still. He felt like he suddenly had to tiptoe, his leather loafers silent on the linoleum anyway. Some curtains were drawn, while others were open, revealing patients on stretchers.
Electrodes dotted the sunken chest of one older man. A silver-haired woman who was likely his wife sat in a plastic chair beside him, gripping his hand. She glanced up as Daniel passed, and he gave her what he hoped was a sympathetic smile. She returned it, then looked back to the man, who snored lightly.
Curtain seven was drawn, and Daniel stood there for a few moments. There was nothing to knock on, so finally he cleared his throat and said, “Uh…Cole? Are you in there?”
Daniel wasn’t sure how many ways he could say it, but he tried again. “I don’t know a Nicholas Smith.”
The woman on the other end of the line somehow persisted. “But this is Daniel Diaz?” She rattled off his number.
Daniel took the cell phone from his ear for a moment to glance at the screen. It definitely said Carleton University. Was this some student prank? Did people even make crank calls anymore? He said, “Yes, that’s the correct number, but there’s been some mistake.”
“But you are Daniel Diaz, aren’t you?”
He sighed. “Yes, but as I said, I don’t know a Nicholas Smith.” Ugh, he just wanted to get home so he could pack and get back on the road. He was actually taking an honest-to-God vacation. With his new, maybe-could-be boyfriend. Which might be a complete disaster. Stomach tightening, he pushed away the unease as the woman spoke again.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, but he’s one of our students. He’s had an accident. Your name and number are listed as his emergency contact.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I have no clue who this guy is.” He switched his wipers to the next setting, the rubber squeaking a little faster as it cleared the wet snow on the windshield.
Traffic crawled along the slushy 417 toward Kanata, a sea of red lights in the December darkness. Normally Daniel came home after eight and missed rush hour. He usually would’ve ignored the call while driving, but at five kilometers an hour, he figured he was safe. He really needed to get Bluetooth set up, but most of his communication was by text anyway, even for work. These days the only person who called him was his mother—
“Shit,” he muttered with a sinking sensation, gripping the steering wheel, the heated leather warm under his fingers.
“Uh, excuse me?”
“Sorry. It just hit me. Is this Cole Smith? Our parents were married for, like, five minutes. It was a million years ago, but a few months back my mom mentioned he was moving to Ottawa. Grad school, or something.”
“Yes, Nicholas Smith is enrolled in our master’s degree in environmental engineering.”
“Why the hell would he put me down for his in-case-of-emergency person? We haven’t talked in years.” He did the math. “Ten years.”
“Well, I’m not sure. But he’s been taken to the hospital, and it’s policy that we inform his emergency contact. That would apparently be you, Mr. Diaz.”
The woman didn’t sound that worried, so it couldn’t be a big deal, but… “He’s okay, right? It’s not anything serious?” He barely remembered nerdy, knobby-kneed little Cole, but he didn’t want anything bad to happen to the guy.
“All I know is that there was an accident, Nicholas was injured, and an ambulance was called. But, no, I don’t believe it’s a life or death situation. However, the campus is closing now for the next three weeks, and I imagine Nicholas’s classmates are already gone. Yours is the only contact number we have.”
Shit, fuck, fuck. As the traffic came to a complete standstill, he closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“I guess it’s up to you whether you go to the ER or not.”
Daniel groaned internally. He still had to pack and finish up a couple of hiring reports, even though the office had just closed for the holidays. “God, I hate hospitals.”
“Doesn’t everyone, Mr. Diaz?”
She had a point, and guilt attacked like a punch to the gut. “Which hospital?”
Of course it was back the way he’d come, and the next exit would take a good ten minutes to reach in the bumper-to-bumper procession. After hanging up, Daniel quickly dialed his mom. She answered on the third ring, and he said, “Hey, Mom. Look, I got a weird call to go to the hospital.”
“What? Are you sick?” Her voice squeaked out at a pitch close to something only dogs could hear.
“No, no. I’m fine. Mom? Listen to me. I’m a hundred percent fine. It’s about Nicholas Smith. Is that your ex’s son?” Not that “ex” narrowed it down. He added, “Cole?”
She sucked in a breath. “Is he hurt? What happened?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m on my way. Carleton called me because he had an accident on campus. Do you know why he would have put me down to contact?”
“Because I told him to, darling. He doesn’t know anyone else in Ottawa.”
“Uh, he doesn’t know me either! I haven’t seen him in forever.” Not since the rebound marriage between Daniel’s mother and Cole’s father predictably imploded after only six months.
“Of course you know him. He’s family. Oh my goodness, what do you suppose happened? Please let him be all right.”
“I’m sure he’s fine. Don’t get worked up.” He pushed the heat button on the Audi’s dash, turning it down. “And Mom, he is not family.”
“You don’t divorce children, Daniel.”
“You got that from Clueless, didn’t you?”
She huffed. “Regardless, it’s accurate.”
Daniel wasn’t going to argue with her about it. “How’s Puerto Vallarta treating you?”
“Divinely! I’ve already had four mango margaritas and it’s not even dinnertime. I wish you could come down, sweetheart. It doesn’t seem right spending Christmas without you.”
“Mom, you know I’ll see you in the new year. Besides, it’s a girls’ trip with your friends. No men allowed, remember?”
“Yes, true. And at least you’re actually taking time off work—although I know you wouldn’t if you had your way. Thank goodness Martin believes in work-life balance. You need to learn from your boss, sweetie.”
Martin Bukowski, the CEO of AppAny, insisted on being called by his first name, wore flip-flops in Ottawa in January, and had installed a massive tube slide between the floors of his headquarters. The work itself—creating apps for small businesses—was actually rather staid. Lots of back-end web development and whatnot. But Martin was determined his company would be edgy and cool, with playgrounds for offices, flexible work schedules, and a staff with a median age of twenty-five.
“Speaking of work-life balance, Cole is a lovely young man. Assuming he’s all right, and pray that he is, maybe you could spend some time with him in the next few months? I’m sure he’s been lonely, on his own in a different city.”
“I barely have time to see my own friends, let alone some dude I don’t even know.” He finally reached the off-ramp and circled around to get back on the highway heading into Ottawa. At least there was less traffic going that way.
“As I always point out, you work far too much.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Mom, I have to hang up now. I can’t talk and drive. I’ll let you know what’s going on with Cole as soon as I can. Love you.”
“Love you too, my darling.”
He’d heard it a million times that he worked too much, but she didn’t understand how important his job was to him. Not many twenty-eight-year-olds made HR director. Granted, he was one of three HR directors working under a VP at AppAny, but it was still an accomplishment.
So what if he worked damn hard? How was that a bad thing? And he was taking a vacation, wasn’t he? At the last minute, even!
Daniel thought wistfully of the hot tub waiting. It was outdoor and boasted a view of the mountains and the frozen lake. Mont-Tremblant in Quebec already had a couple feet of snow, and it would be perfect to cuddle up in the steamy water with a glass or three of merlot. Oh, and Justin. Right.
With a mix of excitement and trepidation, he thought of free and spontaneous Justin. He was so handsome, with his strawberry-blond hair, blue eyes, and mouth that didn’t quit—in more ways than one. Daniel usually preferred to make plans well in advance, but Justin loved the thrill of doing things on the fly. So Daniel had rented a whole chalet for them last-minute thanks to a cancellation. He could be fun too, damn it.
“It’s going to be great,” he muttered. “CYC.”
It’d been his friend Pam who’d pleaded with him to accompany her to a self-help workshop called CYC: Change Your Cadence. Of course he’d flatly refused at first. He tried to keep Sundays completely free to cook and watch all the mindless TV he’d recorded. Crowding into the Kanata Best Western ballroom with a bunch of unhappy people and paying a hundred bucks to some con artist who promised to change their lives was not appealing in any way, shape, or form.
But tears had glimmered in Pam’s eyes as she’d whispered that no one else would go. She and her wife, Christine—make that ex-wife now—had lived in the condo next to Daniel’s rental, where he’d lived for a few years before moving into his new house.
Pam had always been so stoic and practical, the yin to Christine’s flighty, over-emotional yang. When it fell apart, Christine took custody of most of their friends in the divorce, and at thirty-three, Pam had found herself starting over.
Daniel had never seen her cry before, so of course he’d gone with her. The guru was an ex-Marine sergeant from the States who’d made a new career for herself after being shot in Afghanistan and then abandoned by her loser husband in the same month. Her philosophy wasn’t exactly groundbreaking—if what you’ve been doing isn’t working, try something different—but her delivery captured people’s imaginations.
As the other attendees, mostly women but some men, had hopped and twirled and even crawled over the burgundy-and-gray-checked carpet during one of the exercises, literally changing their cadence, Daniel had sat straight-backed in his chair.
Yet Sergeant Becky’s message had permeated his consciousness—he still hadn’t ruled out brainwashing—and later, after the workshop was over, he found himself often attempting to CYC.
Like with this trip.
He wasn’t sure how much he and Justin had in common, but cuddling up together in the hot tub in Mont-Tremblant would be his chance to find out. Before CYC, Daniel would never have agreed to go on a date with someone as…exuberant as Justin, let alone go away with him for a week. And he’d definitely never date anyone in the staff group he managed. Luckily, Justin was under one of the other directors.
Besides, Justin had been so enthusiastic about Daniel, obviously into him and not ashamed to show it. How long had it been since anyone had been interested in that way? It’d been way too long since Daniel have even been willing to attempt a relationship.
Wonder what Trevor’s doing for Christmas.
Grimacing, Daniel tried to banish the memories, acid flooding his gut. He’d simply been too busy to date the last few years. Okay, six years. But he was changing that, wasn’t he? CYC. He’d committed himself to doing things differently, so that was that.
He jabbed a button on the steering wheel with his thumb and turned on the radio, an obnoxiously cheery Mariah Carey Christmas song filling the car. He lifted his thumb to change the station, then left it to prove to himself how open-minded he was being.
Justin had pursued him relentlessly at the office over the past month. He worked for AppAny’s marketing department as a graphic designer and was fresh out of art school. Justin’s attention was flattering, and although Daniel had put him off time and time again, he couldn’t deny it was fun to have someone flirting with him. Of course Daniel insisted they keep it strictly professional at the office.
Except for when Justin had blown him in the Audi in the parking lot the previous week.
Usually Daniel could manage his own sexual needs quite handily—so to speak. But it had been an extra-long day and the lot was almost empty. Justin had smiled so prettily and practically begged to go down on him. Daniel hadn’t been able to resist. CYC and all that.
They hadn’t even actually kissed, but now they’d have a whole week at the chalet to get to know each other. After Daniel dealt with this Cole situation. He took the exit for the hospital, the blue and white neon H on the main building beckoning. What if Cole was really hurt?
“Fuck,” he muttered. It was the last thing he wanted to deal with right then, but obviously he had to at least make sure his former stepbrother was okay.
He took a ticket from the machine, the mechanical arm lifting to admit him to the visitor parking lot. The concrete hospital was brightly lit against the dark sky, and Daniel shoved his hands in the pockets of his knee-length Burberry coat. The temperature hovered around the freezing mark, which was balmy for Ottawa in December. He hadn’t had to bust out his Canada Goose jacket yet, but he’d bring it to the mountains.
As he walked up to the ER, sirens approached, and by the time he neared the door, he was blinded by red lights and had to jump out of the way as paramedics shouted about a GCS of twelve and a head lac and wheeled in a bloody man on a stretcher.
Daniel followed in the stretcher’s wake, stopping in the fluorescent-lit enclosure of the gray waiting room, where a chorus of coughs greeted him. One woman, who was hacking up a lung by the sounds of it, jiggled a wailing baby on her knee. A drunk-sounding man spoke too loudly, evidently to himself, the chairs next to him empty despite the mass of people in the small space, some leaning against walls.
Disinfectant seared Daniel’s nostrils, but not enough to cover the stench of—yep, horribly pink vomit being mopped up in the corner. Sad little red and green Christmas decorations hung from the reception desk; one end of the garland trailed onto the floor. A brown-edged poinsettia sat in front of the clerk’s computer.
Daniel didn’t want to touch anything.
A middle-aged woman with a brunette dye job that showed an inch of gray at the roots glanced up as he reluctantly approached the desk. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’m here to see Cole Smith? Nicholas, I mean. He was apparently brought in by ambulance this afternoon.”
She tapped her keyboard. “You’re family?”
To avoid red tape, he nodded and told a big, fat lie. “He’s my brother.” Working in HR, he knew just how long it could take to deal with privacy regulations.
“He’s in curtain seven.”
Daniel exhaled. “Does that mean he’s okay? Since he’s not in the operating room or whatever?”
“Uh-huh. He’s just fine.” She read from the screen. “Broken hand. Mild concussion. He’ll be ready for discharge.”
Thank Christ. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. Go through the double doors to the right.”
Another child’s wail joined the baby’s. Daniel shuddered. “Is it always like this?”
The woman smirked. “Only on a full moon. Fa-la-la-la-la.”
Daniel gave her a smile and followed her instructions, pushing through the doors and into the ER itself, where another reception desk sat. The doors shut behind him with a whoosh, mercifully dulling the cacophony. A young woman looked up, and Daniel asked, “Curtain seven?”
“Take your first left and look up for the numbers.”
In the long, narrow room, machines beeped and someone moaned behind their curtain, but it was mostly still. He felt like he suddenly had to tiptoe, his leather loafers silent on the linoleum anyway. Some curtains were drawn, while others were open, revealing patients on stretchers.
Electrodes dotted the sunken chest of one older man. A silver-haired woman who was likely his wife sat in a plastic chair beside him, gripping his hand. She glanced up as Daniel passed, and he gave her what he hoped was a sympathetic smile. She returned it, then looked back to the man, who snored lightly.
Curtain seven was drawn, and Daniel stood there for a few moments. There was nothing to knock on, so finally he cleared his throat and said, “Uh…Cole? Are you in there?”
Santa Daddy
Chapter One
Mall Santas weren’t supposed to be hot.Heart thudding from his run through town, Hunter stopped short inside the storage room, the back door to the parking lot slamming shut behind him with a gust of frigid air. He blinked at the vision standing in front of him like a mirage amid the stacks of dusty boxes and crates.
Was he still asleep? Was this a fever dream? Because mall Santas were supposed to be old and kind of short and schlubby. It was the law of the universe or something.
Yet this Santa—probably mid-forties and wearing shiny black boots, red velvet pants with fuzzy white cuffs, and a matching red velvet coat hanging open—was something out of a Details lumberjack photo shoot or one of those fireman calendars Hunter’s mom got every year that he used to secretly jerk off to as a teenager.
A white tank top stretched over Santa’s broad, muscular chest, dark hair peeking out the top of the cotton, his nipples hard and skin a warm olive. His short hair and full, trimmed beard were way more pepper than salt, but the scattered silver highlights were crazy sexy. He had to be at least six-two and towered over Hunter, arching a dark eyebrow.
Please ask if I’ve been naughty or nice.
“About time.”
Hunter blinked at him, his porno fantasy evaporating as he tried to catch his breath. “Huh?”
“You’re late,” Santa accused gruffly.
“Oh. Right.” A burst of anxiety froze out the sizzle of lust that had warmed Hunter’s veins. “I know, sorry.” He panted softly, pulling off his wool hat. His hair fell over his forehead, and he pushed a strand out of his eye. “I overslept.”
Santa stared at him as if he was profoundly stupid and/or pathetic. “It’s almost noon.”
What are you, my father? Hunter squirmed with embarrassment. He despised being late, but he couldn’t turn back time now and erase the last twenty minutes. He hadn’t intended to stay up until almost four playing God of War, and then he’d set his alarm for ten p.m. instead of a.m. because he was a tool.
He knew this—he didn’t need inappropriately hot Santa to remind him. Mall Santas were also supposed to be jolly and kind, not judgy assholes. He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You’re not my boss. And where’s Mr. Tremblay?”
“Broke his hip.”
“Oh. Shit, that sucks.” Old Mr. Tremblay had been Pinevale’s mall Santa for as long as Hunter could remember. “Um, I’m Hunter. Hunter Adams.” A couple hours north of Toronto, Pinevale wasn’t so small that he knew everyone in town, but Hunter definitely would have remembered seeing this guy around. Where on earth had John found him?
“I’m Mr. Spini.”
A first name was apparently unforthcoming. Who did this guy think he was? Hunter was twenty-three, not some kid. Before Hunter could say as much, John Singh bustled in through the mall entrance beyond the boxes, pushing wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and wearing an incredibly ugly reindeer sweater with fuzzy antlers. In his fifties, he and his husband, Desmond, lived a few blocks from Hunter’s mom. He was short, stout, and always in a hurry, but was usually smiling. Not now, though.
“Hunter! Finally.”
“I know, I know. Sorry.” Hunter’s face went hot as he shrugged off his backpack and pulled out the ridiculous candy-cane tights. Keeping his head down, he unlaced his boots and stripped off his jeans, goosebumps spreading over his skin in the chill of the storage room, the floor freezing. As he tugged the tights over his boxer briefs, he looked up and met Santa’s gaze, which swept down Hunter’s body.
“What?” Hunter shoved his socked feet into the too-tight black slippers with toes curved inward and golden bell on the ends. He muttered, “I look lame, I know.”
Not all of us can look unfairly hot in these costumes.
Santa said nothing as John handed him the padded belly, long white beard, and red velvet hat with white trim. “Final touches.”
Hunter buttoned the green velvet jacket that barely covered his ass and junk, the fluffy white cuffs landing two inches above his wrists. The seams were snug around his shoulders, and he couldn’t really lift his arms. Last time he played elf was his senior year of high school, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d grown in five years. He’d been a late bloomer, although usually he still felt like that pimply, bony kid.
“Good thing this is the last year for Santa’s Village.” Not that he’d be desperate enough to be an elf again next year. He was getting a real job in January if it killed him. A job that didn’t require a humiliating costume.
Then he felt like a dick and quickly added, “I just mean because the costume’s too small on me now. It sucks that the mall’s closing.” Even though it was the Mall That Time Forgot and was super depressing.
John had been the mall manager for ages, and he’d been a good boss. When Hunter had emailed him on the off chance he had seasonal work, he hadn’t been thinking of playing elf again, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and all that. He’d been lucky John had given him the job at all.
John waved his hand. “No offense taken. Gotta move with the times. Did you hear they’re putting in a Marshall’s and an Outback Steakhouse? And the old grocery store on Lake Street is shutting down and a big one’s going here. It’ll be box stores: Treeview Plaza instead of Treeview Mall. The new owners are keeping me on to manage, so I’m good. Security, snow removal—there’s still a lot to coordinate.” Sweat beaded on his brown skin, and he swiped a hand over his forehead. “It’s a sauna out there—the heater’s stuck on high.”
Hunter shivered. “Yet it’s freezing back here.”
John grimaced. “Same in my office and the bathrooms, but obviously there’s no sense in paying to fix it. The last day is December thirty-first, and then they’re tearing this old dog down and rebuilding come spring. But first we need to give this mall one last Christmas to remember. Right, team?”
Santa buckled the wide black belt around his fake belly, his long white beard obscuring the lower part of his face. He muttered, “Why did I agree to this?”
“Because you’re a good friend who’s doing me a favor at the last minute. I’ll find someone else for next weekend, I promise. Plus all the money’s going to buy toys for kids and turkey dinners. With the factory closing down this summer, it’ll be a lean Christmas for a lot of folks. So that’s why you agreed to this, for the record.”
Santa only grumbled under his breath in response, jamming the hat on his head.
“Wait. All the money?” Hunter’s stomach dropped. “Are we not getting paid?” After three unpaid internships in Toronto since he’d graduated university and still no actual jobs, he’d come home early to Pinevale for the holidays to live in his old bedroom and play mall elf one more time. At least he’d be getting minimum wage—or so he’d assumed.
“No, no!” John clapped Hunter on the shoulder. “You’ll be paid. But Mr. Tremblay had offered to give up his salary this year and donate it to Toys and Turkeys—that’s what we’re calling the fund. Nick followed suit.”
“Oh.” Hunter glanced at Santa—this Nick Spini, who watched him with a disdainful sneer.
Shit. Was Hunter being selfish? Doing eight-hour shifts Saturday and Sunday for two weekends would give him money for presents for his mom, sister, and his new niece. He’d been hoping to find some other seasonal work during the week since Pinevale wasn’t big enough to warrant a full-time Santa’s Village, and with the tiny, ancient mall closing, there wasn’t enough demand for pictures with Santa for more than the two weekends.
Granted, he’d spent the majority of the last four days since he’d taken the Greyhound home playing video games and eating Doritos instead of job hunting, but he’d just wanted to not think about the mess of his life for a little while. The internship he’d just quit had expected twelve-hour days just like the other places, and he was burned-out.
Familiar acid flooded his belly. Before Hunter could explain that he needed to make money for working after more than a year of interning for “experience” and “connections” and to “get his foot in the door”—only to have said doors slammed in his face as soon as he tried to actually earn a living, Nick said, “Can we get this over with?”
Instead of calling him out for being a bag of dicks, John only laughed. “That’s the holiday spirit. Come on, Grinch. Time to grow that heart. I know you’re not used to being around people, but just think, What would Eric have said and done? Then do that.”
Nick huffed, and Hunter couldn’t tell if he was pissed or kind of laughing? Wondering who Eric was, Hunter grabbed his elf hat and followed Nick out of the storeroom after they stashed their stuff in an old staff locker. His eyes were drawn to how the red velvet stretched across Nick’s wide shoulders. He was a mountain of a man.
They made their way over the ugly brown brick floor, a weird cobblestone that was probably done in the seventies before there were accessibility laws. Half the stores had closed already, and although John had hung wreathes and garlands on the brown brick walls, Treeview Mall was clearly in its death throes.
It was windowless, low-ceilinged, and one story in a square horseshoe shape, like a time capsule of ugly seventies design. The handful of old men who spent hours a day in the tiny food court area with only two greasy food options—Roy’s Burgers or Donut Time—watched silently as they passed, paper coffee cups in front of them. The peppy strains of “All I Want for Christmas is You” played through the mall’s speakers, Mariah’s voice echoing on the cobblestones.
The women who worked in La Belle Style, the old-lady clothing store that was sticking it out to the mall’s bitter end, gathered in the doorway as they passed. “Hunter!” Mrs. Buckingham called. “Don’t you look adorable!”
He gave his mom’s friend a weak smile, cringing as he felt hundreds of eyes on him as they reached the line of families, restless kids exclaiming in excitement at seeing Santa. The kids squealed and cried, “Santa!” and Nick jolted before waving at them as if remembering he was Santa.
Tugging down his green jacket, Hunter felt like a bigger loser than usual as he followed in Nick’s wake. Hunter was five-eight, so not super short or anything, but he was a scrawny kid in comparison. He was blond and could barely grow a beard, and Nick was teeming with hair and muscles and manliness. Which was weird for Santa Claus, but he was working it, definitely catching the attention of the moms waiting in line in front of Santa’s Village.
Hunter supposed elves weren’t supposed to be manly, but the merry ding! of the golden bells on his shoes with each pinched step didn’t do anything for his self-esteem. Not that he was planning on picking up guys at the mall—he was hopeless in that department. Still, he felt as gangly as he had back in high school.
The village was an ancient gingerbread house sort of thing that had seen far better days, but John had strung it with tons of colored Christmas lights and garlands to cover how faded and decrepit the painted plywood was.
Nick settled himself on a wide bench. The line of people were roped off at the end of the fake candy path that wound through little snow-sprayed Christmas trees, so at least in the village there was a bit of breathing room. Hunter was surprised there was such a sizable crowd, but there wasn’t much to do in Pinevale.
He frowned at the bench. “No throne thingy?”
John shook his head. “The whole sitting-on-Santa’s-lap thing is inappropriate these days.” He pointed to the bench, which had a backrest. “This way the kid can sit beside Santa, and there’s room on both sides if siblings want to come up together.”
“No one’s sitting on my lap,” Nick growled.
Hunter rolled his eyes. “You realize you have to be nice to the kids, right?”
Nick only stared at him above his fake white beard. His eyes were a steely gray flecked with yellow, and it was really annoying how hot he still was even though he was apparently a dick.
John clapped his hands, putting on a big grin. “Okay, showtime!” As he led Hunter back down the path, he whispered, “Nick’s a grump, but his bark is worse than his bite.”
Hunter wanted to ask how John knew him, but there wasn’t time. “If you say so.”
“Trust me. Okay, you remember how it goes? I take the money from the parents, and you ask the kids their names and escort them to Santa.” He peered around. “Where’s our photographer… There she is.”
“Hey, guys!” Courtney Campbell joined them with a smile, her dark ponytail swishing and a big camera around her neck. She was in her forties and ran Pinevale’s little photography store. She wore jeans and a snowman sweater, and it didn’t seem fair that she didn’t have to dress up. “Hunter, didn’t expect to see you pulling on the candy-cane tights again.”
Well, I’m almost twenty-three, I can’t get a real job, I’m freeloading off my sister in TO, I have a shit-ton of student debt, I honestly hate working in an office, I’m still a virgin, and I have no clue what I want to do with my life, so why not make the humiliation complete by being a mall elf again?
He managed to smile. “Yeah. Me either.”
“Hunter’s doing me a favor,” John said. “I had to beg, but he agreed.”
Hunter gave him a grateful smile for the lie. “It’s no problem.”
John winked at him and turned to the line of people. “Sorry for the delay, folks! Rudolph got a flat!” The crowd laughed agreeably, and John murmured to Hunter, “Fa la la la la!”
Gah la la la la was more like it, but Hunter slapped on a smile, trying to choke down the worry about money and his future and what he’d do after the holidays. His mom would let him stay as long as he wanted, but what was he going to do? What did he even want to do?
He’d gotten an English lit degree because that’s what he was good at, and it was useless in the real world aside from ticking off the requirement of most companies to have a BA in something. He couldn’t even get an entry-level job, and he’d worked his ass off at those internships.
His gut twisted, pulse kicking up and his breath catching. Fuck, he just felt so out of control.
“It’s Santa!” a little girl squealed, jerking Hunter back to the present. His life was an aimless shit-show, but at least he had a job to do. He took a deep breath and pulled on his green elf hat, the white fuzzy brim already too hot on his forehead. No matter. Even with a grumpy, brawny, stupidly sexy Santa to put up with, he was going to be his best elf self. With bells on—literally.
Where the Lovelight Gleams
Chest heaving, Ryan slammed the door behind him and leaned against it. “I should’ve just kept my big mouth shut,” he muttered. “He’s never going to like me the way I like him. God, I’m such an idiot!”
Pounding footsteps preceded a forceful knock. Ryan waited, breath lodged in his throat.
Cary’s voice rang out. “I know you’re in there. Open the door! Please.”
Ryan ran a hand through his hair, then took a deep breath and blew it out. Trying to appear utterly calm, he twisted the doorknob and stepped aside as Cary rushed in.
“Didn’t you hear me calling?” Cary was slightly breathless, his brow furrowed.
“No.” Ryan tried to smile. “Sorry. Do you need something?”
“Do I...” Cary shook his head incredulously. “What I need is for you to talk to me. I heard what you said to Dara.”
Blood rushed to Ryan’s cheeks, and he laughed, although it came out as more of a squeak. “Oh that? I was just kidding around.”
“Kidding around.” Cary didn’t sound convinced. “So you’re not in love with me?”
“I...” Ryan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “It was a joke.”
“A joke.” Cary stepped forward, backing him up against the closed door.
Ryan jerked his head in a nod.
Cary was now less than a foot away. He was a few inches taller, and his broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist, his body muscular yet lean. Short light blond hair swept up from his forehead, and his green eyes were intense as he watched Ryan. This close, Ryan could see the flecks of gold in Cary’s eyes, and his heart skipped a beat. God, he’s so beautiful.
“That’s too bad, because I’ve been in love with you for months.”
Ryan’s eyes widened. “But that’s...impossible.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
With that, Cary closed the gap between them, taking Ryan’s face in his hands as he pressed their lips together. Their mouths opened as they kissed passionately. Ryan’s pulse raced, excitement skipping up his spine as he yanked Cary against him, their bodies--
“Cut!”
Cary broke the kiss and stepped back. He looked to the director. “Go again?”
The director nodded. “Good kiss. But give me a little more on the ‘I heard what you said to Dara’ line.” She focused on Ryan. “You’re playing it just right. Great trembling in your hands. Just need to get some more sweat on your brow. You’re supposed to have just run from the air lock, and it’s a big ship.”
As the assistant director called for makeup to bring their spray bottle, the crew prepared for another take. Cary grinned at Ryan, and dimples appeared in his cheeks. “Sorry, think I slipped a little tongue in there.”
Yes, you did, and God I want more. Ignoring the desire thrumming through his veins, Ryan waved it off. “That was a good take.” It was their fourth, and he’d hoped it would get easier as the day went on. Instead his yearning for Cary increased each time their lips met. Despite the twenty-five bored crew members watching, when Cary kissed him, everything else faded away.
After fantasizing about being with Cary for the past year, Ryan had told himself that the reality--even if it was fictional and not real--would be a huge disappointment. On-screen kissing was supposed to be awkward and uncomfortable and epically unsexy. And in Ryan’s experience it always had been.
Until now.
He wasn’t supposed to breathe in the citrus of Cary’s aftershave and feel desire coiling in his belly. He wasn’t supposed to notice how thick Cary’s eyelashes were, and how the gold in his eyes matched his hair. His knees weren’t supposed to go weak because Cary’s kisses were warm and wet and tasted like honey and promised so much more.
“Let’s just hope the network censors don’t look too closely. I swear, straight couples can practically get naked on screen, but gay characters...” Cary shook his head. “Drives me nuts. Hey, did you hear anything more from that hate group who sent the nasty letters?”
“Nah. I think Tammy took care of making sure my mail is examined more closely. It’s no big deal.”
Cary huffed. “No big deal? You shouldn’t ever have to hear that kind of garbage. You’ll tell me if it happens again, right?”
“What are you going to do? Beat them up?” Ryan secretly loved Cary’s protectiveness. He smiled and nudged Cary with his elbow. “Besides, now that they’re finally putting Steven and Kishi together, you’ll probably start getting your own hate mail.”
Cary still frowned. “Yeah, but it’s not the same. Everyone knows I’m not gay in real life.” He scoffed. “No way a tough guy like my dad would ever have a gay son. No one would believe it even if it was true.”
“Yeah.” Ryan stopped himself before his brain went too far down the “what if” road. “By the way, your scales are coming loose a bit on your neck.”
“Crap. I keep sweating them off.”
As the makeup team sprayed fake sweat onto Ryan’s forehead and touched up the purple scales crawling up the side of Cary’s neck and across one cheek, Ryan breathed deeply. He reminded himself that none of it was real. Cary’s declaration of love and his kiss that left Ryan buzzing--it was all for the cameras. Nothing more.
So he should stop remembering the press of Cary’s body and how his firm muscles had felt beneath Ryan’s hands. Ryan was in good shape himself, but he was positively ordinary next to Cary’s golden handsomeness and toned, perfect body. Not too bulky, but just right. As Cary tipped his head to give the makeup artist better access to his neck, Ryan imagined kissing him there, sucking on the tender skin and--
One of the show’s publicists approached, her heels clacking across the spaceship set. “How are we today, gentlemen?”
Ryan smiled. “Hey, Tammy. We’re good.”
“Excellent. The reporter from Out and Proud will be here in an hour. He wanted to see the kiss filmed, but as you know we’re keeping the set closed. If anyone leaks this kiss before the episode, I will eat their lungs for breakfast.”
Cary smirked. “And their balls for lunch?”
“Nope. Balls are for second breakfast.” Tammy winked.
The director called out, “Places everyone.”
Fake sweat artfully moistening his dark hair where it fell across his forehead, Ryan took his position to run into Steven’s room once more. Part of him hoped the director would want dozens of takes, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep himself in check. He’d worn extra-tight briefs to keep from embarrassing himself, but his one-piece bodysuit costume didn’t leave much to the imagination.
The second assistant cameraman clapped down the slate in front of the camera. “Space Academy, two-twelve, scene nine, take five.”
Silence settled over the set, and the director yelled, “Action!”
As he ran and slammed the door once more, Ryan’s heart pounded anew, and he couldn’t help but look forward to Cary’s next kiss.
* * * *
After leaving his trailer, Ryan almost walked straight into Tammy, who tapped a manicured nail on her watch. “You’re five minutes late.”
“Actually, I’m three and a half minutes late, but I had to go to the bathroom. Besides, actors are supposed to be late. And/or hungover.”
Tammy laughed and tucked a red curl behind her ear. “You haven’t reached that phase of your career yet. Talk to me when this show has garnered more than a cult following and you’ve made at least one successful slasher flick during hiatus.”
Cary was already seated in a director’s chair on the command deck of the set, which wasn’t being used for filming that day. It was little more than a Star Trek rip-off, but there were only so many layouts of a spaceship that worked well for filming. Cary still wore his dark green one-piece costume, but the top half pooled around his waist, and he wore a white T-shirt.
It was a V-neck, and Ryan tried not to look at Cary’s light chest hair poking out. He wondered for the hundredth time what it would be like to run his fingers through it and taste Cary’s nipples and--
Never. Going. To happen.
With a smile on his face, Ryan sat in the empty chair beside Cary and shook hands with the reporter seated across from them. Tammy lingered in the background by the space-thruster control station.
The chubby, middle-aged reporter smiled. “Hi, I’m Chuck Basilica from Out and Proud. Thanks for meeting with me today.”
“I’m Ryan Drake. It’s our pleasure,” Ryan answered. He and Cary had done a ton of press for the show at the upfronts in May, and they had a system down pat. They’d alternate answering questions, share a few amusing anecdotes, and generally be their most humble, charming selves.
Of course now that their story line was heating up, the gay press was taking interest. Chuck didn’t waste any time.
“Rumor has it the sexual tension between Steven and Kishi is going to move from subtext to text during February sweeps. You’ll be the first gay human/alien love story on American network TV. Is this true?”
Cary answered. “Well, we’re definitely exploring our characters in greater depth this season, and relationships between many of the cadets will be evolving.”
“Hmm. That sounds like a yes to me.” Chuck smiled.
Ryan smiled back. “All we can say is that fans should keep watching, because there’s some great stuff coming up for Steven and Kishi.”
“Fair enough. Now, were you both surprised at how quickly fans embraced your characters? Individually, but especially as a potential couple. There are quite a few ‘Stishi’ fansites out there.”
“I think we were both surprised, and of course it’s an honor,” Cary replied. “I mean, we were just happy our little midseason replacement show got a pickup for season two, and that viewers took to it so passionately. We may not get the highest ratings, but the fans are extremely vocal and loyal. The best in the world. We feel so blessed to be a part of Space Academy.”
“Let’s talk about your careers for a moment.” Chuck glanced at his notepad. “Cary, of course you’re part of a Hollywood dynasty. You were named after family friend Cary Grant, isn’t that right?”
He smiled. “That’s right. I only hope I can have a career half as incredible as his.”
“Your father and grandfather made their mark in action and adventure movies, while you’ve focused more on drama and now sci-fi. Do you feel any pressure to live up to their legacy?”
Cary’s smile didn’t falter, but Ryan noticed the way Cary’s jaw flexed briefly, his shoulders tightening. “Only in the best way. I’m so proud of Dad and Grandpa, and they’ve always been so supportive of me.”
As Cary went on about his family, telling the public what they wanted to hear, Ryan put on his best listening face. He remembered the first little cast get-together at the exec producer’s house one night in the Hollywood Hills. Ryan had gone outside to get some air and stumbled across Cary on the phone with his father.
“But, Dad, it’s a good show. Plenty of movie actors are doing TV now. It’s not the way it was before. It’s a great part! I want to do it. Besides, I can’t exactly turn down steady work.”
Cary paused, and Ryan could hear Robert Holloway’s raised voice through the phone but couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Cary went on, “I want to make my own way. I can have a good career in TV. Maybe do some theater in the summers. I think it’s worth a shot.” He paused again. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, but I guess you’re used to disappointment by now, aren’t you?”
Ryan tried to back away without being heard but of course promptly tripped on the leg of a deck chair, sending it clattering.
Cary whirled. “Dad, I’ve gotta go.” He hung up and eyed Ryan cautiously. “Hey. Look, if you could just forget you heard any of that...”
“Heard what?” Ryan raised his hands. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
The tension in Cary’s face relaxed. “Thanks, man. Ryan, right? I think we have a couple of scenes together in the pilot.”
“Yeah, we do. You want to run lines this weekend?”
Cary smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Absolutely.”
Now, almost two years after they met, Cary was just about Ryan’s favorite person in the world. Of course Cary was straight, and they’d never be anything more than friends. Which was totally fine with Ryan. Well, not totally fine. But he was working on it.
“And let’s talk about your background, Ryan. You’re from Toronto. How has it been adjusting to life in La-La Land?”
“I’ve lived here for a few years now. There are always great things about any city, and LA has so much to offer. It was a bit of a culture shock, but being close to the beach sure helps.”
“You came out while you were still in Toronto performing in a local production of Rent. You mentioned having lunch with your boyfriend in an interview, and when Space Academy premiered, many bloggers and gossip sites picked up on the old article. Do you regret coming out so early in your career? Do you think you’ll get pigeonholed?”
He’d expected the question, so Ryan resisted the urge to sigh long-sufferingly. He wished it didn’t come up in every interview. “No, I don’t regret it at all. I’ve been out since my senior year of high school. It’s just who I am, and I don’t think it’s impacted my career negatively. I played a straight character in a movie during summer hiatus.” He shrugged. “All I can do is give the best performances I can and hope to continue to have opportunities.”
Cary interjected, his tone firm. “I think Ryan is an inspiration to other gay actors. And straight actors, for that matter. Someone’s sexuality shouldn’t matter in this day and age. He’s an amazing artist and person.”
Warmth bloomed in Ryan’s chest. “I’m lucky that Cary and everyone here at Space Academy are completely supportive. I hope that we’ll get to the point one day when it won’t be a big deal anymore.”
“I hope so too,” Chuck replied. “So are you seeing anyone, Ryan?”
“No, there’s no one special right now.” No one I can actually date, that is.
“Cary, you’ve been seeing Succubus High star Amanda Walker for over a year now. Any wedding bells in the future?”
Cary chuckled. “We’ll have to see. Amanda’s a great girl.”
Actually, Amanda’s a high-maintenance pain in the ass. Ryan kept a pleasant expression on his face. It wasn’t that he was jealous or anything. Okay, maybe he was. But Cary deserved so much more than her. He reminded himself that it wasn’t as if Amanda Walker was the only thing standing between him and Cary. She was irrelevant. Cary was straight. The end.
“You guys are both twenty-five now. How does it feel to be playing high school students?”
Ryan chuckled. “Well, I don’t think we’re the oldest actors to play teenagers.”
“With his big brown doe eyes and baby face, I think he’ll be playing a high schooler for at least five more years.” Cary laughed, eyes crinkling.
“But we love our roles,” Ryan added. “High school--whether here on Earth or orbiting the fifth moon of the newly discovered planet Alida--is so rife with drama and potential for character growth.”
Chuck’s eyebrow popped up. “Ah yes. Such as discovering one’s sexuality?”
Cary and Ryan shared a glance and a smile. Cary answered. “That is a common theme, Chuck. I think our fans are really going to enjoy our characters’ arcs as this season continues in the new year.”
Tammy cleared her throat. “I’m afraid we have to end things there. Ryan and Cary are needed back on set.”
They said good-bye to Chuck, and Ryan checked his call sheet. The next scene was an “intimate moment” between Steven and Kishi. No kiss, but they’d both be shirtless and playing a particularly close game of imperia, a basketball-ish game. The scene was early in the episode, before their kiss, and Steven would be barely able to contain his attraction to Kishi.
Ryan took a fortifying breath as he headed back to set. He didn’t think of himself as a Method actor, but he was certainly living and breathing his character’s emotions these days.
* * * *
With a sigh, Ryan popped open a can of soda as he sat back on the couch in his trailer. He still had one more scene to shoot, and it was going to be a long day. As he picked up the TV remote, there was a knock on the door.
His heart stupidly skipped a beat when he found Cary waiting outside. “Hey, man! I’m wrapped. Just wanted to say merry Christmas and all that.”
Ryan ushered him in and handed him a bottle of water from the fridge since Cary didn’t drink soda. That was just one of the reasons he’d been featured on the cover of Men’s Health and Ryan never would be. Ryan worked out and kept trim and healthy, but he wasn’t a heartthrob like Cary.
“Big plans for the holidays?” Ryan asked. “Will you be with your mom or dad?”
“Neither. Dad’s in Thailand shooting another sequel to Blowing Shit Up.”
Ryan laughed. “Is this Strike Back part four?”
“Yep. The world’s appetite for explosions and cheap one-liners continues unabated.” He flopped down on the couch. “Besides, my stepmother’s with him, and I can’t deal with her. She seriously tried to give me parental advice at Thanksgiving.”
Ryan sat beside Cary and swung his feet up onto the low coffee table. Most movie stars would sniff at his small oak-paneled trailer, but with a sofa bed, shower, toilet, and kitchenette, the twelve-foot space was luxury for Ryan. He still wasn’t used to being waited on, and at first the trailer had seemed unnecessary. But for the long days of shooting, he was very glad to have it.
“Tell me you’re exaggerating.”
Cary took a swig of water. “I wish. No, it seems that in Janelle’s twenty impressive years here on Earth, she’s learned a lot. She was quite put out that I didn’t want the benefit of her extensive knowledge when picking my hiatus project.”
“Wow. Okay, so what’s your mom doing for Christmas?”
“She’ll be in Hawaii. I’d go, but Amanda booked us into a spa for a cleanse.”
“A cleanse? For Christmas?”
Cary grimaced. “Yeah, nothing but lettuce and lemon water or something. Oh and pepper or hot sauce, I think. Yum. It’s in the desert near Palm Springs. Lots of yoga and massage, at least.”
“And starvation. No turkey? No stuffing? No cookies? It’s just not Christmas without a ton of fattening food.”
“Eh, it’s no big deal.” Cary shrugged. “I’ve never really had a real Christmas. Growing up, my parents were always getting married and divorced, and they vacationed in the tropics. A white Christmas and the family all together is just something I saw on TV.”
Ryan’s jaw dropped. “You’ve never had snow at Christmas?” He realized he was practically shouting and flushed at his overreaction. “Sorry. Christmas has always been my favorite holiday.”
“The most wonderful time of the year? Well, you’re Canadian, so it’s understandable,” Cary replied playfully. His smile faded. “Nah, Christmas was just never a big deal. I got presents and everything, but it’s never been a big special day with walking in a winter wonderland and all that.”
“I’m sorry.” Cary seemed uncharacteristically melancholy about it. “Hey, you’re more than welcome to join me and my family in the Great White North.”
To Ryan’s surprise, Cary’s face lit up. “Really?”
The invite had slipped out, and he hadn’t really been serious, but the thought of actually spending Christmas with Cary had Ryan’s stomach flip-flopping. “Of course. I’m flying home tomorrow, and we’re going up to our cottage on Friday. More snow than you can shake a stick at.” He knew he should limit the time he spent with Cary off set, but... But I can still look even if I can’t touch.
Again, Cary’s smile disappeared, and he slumped back against the cushions. “Man, I wish I could, but Amanda will kill me if I try to back out of the spa. Besides, I wouldn’t want to intrude on you and your family.”
“It wouldn’t be an intrusion at all. My parents keep saying they want to meet you. You’re my best friend out here.”
Cary’s expression was unreadable. Pleased, maybe? “Really? Thanks, man. That’s nice to hear. You know you’re my boy too.” He punched Ryan’s shoulder lightly.
Ryan cleared his throat and pretended his whole body wasn’t on fire. “Well, the invitation stands if you change your mind.”
They smiled awkwardly at each other. Things had always been totally comfortable between them, but now that they’d kissed on set, Ryan felt on edge. If he relaxed, he was afraid he’d do something that would cross the boundaries without even thinking about it. Now any kind of touch barring a shoulder punch seemed too intimate. He’s not your boyfriend. It’s all pretend.
Their eyes met, and Ryan swore a current surged between them, shooting up his spine and then right down to his dick. Cary licked his lips, and they stared at each other in the silence. Ryan could feel the heat from Cary’s body beside him on the couch, and Cary seemed to be leaning into him.
A soft knock on the door was followed by a PA calling out, “Ryan? We’re ready for you.”
The strange mood broken, Cary drained his bottle. “See ya next year.” He stood, then pulled Ryan up into a straight-guy hug, slapping his back with a thump.
“Right, see you next year. Merry Christmas.”
As he walked to set, Ryan decided it was a good thing they had three weeks until they had to be back in the second week of January. Time to get this crush on Cary under control. Between work and their friendship, they had a good thing going, and Ryan was damned if he was going to mess that up.
Pounding footsteps preceded a forceful knock. Ryan waited, breath lodged in his throat.
Cary’s voice rang out. “I know you’re in there. Open the door! Please.”
Ryan ran a hand through his hair, then took a deep breath and blew it out. Trying to appear utterly calm, he twisted the doorknob and stepped aside as Cary rushed in.
“Didn’t you hear me calling?” Cary was slightly breathless, his brow furrowed.
“No.” Ryan tried to smile. “Sorry. Do you need something?”
“Do I...” Cary shook his head incredulously. “What I need is for you to talk to me. I heard what you said to Dara.”
Blood rushed to Ryan’s cheeks, and he laughed, although it came out as more of a squeak. “Oh that? I was just kidding around.”
“Kidding around.” Cary didn’t sound convinced. “So you’re not in love with me?”
“I...” Ryan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “It was a joke.”
“A joke.” Cary stepped forward, backing him up against the closed door.
Ryan jerked his head in a nod.
Cary was now less than a foot away. He was a few inches taller, and his broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist, his body muscular yet lean. Short light blond hair swept up from his forehead, and his green eyes were intense as he watched Ryan. This close, Ryan could see the flecks of gold in Cary’s eyes, and his heart skipped a beat. God, he’s so beautiful.
“That’s too bad, because I’ve been in love with you for months.”
Ryan’s eyes widened. “But that’s...impossible.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
With that, Cary closed the gap between them, taking Ryan’s face in his hands as he pressed their lips together. Their mouths opened as they kissed passionately. Ryan’s pulse raced, excitement skipping up his spine as he yanked Cary against him, their bodies--
“Cut!”
Cary broke the kiss and stepped back. He looked to the director. “Go again?”
The director nodded. “Good kiss. But give me a little more on the ‘I heard what you said to Dara’ line.” She focused on Ryan. “You’re playing it just right. Great trembling in your hands. Just need to get some more sweat on your brow. You’re supposed to have just run from the air lock, and it’s a big ship.”
As the assistant director called for makeup to bring their spray bottle, the crew prepared for another take. Cary grinned at Ryan, and dimples appeared in his cheeks. “Sorry, think I slipped a little tongue in there.”
Yes, you did, and God I want more. Ignoring the desire thrumming through his veins, Ryan waved it off. “That was a good take.” It was their fourth, and he’d hoped it would get easier as the day went on. Instead his yearning for Cary increased each time their lips met. Despite the twenty-five bored crew members watching, when Cary kissed him, everything else faded away.
After fantasizing about being with Cary for the past year, Ryan had told himself that the reality--even if it was fictional and not real--would be a huge disappointment. On-screen kissing was supposed to be awkward and uncomfortable and epically unsexy. And in Ryan’s experience it always had been.
Until now.
He wasn’t supposed to breathe in the citrus of Cary’s aftershave and feel desire coiling in his belly. He wasn’t supposed to notice how thick Cary’s eyelashes were, and how the gold in his eyes matched his hair. His knees weren’t supposed to go weak because Cary’s kisses were warm and wet and tasted like honey and promised so much more.
“Let’s just hope the network censors don’t look too closely. I swear, straight couples can practically get naked on screen, but gay characters...” Cary shook his head. “Drives me nuts. Hey, did you hear anything more from that hate group who sent the nasty letters?”
“Nah. I think Tammy took care of making sure my mail is examined more closely. It’s no big deal.”
Cary huffed. “No big deal? You shouldn’t ever have to hear that kind of garbage. You’ll tell me if it happens again, right?”
“What are you going to do? Beat them up?” Ryan secretly loved Cary’s protectiveness. He smiled and nudged Cary with his elbow. “Besides, now that they’re finally putting Steven and Kishi together, you’ll probably start getting your own hate mail.”
Cary still frowned. “Yeah, but it’s not the same. Everyone knows I’m not gay in real life.” He scoffed. “No way a tough guy like my dad would ever have a gay son. No one would believe it even if it was true.”
“Yeah.” Ryan stopped himself before his brain went too far down the “what if” road. “By the way, your scales are coming loose a bit on your neck.”
“Crap. I keep sweating them off.”
As the makeup team sprayed fake sweat onto Ryan’s forehead and touched up the purple scales crawling up the side of Cary’s neck and across one cheek, Ryan breathed deeply. He reminded himself that none of it was real. Cary’s declaration of love and his kiss that left Ryan buzzing--it was all for the cameras. Nothing more.
So he should stop remembering the press of Cary’s body and how his firm muscles had felt beneath Ryan’s hands. Ryan was in good shape himself, but he was positively ordinary next to Cary’s golden handsomeness and toned, perfect body. Not too bulky, but just right. As Cary tipped his head to give the makeup artist better access to his neck, Ryan imagined kissing him there, sucking on the tender skin and--
One of the show’s publicists approached, her heels clacking across the spaceship set. “How are we today, gentlemen?”
Ryan smiled. “Hey, Tammy. We’re good.”
“Excellent. The reporter from Out and Proud will be here in an hour. He wanted to see the kiss filmed, but as you know we’re keeping the set closed. If anyone leaks this kiss before the episode, I will eat their lungs for breakfast.”
Cary smirked. “And their balls for lunch?”
“Nope. Balls are for second breakfast.” Tammy winked.
The director called out, “Places everyone.”
Fake sweat artfully moistening his dark hair where it fell across his forehead, Ryan took his position to run into Steven’s room once more. Part of him hoped the director would want dozens of takes, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep himself in check. He’d worn extra-tight briefs to keep from embarrassing himself, but his one-piece bodysuit costume didn’t leave much to the imagination.
The second assistant cameraman clapped down the slate in front of the camera. “Space Academy, two-twelve, scene nine, take five.”
Silence settled over the set, and the director yelled, “Action!”
As he ran and slammed the door once more, Ryan’s heart pounded anew, and he couldn’t help but look forward to Cary’s next kiss.
* * * *
After leaving his trailer, Ryan almost walked straight into Tammy, who tapped a manicured nail on her watch. “You’re five minutes late.”
“Actually, I’m three and a half minutes late, but I had to go to the bathroom. Besides, actors are supposed to be late. And/or hungover.”
Tammy laughed and tucked a red curl behind her ear. “You haven’t reached that phase of your career yet. Talk to me when this show has garnered more than a cult following and you’ve made at least one successful slasher flick during hiatus.”
Cary was already seated in a director’s chair on the command deck of the set, which wasn’t being used for filming that day. It was little more than a Star Trek rip-off, but there were only so many layouts of a spaceship that worked well for filming. Cary still wore his dark green one-piece costume, but the top half pooled around his waist, and he wore a white T-shirt.
It was a V-neck, and Ryan tried not to look at Cary’s light chest hair poking out. He wondered for the hundredth time what it would be like to run his fingers through it and taste Cary’s nipples and--
Never. Going. To happen.
With a smile on his face, Ryan sat in the empty chair beside Cary and shook hands with the reporter seated across from them. Tammy lingered in the background by the space-thruster control station.
The chubby, middle-aged reporter smiled. “Hi, I’m Chuck Basilica from Out and Proud. Thanks for meeting with me today.”
“I’m Ryan Drake. It’s our pleasure,” Ryan answered. He and Cary had done a ton of press for the show at the upfronts in May, and they had a system down pat. They’d alternate answering questions, share a few amusing anecdotes, and generally be their most humble, charming selves.
Of course now that their story line was heating up, the gay press was taking interest. Chuck didn’t waste any time.
“Rumor has it the sexual tension between Steven and Kishi is going to move from subtext to text during February sweeps. You’ll be the first gay human/alien love story on American network TV. Is this true?”
Cary answered. “Well, we’re definitely exploring our characters in greater depth this season, and relationships between many of the cadets will be evolving.”
“Hmm. That sounds like a yes to me.” Chuck smiled.
Ryan smiled back. “All we can say is that fans should keep watching, because there’s some great stuff coming up for Steven and Kishi.”
“Fair enough. Now, were you both surprised at how quickly fans embraced your characters? Individually, but especially as a potential couple. There are quite a few ‘Stishi’ fansites out there.”
“I think we were both surprised, and of course it’s an honor,” Cary replied. “I mean, we were just happy our little midseason replacement show got a pickup for season two, and that viewers took to it so passionately. We may not get the highest ratings, but the fans are extremely vocal and loyal. The best in the world. We feel so blessed to be a part of Space Academy.”
“Let’s talk about your careers for a moment.” Chuck glanced at his notepad. “Cary, of course you’re part of a Hollywood dynasty. You were named after family friend Cary Grant, isn’t that right?”
He smiled. “That’s right. I only hope I can have a career half as incredible as his.”
“Your father and grandfather made their mark in action and adventure movies, while you’ve focused more on drama and now sci-fi. Do you feel any pressure to live up to their legacy?”
Cary’s smile didn’t falter, but Ryan noticed the way Cary’s jaw flexed briefly, his shoulders tightening. “Only in the best way. I’m so proud of Dad and Grandpa, and they’ve always been so supportive of me.”
As Cary went on about his family, telling the public what they wanted to hear, Ryan put on his best listening face. He remembered the first little cast get-together at the exec producer’s house one night in the Hollywood Hills. Ryan had gone outside to get some air and stumbled across Cary on the phone with his father.
“But, Dad, it’s a good show. Plenty of movie actors are doing TV now. It’s not the way it was before. It’s a great part! I want to do it. Besides, I can’t exactly turn down steady work.”
Cary paused, and Ryan could hear Robert Holloway’s raised voice through the phone but couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Cary went on, “I want to make my own way. I can have a good career in TV. Maybe do some theater in the summers. I think it’s worth a shot.” He paused again. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, but I guess you’re used to disappointment by now, aren’t you?”
Ryan tried to back away without being heard but of course promptly tripped on the leg of a deck chair, sending it clattering.
Cary whirled. “Dad, I’ve gotta go.” He hung up and eyed Ryan cautiously. “Hey. Look, if you could just forget you heard any of that...”
“Heard what?” Ryan raised his hands. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
The tension in Cary’s face relaxed. “Thanks, man. Ryan, right? I think we have a couple of scenes together in the pilot.”
“Yeah, we do. You want to run lines this weekend?”
Cary smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Absolutely.”
Now, almost two years after they met, Cary was just about Ryan’s favorite person in the world. Of course Cary was straight, and they’d never be anything more than friends. Which was totally fine with Ryan. Well, not totally fine. But he was working on it.
“And let’s talk about your background, Ryan. You’re from Toronto. How has it been adjusting to life in La-La Land?”
“I’ve lived here for a few years now. There are always great things about any city, and LA has so much to offer. It was a bit of a culture shock, but being close to the beach sure helps.”
“You came out while you were still in Toronto performing in a local production of Rent. You mentioned having lunch with your boyfriend in an interview, and when Space Academy premiered, many bloggers and gossip sites picked up on the old article. Do you regret coming out so early in your career? Do you think you’ll get pigeonholed?”
He’d expected the question, so Ryan resisted the urge to sigh long-sufferingly. He wished it didn’t come up in every interview. “No, I don’t regret it at all. I’ve been out since my senior year of high school. It’s just who I am, and I don’t think it’s impacted my career negatively. I played a straight character in a movie during summer hiatus.” He shrugged. “All I can do is give the best performances I can and hope to continue to have opportunities.”
Cary interjected, his tone firm. “I think Ryan is an inspiration to other gay actors. And straight actors, for that matter. Someone’s sexuality shouldn’t matter in this day and age. He’s an amazing artist and person.”
Warmth bloomed in Ryan’s chest. “I’m lucky that Cary and everyone here at Space Academy are completely supportive. I hope that we’ll get to the point one day when it won’t be a big deal anymore.”
“I hope so too,” Chuck replied. “So are you seeing anyone, Ryan?”
“No, there’s no one special right now.” No one I can actually date, that is.
“Cary, you’ve been seeing Succubus High star Amanda Walker for over a year now. Any wedding bells in the future?”
Cary chuckled. “We’ll have to see. Amanda’s a great girl.”
Actually, Amanda’s a high-maintenance pain in the ass. Ryan kept a pleasant expression on his face. It wasn’t that he was jealous or anything. Okay, maybe he was. But Cary deserved so much more than her. He reminded himself that it wasn’t as if Amanda Walker was the only thing standing between him and Cary. She was irrelevant. Cary was straight. The end.
“You guys are both twenty-five now. How does it feel to be playing high school students?”
Ryan chuckled. “Well, I don’t think we’re the oldest actors to play teenagers.”
“With his big brown doe eyes and baby face, I think he’ll be playing a high schooler for at least five more years.” Cary laughed, eyes crinkling.
“But we love our roles,” Ryan added. “High school--whether here on Earth or orbiting the fifth moon of the newly discovered planet Alida--is so rife with drama and potential for character growth.”
Chuck’s eyebrow popped up. “Ah yes. Such as discovering one’s sexuality?”
Cary and Ryan shared a glance and a smile. Cary answered. “That is a common theme, Chuck. I think our fans are really going to enjoy our characters’ arcs as this season continues in the new year.”
Tammy cleared her throat. “I’m afraid we have to end things there. Ryan and Cary are needed back on set.”
They said good-bye to Chuck, and Ryan checked his call sheet. The next scene was an “intimate moment” between Steven and Kishi. No kiss, but they’d both be shirtless and playing a particularly close game of imperia, a basketball-ish game. The scene was early in the episode, before their kiss, and Steven would be barely able to contain his attraction to Kishi.
Ryan took a fortifying breath as he headed back to set. He didn’t think of himself as a Method actor, but he was certainly living and breathing his character’s emotions these days.
* * * *
With a sigh, Ryan popped open a can of soda as he sat back on the couch in his trailer. He still had one more scene to shoot, and it was going to be a long day. As he picked up the TV remote, there was a knock on the door.
His heart stupidly skipped a beat when he found Cary waiting outside. “Hey, man! I’m wrapped. Just wanted to say merry Christmas and all that.”
Ryan ushered him in and handed him a bottle of water from the fridge since Cary didn’t drink soda. That was just one of the reasons he’d been featured on the cover of Men’s Health and Ryan never would be. Ryan worked out and kept trim and healthy, but he wasn’t a heartthrob like Cary.
“Big plans for the holidays?” Ryan asked. “Will you be with your mom or dad?”
“Neither. Dad’s in Thailand shooting another sequel to Blowing Shit Up.”
Ryan laughed. “Is this Strike Back part four?”
“Yep. The world’s appetite for explosions and cheap one-liners continues unabated.” He flopped down on the couch. “Besides, my stepmother’s with him, and I can’t deal with her. She seriously tried to give me parental advice at Thanksgiving.”
Ryan sat beside Cary and swung his feet up onto the low coffee table. Most movie stars would sniff at his small oak-paneled trailer, but with a sofa bed, shower, toilet, and kitchenette, the twelve-foot space was luxury for Ryan. He still wasn’t used to being waited on, and at first the trailer had seemed unnecessary. But for the long days of shooting, he was very glad to have it.
“Tell me you’re exaggerating.”
Cary took a swig of water. “I wish. No, it seems that in Janelle’s twenty impressive years here on Earth, she’s learned a lot. She was quite put out that I didn’t want the benefit of her extensive knowledge when picking my hiatus project.”
“Wow. Okay, so what’s your mom doing for Christmas?”
“She’ll be in Hawaii. I’d go, but Amanda booked us into a spa for a cleanse.”
“A cleanse? For Christmas?”
Cary grimaced. “Yeah, nothing but lettuce and lemon water or something. Oh and pepper or hot sauce, I think. Yum. It’s in the desert near Palm Springs. Lots of yoga and massage, at least.”
“And starvation. No turkey? No stuffing? No cookies? It’s just not Christmas without a ton of fattening food.”
“Eh, it’s no big deal.” Cary shrugged. “I’ve never really had a real Christmas. Growing up, my parents were always getting married and divorced, and they vacationed in the tropics. A white Christmas and the family all together is just something I saw on TV.”
Ryan’s jaw dropped. “You’ve never had snow at Christmas?” He realized he was practically shouting and flushed at his overreaction. “Sorry. Christmas has always been my favorite holiday.”
“The most wonderful time of the year? Well, you’re Canadian, so it’s understandable,” Cary replied playfully. His smile faded. “Nah, Christmas was just never a big deal. I got presents and everything, but it’s never been a big special day with walking in a winter wonderland and all that.”
“I’m sorry.” Cary seemed uncharacteristically melancholy about it. “Hey, you’re more than welcome to join me and my family in the Great White North.”
To Ryan’s surprise, Cary’s face lit up. “Really?”
The invite had slipped out, and he hadn’t really been serious, but the thought of actually spending Christmas with Cary had Ryan’s stomach flip-flopping. “Of course. I’m flying home tomorrow, and we’re going up to our cottage on Friday. More snow than you can shake a stick at.” He knew he should limit the time he spent with Cary off set, but... But I can still look even if I can’t touch.
Again, Cary’s smile disappeared, and he slumped back against the cushions. “Man, I wish I could, but Amanda will kill me if I try to back out of the spa. Besides, I wouldn’t want to intrude on you and your family.”
“It wouldn’t be an intrusion at all. My parents keep saying they want to meet you. You’re my best friend out here.”
Cary’s expression was unreadable. Pleased, maybe? “Really? Thanks, man. That’s nice to hear. You know you’re my boy too.” He punched Ryan’s shoulder lightly.
Ryan cleared his throat and pretended his whole body wasn’t on fire. “Well, the invitation stands if you change your mind.”
They smiled awkwardly at each other. Things had always been totally comfortable between them, but now that they’d kissed on set, Ryan felt on edge. If he relaxed, he was afraid he’d do something that would cross the boundaries without even thinking about it. Now any kind of touch barring a shoulder punch seemed too intimate. He’s not your boyfriend. It’s all pretend.
Their eyes met, and Ryan swore a current surged between them, shooting up his spine and then right down to his dick. Cary licked his lips, and they stared at each other in the silence. Ryan could feel the heat from Cary’s body beside him on the couch, and Cary seemed to be leaning into him.
A soft knock on the door was followed by a PA calling out, “Ryan? We’re ready for you.”
The strange mood broken, Cary drained his bottle. “See ya next year.” He stood, then pulled Ryan up into a straight-guy hug, slapping his back with a thump.
“Right, see you next year. Merry Christmas.”
As he walked to set, Ryan decided it was a good thing they had three weeks until they had to be back in the second week of January. Time to get this crush on Cary under control. Between work and their friendship, they had a good thing going, and Ryan was damned if he was going to mess that up.
Sandine Tomas grew up an unapologetic bookworm, making friends with characters from the ancient past to the farthest reaches of the universe. Her career as a marketing writer has given her insight into the divergence between what a person thinks they want and what they truly need. Relationships are at the heart of her writing, and she enjoys creating characters who become so real that their stories beg to be told. Writing allows her to explore people and ideas from all sides, spinning a notion around like a gem until its facets glisten.
Twisting the old adage about writing what you know into writing what you feel, Sandine doesn’t shy away from raw emotions, turbulent circumstances, and above all, deep passions, fueled by humor, honesty, and trust. She enjoys instilling her characters with the flaws, courage, and idiosyncrasies that brings them to life.
Sandine lives in New York with her husband, two daughters and a Golden Retriever puppy named Noodle. An unabashed TV and film enthusiast, she happily binge watches her favorites until her eyes glaze over. Her other guilty pleasures include attending fandom conventions, sleeping in on weekends, and recharging solo by holing up with a caramel macchiato and an amazing book.
If you’d like to chat, reach out to her here or on Twitter or Facebook.
USA Today Bestselling Author V.L. Locey – Penning LGBT hockey romance that skates into sinful pleasures.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, Torchwood and Dr. Who, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a pair of geese, far too many chickens, and two steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in one hand and a steamy romance novel in the other.
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott writes stories with a heart of romance, a troubled road to reach happiness, and most importantly, a happily ever after.
RJ Scott is the author of over one hundred romance books, writing emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, millionaire, princes, and the men who get mixed up in their lives. RJ is known for writing books that always end with a happy ever after. She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing.
The last time she had a week’s break from writing she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a bottle of wine she couldn’t defeat.
She’s always thrilled to hear from readers, bloggers and other writers. Please contact via the links below.
Often referred to as "Space Cowboy" and "Gangsta of Love" while still striving for the moniker of "Maurice," Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and persuing the kama sutra by channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to "Chicago."
A long-time writer of complicated haiku, currently Sean is attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate spinning and soap carving sex toys.
Barring any of that? He'll stick with writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark.
After writing for years yet never really finding the right inspiration, Keira discovered her voice in gay romance, which has become a passion. She writes contemporary, historical, fantasy, and paranormal fiction and — although she loves delicious angst along the way — Keira firmly believes in happy endings. For as Oscar Wilde once said:
“The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means.”
Sandine Tomas
DREAMSPINNER / B&N / KOBO
VL Locey
RJ Scott
BOOKBUB / KOBO / SMASHWORDS
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk
Sean Crisden(Narrator)
EMAIL: crisden@seancrisden.com
Sean Michael
PINTEREST / KOBO / iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY
EMAIL: seanmichaelwrites@gmail.com
Keira Andrews
EMAIL: keira.andrews@gmail.com 
Santa's Last Gift by Sandine Tomas
KOBO / iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY
Christmas According to Liam by VL Locey
Snow in Montana by RJ Scott
No Regrets by Sean Michael
Gay Romance Holiday Collection by Keira Andrews
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