Random Tales of Christmas 2020 Part 2

Goldilocks and the Bear by Clare London

Summary:
One week, two men, three Christmas trees.

And hopefully a fairytale romance.

Original Review December 2018:
I'm not going to say too much about Goldilocks and the Bear other than it's pure fun!  Clare London has managed to combine sweet, fun, holiday, heat, and a touch reminiscent of youthful fairytales all in under 40 pages.  A true rom-com holiday gem that is well worth the time and cost that will put a smile on your face from the minute Bruin comes busting in with a way-too-big tree at the wrong address and Gil's attraction to the big tree stranger at his door and keep it there till the end. 

RATING: 

Peter Cratchit's Christmas Carol by Drew Marvin Frayne

Summary:

Peter Cratchit, a young lad preparing to make his way in the world, is the eldest son of Scrooge’s lowly clerk Bob Cratchit. Peter flourishes under the tutelage of his “Uncle” Scrooge and seeks to make his mark as a man of business, like his uncle before him.

One Christmas Eve, as Scrooge lays dying, Peter embarks on a risky ocean voyage that he believes will secure the future for his family. Onboard, Peter finds love, happiness, and success, only to lose it all by the voyage’s end.

Returning to London, Peter shuns his family and instead finds himself living on the streets, haunted by his failures and his dead lover, selling his body just to survive while he waits for the winter cold to claim him once and for all. But winter snows also mean Christmas is coming, and for the Cratchit family, Christmas is a time of miracles. Can a visit from three familiar spirits change Peter’s life again? Is there one more miracle in store for the lost son of one of Dickens’ most enduring families?

Last Place in the Chalet by Sue Brown

Summary:

When there’s no room in the resort for Angel, will a broken-hearted man give him the last place in the chalet?

Noel leaves for his Christmas vacation with an engagement ring in his pocket. But he boards the plane alone when his boyfriend dumps him in the airport. He decides to spend his vacation skiing, drinking, and nursing his broken heart.

With a storm approaching the resort, and his ski chalet overbooked, Angel finds himself without a room. Will anyone give him somewhere to sleep for one night? His last hope is a bed in The Last Pine chalet.

If Noel and Angel start out as reluctant roommates, they soon discover they have deeper feelings for each other. With their eccentric chalet mates encouraging their relationship, Noel realizes he has a decision to make. Is this a rebound romance or the real thing?

If you like a tender Christmas story with a large stirring of humor and a dash of angst, the Last Place in the Chalet is for you.

Second Chance Christmas by Riley Knight

Summary:

Ryan was a small kid, short and skinny, but with a heart far bigger than his frail body. He was constantly being bullied-- but he didn’t back down. Brave to the point of recklessness, he got himself beaten up all the time in school.

One day, an older kid stepped in to protect him. Jim was tall, strong, and brave, everything that Ryan could admire. More than that, he was kind. They became best friends.

When Ryan’s family moves away, they lose touch. Jim and Ryan are briefly reunited, but misunderstandings complicate things, and it seems they’ll never have what they had again.

Years later, Ryan has become a Hollywood superstar. Jim comes back into LA and finds a job as an physiotherapist to some big up and coming superstar with a twisted ankle. When he learns it’s Ryan, Jim almost quits. How can he sit and watch as his former best friend turns into a snobby, out of touch with reality asshole? But he needs the money, so he sticks it out. And it isn’t long until sparks are flying.

But can anything come of it, or will they crash and burn again? Can the Christmas season bring the miracle needed to bring these two together for good?

This 45,000 word friends-to-lovers romance is another beautiful second chance love story to keep your Christmas cozy and sizzling with heat! This story contains mature content and explicit scenes intended for adults only!

Merry Cherry Christmas by Keira Andrews

Summary:

A nice boy gets naughty...

Redheaded freshman Jeremy "Cherry" Rourke is certainly living up to his childhood nickname, although still being inexperienced is the least of his concerns. After coming out, his parents barely talk to him. He hasn't made any friends at university. Worst of all, he's about to spend Christmas completely alone in an empty dorm.

Jeremy clearly needs a fairy godfather, so football captain Max Pimenta takes him under his wing to help him find his dating groove. But Jeremy's wound way too tight. He's too vulnerable. Max can't trust some random guy with him. He needs to take care of Jeremy himself and introduce him to no-pressure exploration. It's not about romance or feelings—he's just doing the kid a favor.

Max is definitely not falling for this lonely, beautiful boy. No way.

And it's not like he can leave Jeremy all alone for the holidays. He'll bring him home to his family's maple syrup farm—strictly as friends since his parents have rules. No more fooling around. No more eager, breathless fun. No more making Jeremy shiver and blush with suggestive whispers in his ear. No more sweeter-than-sugar kisses. All nice. No more naughty.

But Jeremy's sleeping right across the hall, and Max wants him for himself. The twelve days of Christmas will last an eternity if they don't break the rules.

Shhh. No one has to know...

Merry Cherry Christmas is a feel-good holiday MM romance from Keira Andrews featuring a nervous nerd and protective jock, forced proximity, first times, and of course a happy ending.

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Random Tales of Christmas 2020

Part 1  /  Part 3  /  Part 4  /  Part 5

Part 6  /  Part 7  /  Part 8  /  Part 9

Part 10  /  Part 11  /  Part 12

Goldilocks and the Bear by Clare London

We both turned to stare at the tree behind him. The lower half, including the thick trunk, had come easily over the doorstep, but at some stage the netting that kept it in place had torn, and the branches had sprung free. They stretched either side of the doorway, at their full extent, and inside the café. One side reached half way up the open door, now pressed flat against the wall, and the other side had upended two chairs at a front table. Behind them, still on the pavement outside, the branches from further up the tree had mushroomed out like the upper half of an egg timer—with the café doorway as the squeezed middle. It was a magnificent tree: its needles shone a bright, clean green. The trunk was sturdy, copper-toned wood. The whole thing reeked of health and beauty and Christmas spirit.

And it was crushed up in my café’s doorframe until I was afraid the old wood would split asunder. I may even have heard it creak in protest.

The man-bear shook his head and shoved the delivery note back into his pocket. “Looks like they directed me to the wrong shop.”

“Well, obviously, because I never ordered it—”

“In fact,” Molly broke in. “Gil hasn’t ordered a tree at all this year.”

“No tree at all?” The giant man looked momentarily disconcerted—or was that disapproving? “You don’t like Christmas?”

“I like it well enough,” I muttered. “But as you can see, there’s little enough space here.” I could only afford this small unit on the outskirts of a small Essex shopping mall. It was last Christmas’ gift to myself, the best I could do when Paulie, my partner—in business and romance—had scarpered with most of my savings to set up a bar in Ibiza. Without me, in either capacity. But life has to go on, right? I just downsized my dreams from our swish supper club venue to my small local café. After installing the counter and display cases, and covering two of the other walls with bookshelves for the romance novels I loved to read and share with customers, there wasn’t much room left for tables and chairs, let alone ambitious decorations.

Over the giant’s left shoulder, I could see old Mr. Brooke hopping from one foot to another as he peered into the shop past the branches. He was a creature of habit, and he always had his caramel latte at this time of the afternoon. If he could get into the café, that was. Behind me, a half-dozen members of the Women’s Institute Book Club stirred restlessly, and two pre-school boys had wriggled out of their mothers’ clutches and were gleefully stabbing a pile of paper napkins with a stray pine stalk.

“So. Anyway. You have to do something about this!” My voice seemed to be higher than usual.

He shrugged, his grin now rueful. “Not a lot I can do, at the moment. It’s well and truly stuck.” He tugged on the trunk as if to convince me further and, yes, I definitely heard the doorframe creak. “Should have realised the measurements didn’t add up. All I can do is apologise and arrange to have someone come and cut it out as soon as possible.” He rummaged in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone. His fingers darted over the keys as fast as any teenager, sending a quick message. My gaze was still fixed on the backs of his hands—strong, with more than a smattering of dark hair over the lower digits—when I realised what he’d said.

“But it can’t stay there! My customers can’t get out—”

“I can open the back door,” Molly offered helpfully, or not, as the case may be.

“—and no one can get in, either. This is Christmas week, with all the passing trade from shoppers. I have a full schedule of seasonal events, and those new snowflake cupcakes on offer!”

The man’s pupils dilated. “There are cupcakes?”

For God’s sake. Again. Was no one taking this crisis seriously?

“We could cut the branches off right now,” said a voice at my ear. Mrs. Potter from the Book Club had crept up beside me without me realising: no taller than five foot, no heavier than eight stone, and seventy-two last birthday. But the gleam in her eyes was worthy of a Steven King character at his most manic. “Do you have a chainsaw in the café, Gil?”

“No, I bloody don’t!”

The giant was grinning at me, though he’d taken a cautious step away from Mrs. P. “Please don’t worry, ma’am. Leave it to a professional. A guy from the garden centre is on his way with the right tools.”

“The right tools are always useful.” Mrs. Potter gave a snort. When I snapped my gaze to her, she waggled her eyebrows and winked at me. Winked! What on earth was that all about? She knew, of course, I was gay and, yes, I had occasionally dated a customer, though it wasn’t like I shared my social diary—sparse as it was—with all and sundry. But this guy was just doing his job, wasn’t he? This poor guy… this poor, buff, guy… this poor, buff, strong, hairy, handsome bear of a guy…

A passing jab in the ribs from Mrs. P on her way back to the Book Club table, and I started to wonder if I’d been wise to add more gay romance titles in with the historical bodice rippers…

Peter Cratchit's Christmas Carol by Drew Marvin Frayne

Scrooge was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. He died some two years past on this very day, Christmas Eve. I would it were not so; yet I suspect the old man would not agree. He became rather infirm at the end, frail and forgetful, and though he did his best to remain cheerful, I know he hated to show weakness of any kind. It wasn’t a matter of pride, nor vanity; no, it wasn’t for his sake that he cared so. It was that, as he himself often said, he had become a sort of safeguard, a protector, to his family and to his community, and he hated the thought of us carrying on without him there, watching over us all. And we, of course, would clasp his hand and tell him that he would be looking over us in the next life, and that such thoughts brought us great comfort, and they should bring him great comfort too. And he would sigh, and agree with us, and settle in, at least for a while, until another great spasm wracked his breast, and his chest would heave with immense, raggedy gasps for air, and his worries arose all over again.

He died a good death, if it could be said that any death should be regarded as good. Though I have not spent nearly as many years as Scrooge did on this planet, I have knocked about a bit, and circumstance has shown me both great fortune and great tragedy. And as such, I have come to believe there is no good death to be had in this world. I have seen many poor wretches, past all hope of recovery from whatever it was that ailed them—whether it be an infliction of the body or the soul—beg for death, pray for it, and have watched it come in many guises, be it the cold, or the cough, or the cutthroat. I have seen their prayers answered, even if those answers came in some form of pain they had never envisioned. And yet I say, when the end did finally come, each and every one begged to stay, begged for their final breath to be forestalled, begged to live for even one moment more. Yea, though I have been on this world for less than a quarter of a century, I have come to know its horrors and have learned the greatest horror of all is that there is no world, no life, beyond this one.

Scrooge would not have agreed with this; oft he told us the tale of his visitation by his old friend, Jacob Marley, dead seven years in the grave before his return, and the further visitations by the three spirits who haunted him, also on a Christmas Eve. To Scrooge, there was no greater evidence of providence than this, and he lived such feelings in his heart for the rest of his life. I was glad of it; we all were, all of London town, though those of us who were closest to him felt his change of heart and his largesse most keenly. And many was the time, as a young man, on a Christmas Eve like this one, I sat cross-legged on the floor at Scrooge’s feet and listened to his tales of Christmas ghosts and astonishing spirits, of visitations to the past, and of the wondrous things that are yet to come.

Yet even then, I was a skeptic. After his tale was complete, Old Scrooge, as wise at reading faces as he was at managing his business, would frequently tousle my hair and tell me, “Young Master Peter, you must have the conviction of your faith. It is not enough to simply believe; you must know Christmas, and keep it in your heart all the year long.” Such words were enough for Tim and for the others; but I, I would only smile, and say, “Yes, Uncle Scrooge,” in a manner and tone that were always respectful, but that the cunning old man also knew to be mollifying. And Scrooge would then bend quite low—for he was a tall, wizened old fellow, and I have always been inclined to be undersized—and he would say to me, “You must not fear the world so much, Peter Cratchit.” And I would nod, and he would pat my cheek, or sometimes playfully pinch my nose. But what he meant by those words, I cannot say. In my experience, there is much to fear in this world, and much calamity the world will set upon the unwary soul who is not ever vigilant.

A growl in my stomach disturbed my thoughts. Time to dispense with these ruminations on the past; I was hungry. I willed my body out of its bed, a small recess in the side of a crumbling brick building used for the storage of livestock, a cramped pen to house the beasts before they were led to slaughter. The recess provided some shelter from the elements; there had been rain last night, so it was useful to keep dry, though the rain had been only a drizzle, and the weather was unseasonably temperate for so late in December. That was no small mercy.

The recess had once been a side door, now sealed up, when the building had been used for some other purpose, long forgotten to time. The smell of animal excrement that clung to the building—and to those who worked or, like me, dwelt within her—was formidable, but it also meant the alley I called my home remained deserted during the nightly hours. Safety in this life often comes at great cost. Those who have suffered at the world’s hands know this lesson all too well. The men who tended the animals had assembled a small cleaning station, clean water and a strong lye soap, behind the building, and they charitably did not begrudge my use of it from time to time, provided I did not tarry, and they did not see me. I hastened in my morning ablutions and made my way out to the street.

There was a bakery on Saint Martin’s Close; it was there I would seek to break my fast. Every morning, my repast was the same: two hot buttered rolls and a small tankard of ale. The only difference was whether the baker would tally the cost of his labors on my tongue or on my tail.

I made my way down Carol Street to the main Camden Road. I used to live on this very road, as a youth, but far down the other end from those places where I now worked and resided. Camden Town was named for Camden Road; the road was the heart of the ward, bisecting it in the north and making up the entirety of its western edge. It was impossible to be in Camden Town and avoid the Camden Road. And yet, in all of my wanderings through this neighborhood, I always avoided the familiar façade of my former house, with its chipped paint and ill-fitted front door. I was more interested in the thick, oaken door that led to the alley behind the bakery, where the business received deliveries of flour and other such supplies. I knocked. Some days, the baker answered promptly, as if expecting me; other days, like today, I had to wait. He was a busy man, having woke well before the dawn to assemble his breads and rolls and pastries and cakes. His bakery was a small one, but he did a good measure of custom, enough to keep him in flour and dough and sugar and coal for the ovens. Still, he had only one boy to help him prepare the daily wares—in this neighborhood, even relative prosperity resulted in genuine poverty.

Whether the boy was his son, or some urchin off the street, I do not know. The baker and I did not converse on such matters. It was, in part, because the man’s well of English was so deficient that any conversation would prove inconsequential at best. I could not identify his native tongue, and he spoke only the English of a tradesman and knew the terms for barter and exchange, and little more. My own English improved greatly under the tutelage of Ebenezer Scrooge, who gave me books to read and provided college-trained tutors to sharpen my intellect. I was beyond basic schooling by the time our families came together; but my mind was quick and hungered for knowledge, and Uncle Scrooge filled it with book after book on all manner of subjects—history, literature, economics, philosophy, mythology, the principles of business. I eagerly took it all in, save perhaps the poets, who I found too disordered, too insubstantial, to truly relish. Still, for an occasion such as this, the silver portion of my tongue was not really necessary. It was my tongue’s other talents that the baker was interested in. I suppose, in the end, this, like so much in life, was simply a matter of business. I needed what the baker had to offer; he felt the same. Talk would only prolong the necessities of exchange.

The man finally answered and hurried me inside. In nicer weather, he sometimes took his payment in the alley, but he did not like the cold and the damp, so he ushered me into a cramped cookery room stuffed with coal- and wood-burning ovens. I had no objection to being enveloped in warmth; it made for a pleasant change of atmosphere from my usual status at this time of year.

I could see by the sights and sounds of his distresses that my morning patron was more harried than usual. His eyes were darting around the room. His gestures were quick, and rough, and impatient. He was a large, hirsute man, with a rotund belly and a gray, prickly beard, which, at the moment, was dusted in a rather generous supply of flour.

I was no longer fond of beards; I generally preferred smooth-faced youths, like myself, and not the wooly chins of older men, though, in my line of work, older men were my main custom. And this was business, not pleasure, and the baker felt the same as I, especially today. Even as he penned me into his back kitchen, he continued to bellow orders to the boy out front. I often wondered what the boy thought of our exchanges. Perhaps it was of no consequence to him. Perhaps he was grateful he did not have to provide a similar service. Or perhaps he did. Who can say.

Last Place in the Chalet by Sue Brown

Chapter 1

Noel Garrett sat in his car in the parking lot of the airport and stared at his boyfriend of four years. “I don’t understand.” 

The snowflakes settling on the windshield couldn’t be as cold as he felt at that moment. 

Adam Mitchell pushed a hand through his mop of dirty blond hair and sighed heavily. “I don’t want to go on vacation with you.” 

“That’s not what you just said. You said our relationship is over.” Noel hated the way his voice cracked on the last word, but he was reeling at the shock of hearing those words come out of his boyfriend’s mouth just as they were about to get out of the Honda. 

“Don’t make this more difficult than it already is,” Adam snapped. His pale blue eyes were flat and cold as he scowled at Noel. 

Noel shivered again and wrapped his arms around himself in an effort to keep warm. “We’re on our way to Vail, for our Christmas vacation, Adam. The ski trip we’ve planned for months. You remember that? We’re at the airport and you tell me now?” 

“I was gonna tell you earlier,” Adam muttered, refusing to meet his gaze. 

“Oh thanks,” Noel said sarcastically. “I suppose I ought to be grateful you didn’t wait until we were going through security, or would you have waited until we got on the plane?”

“I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?” Noel’s voice cracked again, and he struggled to hold back his grief and fury. “You’re sorry?” 

Adam turned his head away and stared out the passenger door window. “Let’s go home. We can talk about it there.” 

Noel noticed the fan of barely-there lines spreading out from Adam’s eyes. He’d never noticed them before. He took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to calm his thumping heart. When he felt he could speak, he said, “Why are you dumping me? I think I’ve got a right to know that.” 

“It’s difficult to explain.” Adam sounded almost sad, as though his initial anger had drained away to leave no emotion behind. 

“Try me,” Noel said flatly. 

“I want more from life, No.” Noel grimaced at the shortening of his name under the circumstances. Adam carried on. “You just want to settle down with a house and a dog. It’s boring.” 

The dog was a new one on Noel. He’d never mentioned a dog, had he? 

“You’re bored?” Noel asked, incredulous. 

They were about to take a ski trip because Noel wanted to take him on a romantic vacation to mountains and snow and stunning scenery. He wanted to teach Adam to ski because Noel loved it, and Adam was bored? 

“Yes.” 

“With me.”

Silence. 

“You’re bored with me, or you think I’m boring?” 

Still nothing. 

Noel swallowed hard. “Do you love me anymore?” 

The silence in the car was deafening. 

“I—” Adam started, but Noel cut him off. 

“You’d better go.” 

“What?” Now Adam looked startled. 

“Go. Leave. Get out of the car. Go away.” Noel looked away before Adam saw the tears in his eyes. 

“What are you going to do?” Adam asked. 

“I’m going on my vacation.” 

“On your own?” Now Adam sounded shocked. 

He had a point. Noel had always said he wasn’t keen on taking vacations by himself. Adam loved traveling alone, but Noel hated solitary travel and preferred to be with friends or his partner. 

“Yes, on my own,” Noel insisted. “I’m not missing my vacation.” He’d worked fourteen-hour days for the last month to make sure he could take a whole week off without the management at his advertising company bitching at him. If they had their way, the employees would eat, sleep, and breathe work. Asking for vacation time was like asking for a pay raise—unheard of. But Noel insisted, and he put the extra hours in so the bosses couldn’t complain… much.

“How am I going to get home?” Adam asked. 

Noel shrugged. “Get the shuttle. Uber. I don’t care. The car stays here until I get home.” 

“That’s not fair. You’re not going to be here. Why shouldn’t I use the car?” 

“You dumped me less than five minutes ago, remember? It’s my car and it stays here. You can buy your own.” 

Maybe it was petty of Noel, but that’s how he felt. Adam worked a block away from their—Noel’s—apartment. Although Noel walked to work too, they’d decided to keep Noel’s car as it was newer, and Adam had sold his car when he moved in. 

Adam glared at Noel, but when Noel said nothing, he got out of the car and slammed the door. Noel pressed the button to open the trunk and waited until Adam had dragged out his suitcase. It was heavy. Noel had lifted it into the trunk and he took grim satisfaction at watching Adam’s unsteady progress in the rearview mirror. As Adam stalked away, Noel watched until tears filled his eyes and he couldn’t see him anymore. The tears ran down his cheeks, and he buried his face in his hands. 

He jumped as the rear passenger door opened. 

“Forgot my jacket,” Adam snarled. 

Noel faced the front, not wanting to give Adam the satisfaction of seeing him in tears. He closed his hand around a small box in his pocket and tightened his grip until the edges cut into his fingers. Then Adam slammed the door and he was alone once more.

Noel stared out the window of the plane as he waited for takeoff. His skin was crawling, and he was close to running from the plane, chasing after his boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—to ask him what the hell he’d done wrong. They’d been happy, hadn’t they? It was true Noel had talked about settling down now that they were both in good jobs. He wanted to buy a house rather than rent, and he’d even mentioned the M word once or twice, but Adam had never given the impression he was averse to any of those ideas. 

Adam was two years older than Noel, nearly thirty, and worked for a successful publisher. True, he liked socializing more than Noel, whose idea of a great night was beer, wings, pizza, and watching any sport ending in ball. But Noel went with him to book launches, and Adam tolerated Noel’s obsession with sports if he could leer at the players. 

“Sir, you need to put your seat belt on.” 

It felt as though Noel were fracturing into a million pieces and no one around him knew or cared. He needed to get off the plane and go hide while he nursed his broken heart. 

“Sir?” 

Someone shook Noel’s arm. He turned to find a young, blond-haired guy with pale green eyes smiling at him. “Yeah?” His voice was huskier than usual as he tried to speak around the lump in his throat. 

“You need to put your seat belt on. We’re going to take off soon.” The man indicated the flight attendant, who was giving him an impatient scowl.

“Oh, sorry.” Noel’s hands shook, and he fumbled the lock. 

“Are you all right, sir?” the attendant asked. 

“I—” 

“Here, let me.” The man reached over and buckled him in as though Noel were a child. 

“Thank you,” Noel managed. 

“You’re welcome.” The man smiled at him and went back to his phone. 

The flight attendant—maybe about Noel’s age—shot him a suspicious look, but walked off to check the rest of the passengers. Noel returned to staring out the window and barely noticed when they took off. 

Noel received another nudge when the refreshment trolley arrived. He shook his head. He was tempted to ask for a whiskey, but it was eight in the morning and drinking on an empty stomach was just going to make him sick. His companion asked for a coffee and a bottle of water. 

“Which would you like?” the man said, disturbing Noel’s thoughts again. 

He hoped it wasn’t going to be like this throughout the flight. He just wanted to be left alone to wallow in his misery. The guy obviously expected an answer, but Noel had forgotten the question. 

“What did you say?” 

“Coffee or water?” 

“I don’t—”

“You need to drink. Which one?” For a man who was twenty if he was a day, he was very insistent. 

“I’d rather have a whiskey,” Noel muttered. 

“You don’t need any more alcohol.” 

Noel stared at him. “Any more?” 

“Your hands are shaking already,” the man said. 

Noel stared at his hands. They were trembling, and he resisted the temptation to hide them away from the too-knowing eyes. 

“I’m not drunk.” Noel gave a harsh laugh. “I wish I were.” He received a skeptical look and then another question. 

“Are you ill?” 

Noel wished the guy would just leave him alone. He didn’t have the patience for twenty questions. “Not ill. Not drunk.” 

“Then—?” 

“Dumped, okay? My boyfriend dumped me at the airport.” His throat closed around the painful words and he looked away to avoid the pity in the wide green eyes. 

The man squeezed Noel’s forearm. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Me too.” 

“Here.” 

He handed Noel the takeout cup of coffee. “I don’t want—” 

“Drink it.” The man almost growled at him.

Noel sipped at it. It was black and bitter and disgusting. Noel liked his coffee half full of creamer and sugar. But the shock of the bitter taste grounded him in a way he hadn’t expected. 

The man watched him shrewdly. “Feeling better?” 

“Yes.” Noel sighed. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome. My name’s Angelo Marinelli. Everyone calls me Angel.” 

It was kind of appropriate. With his blond curls and sweet face, he looked angelic. 

“Noel Garrett.” 

They shook hands awkwardly around the cup of coffee. 

“Do you want another one or the water?” Angel proffered the bottle. 

Noel shook his head. “I’m fine.” 

“No, you’re not, but you will be.” 

“How can you know that?” Noel asked bitterly. 

“Because you’re hurting now, but it won’t last.” 

Angel’s gentle smile eased the hurt in Noel just a fraction. 

“You think so?” 

“I know so,” Angel said, his tone so confident it drew an involuntary smile from Noel. 

“You seem too young to know about broken hearts.” 

Angel’s smile turned wry. “It’s the blond curls and the altar-boy appearance, isn’t it?”

Noel nodded because Angel did look like an altar boy, now that he mentioned it. “What are you? Nineteen, twenty?” 

“I’m twenty-five.” 

“I bet you get carded all the time.” 

“Every damn time,” Angel agreed. “What about you?” 

Noel frowned, confused at the question. “What about me?” 

“How old are you?” Angel clarified. 

“Twenty-seven. It was my birthday yesterday.” “Ah, that’s why you’re called Noel. It makes sense now.” 

“Kind of old-fashioned, but my folks are like that.” Noel had hated his name as a kid, but now he didn’t mind. It was who he was. Staid and boring. 

Unaware of Noel’s bitter thoughts, Angel smiled at him. “Happy birthday for yesterday.” 

Noel gave him a wry smile. “At least Adam waited to dump me until after my birthday.” 

Then he felt bad because Angel had been genuine in his birthday wishes. 

“You loved him very much?” Angel asked gently. 

Noel opened his mouth to snap that of course he loved Adam, but he held back. He had fallen in love—and in lust—with Adam at first sight, but it had mellowed into something else over the years. Something he’d thought stronger than initial love. “I loved him,” he said. “I thought he felt the same.” 

Angel studied him for a moment. “Breaking up is shit.”

“Yeah,” Noel agreed. He sat back and finished the last of the cooling cup of coffee. 

Conversation died between them, and as Noel returned to staring out the window, his thoughts drifted back to Adam. He was blindsided by what had just happened. He had no idea Adam was so unhappy. He put his hand in his pocket and felt for the small box again. All Noel’s plans for the vacation had come to a screeching halt. What was he going to do now? Unbidden, tears came to his eyes. A tissue was pushed into his hand without a word. He couldn’t speak, not even to say thank you to Angel. He would have broken down completely, and that was too much. Another pat and Angel left him alone. 

The rest of the flight went by in silence. Noel stared out the window, his mind a whirl of pain. They landed in brilliant sunshine, and Noel busied himself as they got ready to disembark. Angel vanished with a wave and a cheery farewell, and Noel was relieved to see him go. Angel had been witness to his pain, and that was humiliating, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. 

When Noel switched on his phone to see if Adam had called or texted him, the screen mocked him with its blank stare. Fresh tears threatened to spill, but Noel forced them back. He’d made the decision to come on this vacation, and he was going to enjoy it, even if it killed him. 

Around him, passengers juggled skis and suitcases, but Noel and Adam had decided to rent the equipment as this was Adam’s first time skiing. Noel only had a small bag with him, so he didn’t have to go to baggage claim. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. A week of skiing, drinking, and relaxing. He could do that. He could ignore what was going to face him when he got home. As long as his chaletmates were okay, he could survive the meals and then escape to his room. Maybe he should pick up a bottle of whiskey before he got on the bus. 

Liquor purchased, he headed for the parking lot, where he was told there would be a shuttle waiting to take him to the chalet. The bus for The Last Pine was at the end of a row of shuttle buses. A tall bear of a man stood by the open door, clipboard in one hand and his phone to his ear. Noel walked up to him as the man finished his call. 

“Hi,” Noel said. 

“Welcome.” The man held out his hand, which almost swallowed Noel’s. Noel was six foot in his socks, but this guy easily topped him by six inches. “I’m Don. And you are?” 

“Noel Garrett.” 

Don scanned his clipboard. “Ah, yeah, and Mr. Mitchell?” 

“He’s not coming. It’s just me,” Noel said shortly. 

Don frowned, but he must have seen something in Noel’s expression, because he merely nodded. “We’re waiting for two more people.” 

Noel climbed aboard. There were three men sitting together in the back seat. Two looked to be in their thirties, and the other one was older, maybe in his fifties. One of the younger men, a skinny guy with the biggest brown eyes Noel had ever seen, smiled at him.

“Hi, I’m Marv. This is Frankie and Goldie.” 

Noel wasn’t sure who was Frankie and who was Goldie. He managed a brief smile as he sat down. “I’m Noel.” 

He turned to face front, and they seemed to understand he didn’t want to talk, because they resumed their conversation. Noel stared ahead, hearing odd words about finance and Toyotas. He tuned them out, and his thoughts inevitably returned to Adam. Maybe he should call him when they got to the chalet. They needed to talk, even if it was over the phone. 

People milled about in the parking lot. He spotted Angel standing by another shuttle bus. Even from this distance, it was easy to see Angel’s unhappy frown and the other people looking angry and miserable. Although Noel couldn’t read lips, he could understand the curse words and clenched fists of a young man standing next to Angel. Noel hesitated, wondering if he should see if Angel needed help, but as he stood up, he was distracted by a woman wearing a purple puffy jacket. Her long glossy black hair tumbled under her shoulders from under a purple beanie as she headed at a slow pace toward Don. She looked tired and fed up as she pulled a wheeled suitcase behind her. Don rushed over to help. 

“Can’t see her going down the slopes,” one of the men said behind him. 

Another of them shushed him, but he had a point. It was obvious that the woman was heavily pregnant. Noel didn’t know much about pregnancy, but he’d have thought skiing wasn’t recommended because of the risks. Noel watched as Don bent down to talk to the woman and then ticked a name off his list.

She climbed into the bus with Don’s help and, with a sigh of relief, sat on the seat just behind the driver and turned to give them all a tired smile. “Hi, guys. I’m Maria Ricci.” 

There was a cheery greeting from the back, and Marv went through the names again. Noel managed a “Noel.” She nodded again at them. 

“Are you on your own?” Marv asked, and without turning around Noel could hear the curiosity in his voice. 

“Yeah, my husband had to work.” She sounded exhausted and Marv didn’t question her further. 

Don loaded her suitcase, shut the doors, and climbed into the driver’s seat. “We can go now.” 

“Is this all?” Marv asked. 

Don nodded. “We’re two rooms down at the moment because of emergency renovation. We had a flood three weeks ago. And now two guests down too. There’s going to be plenty of Christmas dinner for everyone.” 

“Result!” one of the other men crowed. “More space in the hot tub.” 

Noel wanted to plant one on his face. He was breaking apart and this guy was worried about space in a hot tub? He caught Maria glancing his way and knew his feelings must be splayed over his face. She gave him a brief nod and for a moment, his hurt eased with that simple gesture. To his relief, she kept quiet and just stared out at the road. Don pulled into the line of vehicles leaving the airport.

Noel suddenly remembered about Angel and turned to look out the back, but the parking lot had long since vanished. Then he turned to the front and tried to quell the guilt he felt at not helping Angel. That’s what resort reps were for, Noel thought. He would be all right. Maybe he’d see Angel on the slopes. 

The trip took a couple of hours. Usually Noel would have looked out the window for the whole journey and soaked up the scenery, but now he spent most of it thinking about his last conversation with Adam, over and over, like a hamster on a wheel. Was there something different he could have said? Could he have changed Adam’s mind if he’d had more time to process what Adam said? “You’re dumped, you’re boring, I don’t love you” was hard to misinterpret. Why didn’t Adam talk to him before he got this unhappy? Noel leaned his head against the window and sighed. Would it have made any difference? He knew Adam well enough to know that once he’d made up his mind, it was impossible to change it. 

The sound of the road under the tires changed, and Noel looked up to see they were driving up a small road between lines of snow-clad trees. 

“You’ve had a lot of snow,” Maria said to Don. 

“We have this year,” he agreed. “And there’s another snowstorm coming in tonight.” 

“I think I’ll stay by the fire,” Maria said. “Tell me you’ve got a fire?” 

Don gave a rumbling chuckle. “A big log fire and comfortable chairs. You’ll be fine.” 

She sighed happily. “That sounds more like it. Oh, wow.”

Noel looked up to see what had prompted the awe in her tone. Don parked the bus outside a huge log cabin with a wraparound porch. It was fairy-tale beautiful, with snow on the roof and twinkling lights draped along the porch. A very handsome young man stood in the doorway, wearing a cream Aran knit sweater. 

“So pretty,” Maria breathed. Noel wasn’t sure if she was talking about the chalet or the man. Maybe both. 

“We’re here,” Don boomed. 

“Thank goodness,” Maria said. “I need a bathroom break.” 

“One minute.” Don hopped out and came around to help Maria out of the bus. Noel jumped down and heard the crisp snow crunch under his boots, and the three men followed him. 

The pretty young man joined them. “Welcome to The Last Pine. I’m your host, Charlie Shepherd, and you’ve already met my right-hand man, Don.” 

Noel took one look at the tender expression shared between the two men and immediately wanted to run away. Right-hand man or partner? Now he had to face the Christmas break with a loved-up gay couple. Did life want to kick him in the balls another time today? 

“Mr. Garrett? Noel?” 

Noel blinked at the sound of his name and he realized Charlie was standing in front of him. “Yes?” 

“Do you want to come inside? It’s cold out here.”

They were the only ones left outside. Everyone else had gone in. Noel hadn’t noticed. 

“I should go home,” he blurted out. 

Charlie furrowed his brow. “Now?” 

Noel nodded mutely. He could go home, make nice with Adam, and everything would be fine. He could propose to Adam another time. Panic built inside him. He needed to leave. 

“Did Don tell you there’s a storm moving in?” Charlie spoke in a gentle tone, as though he were trying not to spook Noel. 

Noel nodded again. 

“You probably wouldn’t get a flight out before the storm. Why don’t you stay here for the night, and we can try to get you a flight tomorrow?” Before Noel had a chance to answer or run away, Charlie put an arm around him and guided him into the house. “Boots here.” Charlie pointed to a boot rack and then to a room off the hallway. “Wet gear in the mudroom to save the hardwood floors. You don’t want to know how much they charge me to polish them.” He winked conspiratorially. 

The panic gripping Noel eased a fraction with the inevitability of being stuck here until tomorrow. He couldn’t do anything now except take off his boots and coat and let Charlie lead him down the hallway to a corner room, pointing out other rooms as they went.

“Here’s your room. You booked the corner suite, yes? We’ll be meeting in the great room in ten minutes. There’s coffee and other drinks if you want.” Charlie handed him a key and smiled sweetly. “Ten minutes, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

Noel held the key and watched Charlie vanish down the hallway. Or he could just lock himself in his room for seven days and not come out.

Second Chance Christmas by Riley Knight

Prologue

Ryan 

The boy was nothing short of enormous. He towered over Ryan, tall and imposing, murder in his dull hazel eyes. Ryan wasn’t sure that was even an overstatement. He had been in danger before, certainly, had seen his blood dribbling onto the ground inches from his stunned, prone body, but this was the first time that he had wondered if this was how he would die. 

He had met more bullies than the average kid on his endless journey through the world. Once or twice a year, sometimes more, he was in a new city, surrounded by new people, in a new school. And in those new schools, some of the new people were invariably going to have a seeming obsession with rearranging his face’s features. 

This felt like something new. Over the mere two weeks that Ryan had been there, this particular bully seemed to have become obsessed with stalking Ryan. It seemed like he was always there, ready to trip Ryan or ram his massive body into Ryan’s much smaller one, or when he tired of subtleties like that, he was there with his fists flying, ready to smash into Ryan’s face. 

But this time, something seemed to be getting this kid going. His skin was blotchy red, his eyes glowing with temper, his fists balled up into tight little knots. Ryan could almost feel the rage emanating from him, and he didn’t have to know why this guy hated him so much to see that he did. 

There was a group gathering around him, but Ryan knew better than to count on them for safety. There was exactly one person that he could count on in the world, and that was himself. These people were just here to gawk, to keep him in if he tried to run, not that he had any intention of doing so. None of them would help him. Once he had thought that there was safety to be found in crowds, but not anymore. Not for years now. 

He was on his own, as he always had been, as he was starting to suspect that he always would be. 

“You’re dead, asshole,” the bully promised, and Ryan was briefly distracted by trying to figure out what his name even was. There had been so many of them. Was this Brett? Chad? He was pretty sure it was one of those, but then couldn’t it be Derrick? 

It was so hard to keep track. Different faces, different voices, but the same punches, the same bright red, searing pain. The same black eyes and swollen, bleeding lips for him.

Ryan didn’t reply. What was the point? He knew how this went. He had tried to talk his way out of this sort of thing before, but the truth was, it never made anything any better. Besides, the kid who couldn’t have been more than ten or so, the younger sister of one of the other high school students, no doubt, had gotten away. That was the most important thing. 

Instead, he glanced around again, scanning the schoolyard for anything he could use to defend himself. There was a garbage can, a little too close to the bully for Ryan’s comfort, but it would be a good shield if nothing else. If he could just get to it, he might have something like a chance. 

But the other boy was moving again, somewhat slow and lumbering, plodding toward Ryan. He was slow, but he was strong, and when he struck, Ryan knew that it would be like being hit by a truck or a tank. 

Still he moved, trying to maneuver the boy away from the garbage can so that Ryan could use his superior speed to snag it. But the space between the jeering spectators was just too small. This fight was almost over, and while Ryan would fight until he couldn’t anymore, the end result was little more than a foregone conclusion at this point. 

“See, Jim? He’s right there,” a piping little voice said, one too young to be a student at this high school. Ryan turned to look, and that was his fatal error, because the moment his attention was off the bully, that was when he charged. 

Why on earth had the girl gotten herself back into the line of fire? And who was Jim?

Those questions, or rather, the fact that he had turned away from the fight for just a split second to ponder them, should have been enough to spell the end very clearly for Ryan. But then, just as the bully should have slammed into him, everything changed. 

It was little more than a flurry of movement, from Ryan’s perspective, and then he found himself looking at broad shoulders and a strong back, long, wavy black hair flowing down to touch those incredible shoulders. 

This was no time to be appreciating aesthetics, but even so, Ryan couldn’t help but wonder what this newcomer would look like from the front. He was certainly impressive from behind, and even in such a dangerous situation, Ryan couldn’t help but notice the curve of his ass in his tight black jeans. 

“Back off, O’Connor,” the newcomer said, and Ryan blinked. He couldn’t quite figure out what was going on here. This was something new, something that he was completely unused to. He knew how this went, but the newcomer had changed the script now. 

“Oh yeah? Who’s gonna make me? You?” the bully sneered, who Ryan was now able to remember as Brett O’Connor. It was nice to put a name to the face. Or, more precisely, a fist. 

“You bet,” the new guy stated, completely calm, but Ryan was able to see how his back muscles tensed. He was ready to fight, even if Ryan didn’t understand why. This had never happened before.

“What’s it to you, White?” Brett snarled, and Ryan oddly found himself on the same page as the bully for once. Why would this guy jump in to help Ryan? They didn’t know each other; Ryan was sure of that. 

“The girl that he was protecting is my sister. So get out of here, or I’ll make you,” the newcomer replied, his voice calm but very clear and confident. There could be no doubt that he both meant what he said and that he could back his words up. The bully might be strong and massive, maybe even bigger than this new guy, but he had nothing to counter the calm courage of a big brother protecting his little sister. 

“Watch your back, Oliver,” Brett said, and Ryan only barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes. A lot of the threat had gone out of the encounter, and when the newcomer who had stepped in took just a half a step toward the bully, the boy, as enormous as he was, shot one defiant, yet terrified, look his way and scurried off. 

It was then that the new boy turned around, pushing his longish black hair back away from his face and looking at Ryan with a curious, hazel-eyed gaze. 

Ryan braced himself for the inevitable rejection. Once this unbelievably gorgeous young man laid eyes on him, there would be one of two reactions, and he wasn’t sure which one would be worse. It would be contempt, or it would be pity. Either way, Ryan was ready for it, instinctively braced as only a tiny, slender, frail young man who had always been pitied or viewed with contempt could be. 

Instead, he saw nothing more than a brief moment of surprise from the other boy, who looked to be a little bit older than him but who had a good eight inches on him and was seemingly twice as broad as he was. It was strange, the look of respect on the other boy’s face. Had anyone ever looked at Ryan like this before, much less anyone as utterly gorgeous as this particular boy was? 

And he was gorgeous. Maybe it was just the adrenaline of the encounter with the bully, but there was a flutter in Ryan’s stomach, and he found himself utterly unable to look away from those big, slightly almond-shaped hazel eyes. 

Wasn’t that a laugh? Someone like him lusting after the star quarterback of the football team? Now that they were face-to-face, it was impossible for Ryan not to know who he was. In the school’s social hierarchy, while Ryan was right at the very bottom, this boy was at the very top. If not for this encounter, Ryan was sure that he would never have even gotten this close to the guy. 

“I’m Jim,” he stated, offering his huge hand to Ryan. He took it, taking a very secret bit of pleasure from how his hand disappeared into Jim’s, how it was warm and slightly rough. 

“I know who you are,” Ryan admitted and then flushed. He sounded like a stalker, but Jim took it in stride and simply arched an eyebrow in an eloquent query that made Ryan realize he had yet to introduce himself. “Ryan Oliver,” he blurted out, squeezing Jim’s hand firmly and trying to give him no idea how attracted to him he was or how intimidated. 

“And this is Annie,” Jim said, shooting a fond smile over at the child who had initially been the target of the bully’s cruelty.

“Hi, Annie,” Ryan said, more at ease as he looked at her than he was when he was caught up in Jim’s gaze. She was a pretty child, with many of the same features as Jim himself, but she was about a million times less intimidating for some reason. 

“Hello,” she replied, half hiding behind her big brother but giving Ryan a shy little smile that he couldn’t help but find touchingly charming. 

There was a long moment of silence between them, and although Ryan didn’t know it at the time, it was going to change his life forever. In it, he and Jim and even little Annie became friends, linked together by bonds of friendship that would last for their entire lifetime. 

“Do you want to go grab some fries?” Jim suggested, and Ryan, who had just been waiting for Jim to make his excuses and take off, found himself grinning instead. 

“Yeah,” he breathed. “That sounds good.” 

Although he couldn’t have known it at the time, it was not the last time that he and Jim would hang out. Not even close.

 

Jim 

“Happy eighteenth birthday, man,” Jim said, unable to keep the smile from his face as he handed over the wrapped box to the man who had somehow become his best friend. As he gave him his present, Jim couldn’t help but notice that Ryan had grown taller. Now he was looking Jim right in the eye, and if he grew any more, he might be taller than him. He was still a beanpole, but it seemed like things were changing. 

His face was as adorable as it had ever been, though. Jim sometimes wished that Ryan could see what he looked like to Jim, how those big blue eyes could be amused, or fired with determination, kind or stern or both. How those full lips had more than once had Jim thinking about things that he was pretty sure he shouldn’t be. 

For some reason, those thoughts were even more in his head tonight than they had been yesterday—no mystery about that. Ryan was legally an adult now, and the truth was, while Jim would try to play it down even in his head, he had some very adult things that he would like to do with this man. 

Not that Ryan had ever given any sign of being interested in Jim or any man. One thing Jim knew about Ryan, he was deeply old-fashioned in ways that most people didn’t understand. Sometimes it felt like Ryan was straight out of the past, which was honestly sort of a relief to Jim. Surrounded as he had been for his whole high school career by people who were only interested in football, sex, drugs, and drinking, it was nice to be with someone who cared about other things, like being a good person, for instance. 

And Ryan was a good person. Even if he was judgmental as hell, he held himself and others up to impossible standards, and the incredible thing was that Ryan managed to keep himself up to those standards. Even Jim found himself being a better person as a direct result of being around Ryan. 

On the other hand, Jim didn’t even know how Ryan would respond if he knew that Jim had fantasized about kissing him more than once. That Jim had messed around with some of the other guys on the team. How would he handle his best friend being bisexual? Especially since, more and more, Jim was starting to suspect that he wasn’t nearly as into girls as he was into guys? 

Ryan’s mother was a nice woman, and Jim genuinely liked her, but she was also the most staunchly conservative person Jim had ever met. As a single mother, she had imprinted a lot of that onto her son, and Jim couldn’t even begin to imagine what she would say if she knew even half of how Jim felt about Ryan. She would probably ban him from the house. 

It had always been easier, safer, better for their friendship if Jim stayed silent and let their relationship be about that friendship. And now, well, nothing had changed. Ryan was legal now, but he was still the same person. 

“Thanks, Jimmy,” Ryan murmured, the only person in the world who could get away with calling Jim that. Even his parents couldn’t do that. From Ryan, though, he found that he sort of liked it. 

Ryan accepted the wrapped box, and Jim bit his lower lip as he looked at his best friend. His smile turned to a frown as he realized that there was no look of joyful anticipation on Ryan’s adorable face, that his blue eyes, usually so warm and friendly toward Jim, were remote and unfocused, looking at the present but not seeming to see it. 

“You’re a million miles away,” Jim said, reaching out and gripping Ryan’s shoulder. Even through his worry, he couldn’t help but notice that that shoulder was broader and more muscular than it had been even just six months ago. Taller and stronger. It looked like Ryan was in for a growth spurt, and it seemed likely that it was going to be an incredible one. 

Not that that was what mattered right now. 

What mattered was the way that Ryan’s fingers shredded the paper on the gift instead of properly unwrapping it, worrying at it with his face deeply preoccupied. His full, gorgeous lips were pulled down into a frown, and his eyebrows were tightly knit into an expression that said, clearer than any words could, just how distraught he was. 

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Ryan replied. He turned his full attention back to opening the present and even smiled when he saw the watch inside. “Wow, how did you afford this? It’s incredible.” 

Jim had saved up for months, knowing that such an old-fashioned gift would appeal to his friend, but that barely mattered now. There was a sort of pleasure in watching as Ryan slid it onto his wrist, but that was about it. 

“What’s going on, man?” Jim demanded. A sense of unease as sharp as a knife seemed to be lodged right under his sternum, making it hard to breathe properly. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

“I have to move to Iowa,” Ryan said, raising his gaze from the watch snugly encircling his wrist to look into Jim’s face. Jim had never seen him look that anguished before. The look on his face held so much pain that it took Jim a second to process the words. 

“What do you mean you have to move to Iowa?” Jim demanded, his heart clenching rock-hard and heavy in his chest. He knew that his friends on the team had never understood his friendship with this skinny, stubborn little man, and the friends he’d made in college weren’t much better about it, but he loved the hell out of this guy, and he had from the moment that Ryan, massively overmatched as he was, had stepped in to protect Annie. 

“It’s my mom,” Ryan explained, his voice calm and level, but distress written all over his face. His eyes were even suspiciously wet, and Jim knew that his best friend, as remarkable as it was, as strong as the guy was, was on the edge of tears. “She has to leave the army. The doctors say she’s got cancer and she wants to go home. We have family in Iowa who can help.” 

Jim didn’t even think. He just reached out, pulling Ryan into his arms. They didn’t hug much. Casual touches were fairly common, but Ryan could be surprisingly touchy about that sort of thing. Right now, though, Jim knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ryan needed to be hugged, and Ryan proved him right, immediately clinging to him as if his life depended on it. “I’ll come with you,” Jim offered, and once more, he didn’t even think about it. It was a purely instinctive response.

“You can’t. Annie isn’t finished with school yet, and you’re in college here,” Ryan pointed out. Jim swore softly under his breath as he clung tighter to Ryan, hating him for being right. His school, he could drop, but Annie depended on him. Was he going to leave her with their constantly drunk parents? Of course not. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” Jim admitted. It was scary for him to admit to that, but it was very true, and he thought that Ryan needed to know it. 

“You’re my best friend, Jimmy,” Ryan replied, reaching out to squeeze Jim’s shoulder in a way that he couldn’t help but find comforting. “You’ll never lose me.” 

That was a nice sentiment, but Jim found that he had a hard time believing it.

Merry Cherry Christmas by Keira Andrews

Chapter 1

Flat on his back—and not the way he wanted—Jeremy couldn’t breathe.

I’m going to die a virgin.

The campus pathway’s icy concrete was brutally unforgiving. Freezing-rain pellets peppered Jeremy’s face like Mother Nature opening fire with a machine gun. Falling had completely knocked the wind out of him, and he blinked up at the blur of a lamp post wound with holiday lights. Without his glasses, the starbursts of blue and white were massive in the darkness.

He could hear laughter and wondered if he’d said the virgin thing aloud. Male voices hooted and howled, and if Jeremy hadn’t managed to knock off his glasses when he’d flailed on the ice, he’d probably see the guys pointing at him too.

“Shit, bro, that was epic!”

“Wipeout!”

“Too bad we didn’t record it.”

“Stop being dicks.” A baritone cut through the laughter, coming close to Jeremy, a shadowy figure blocking the blurry light as the person leaned over him. “You okay, man? You went down hard.”

Jeremy’s lungs still didn’t want to work, and when he tried to answer, it came out as a gasping squeak. More laughter echoed in the frosty night. He needed his glasses but couldn’t seem to make his arm move to feel around for them on the treacherous pavement. His body had seized up, pain radiating from his back. He probably wasn’t going to die, but it hurt like hell. His face stung as more freezing rain pelted down.

“Did you hit your head?” the husky, concerned voice asked before snapping, “Guys, shut up already! It wasn’t that funny!”

“Dude, come on. Holiday Hootenanny waits for no one. If we miss the Santa and his little helpers strip show, I’m gonna be pissed. He’s fine. Right, buddy?” Another figure bent over Jeremy, and a fist punched his shoulder in a way that was probably supposed to be encouraging but just added to the throbbing pain. “Like a hard tackle. Knocks the piss outta ya, but you’re okay.” Then the hand was hauling Jeremy to his feet.

The deeper voice protested. “Stop! Seriously, he might have hit his head.” This guy’s hands were gentle, taking hold of Jeremy’s shoulders with comforting strength. Without Jeremy’s glasses, his rescuer’s face was still a blur even at arm’s length.

Jeremy forced a breath, although the cold air didn’t help his seized lungs. He rasped, “I think my head’s fine. Thanks.”

“You sure?” His rescuer still held Jeremy’s shoulders, his breath clouding in the cold air. “What’s your name?”

“Me?” Jeremy asked, because he was never not awkward AF. He flushed, but at least his pale cheeks were probably already pink from the cold. Like most redheads, his blushes could be seen from space.

The guy chuckled with another puff of warm breath. “Yeah, you. I’m Max. What’s your name?”

“Oh. Uh, Jeremy?”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

Someone else said, “Come on, this weather sucks. The kid’s fine. He’s standing and talking.”

“Considering how many concussions you’ve probably had, you should know that doesn’t mean shit,” Max said, his tone sounding like an eye-roll.

“I’m definitely Jeremy. Jeremy Rourke.”

“Okay, Jeremy Rourke. I guess I have no way of verifying unless I check your wallet. So, what day is it?”

“Friday?”

There was a frown in Max’s voice. “You don’t sound too sure about that either.”

“I’ve been studying for exams all week. It’s a blur. My last one’s on Wednesday. So yeah… It’s Friday.”

“Okay. What’s the date?”

“Uh…” Jeremy worked backward from the Wednesday exam date. “December thirteenth.” He groaned. “Friday the thirteenth—it figures. Really, I didn’t hit my head. I’m good. Thanks.” He shivered, his thin rain jacket not doing much to block the wind, jeans soaked from where he’d sprawled on the ground. The freezing rain whipped around them.

“Pimenta, let’s GO!” someone huffed. “Kid doesn’t need a babysitter.”

Ignoring his friends, Max prodded the back of Jeremy’s head. “Not tender at all?”

“Nope!” Oh lord, this Max guy was touching him. Jeremy kept his hair short and neat but barely resisted the urge to smooth it down on top in case it’d gotten messy in the fall. “I managed to keep my head up when I went down.”

Max leaned back, dropping his hands. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

There were five blurred figures around them on the pathway. “Can you just find my glasses?” Jeremy asked. “I can’t really see anything.”

“Totally,” Max said. “They must be—” The snap-crunch was sharp in the night, and everyone seemed to freeze. “Motherfucker,” Max breathed.

After a beat of silence, Max’s friends howled with laughter again, one of them wheezing and exclaiming, “Holy shit, dude. They are toast!”

Max barked at them to shut up as he crouched. He stood again. “Yeah, uh, I stepped on your glasses. The frame’s broken in half and the lenses are cracked. Well, one is cracked and the other is, like…”

“It’s trashed,” someone said.

Hot and cold all over, Jeremy ordered himself not to panic. How was he going to get across campus to his dorm room without his glasses? He blurted, “But I can’t see!” and cringed at the terror in his voice.

It hurt to breathe. Oh God, please let this be a bad dream. But he wasn’t waking up. He was out alone in the dark and might as well have been blindfolded. The U of T campus was huge, sprawling over dozens of blocks in downtown Toronto. The thought of trying to cross busy streets without being able to see made him sick to his stomach. Even in daylight, he would have felt horribly exposed and unsafe, but at night?

He reached blindly for Max’s arm, almost pleading, Don’t leave me! He managed to bite his tongue to keep from sounding even more pathetic.

Max seemed to hear the unspoken words. He took hold of Jeremy’s shoulders again. “It’s okay, Jeremy. I’ll help you get home.”

“Are we going to this party or what?” someone demanded. “This ice pellet bullshit is hurting my face.”

“I’ll meet you guys there,” Max said. “I broke his glasses. I’m not going to leave him out here alone.”

There was some grumbling, but also agreement. One voice said, “Hope your night gets way better, kid.”

“Hey, you should come to the party!” the guy who’d punched his shoulder said. “Get your contacts or whatever and come get hammered. I bet you could use a drink.”

Another added, “This is why you were captain of the team, Maxwell—taking the clueless little frosh under your wing. Always so responsible.”

Max huffed. “Whatever, Honey.”

Honey? Jeremy squinted, wishing he could see more of this other guy. Had he heard right? Had Max called him that? Maybe Jeremy had a concussion after all.

Another voice called as it got more distant, “We’ll chug a few beers for you, bro! Hurry up!”

Jeremy braced on the slippery sidewalk, his sneakers no match for the ice, the mix of snow and rain—practically hail now—not letting up. He said, “I’m sure I’ll be fine. You should go to your party,” although he desperately wanted this Max to stay with him.

“I’ll get you home first. Do you live in res?”

“Yeah, on St. George.” The adrenaline spike of losing his glasses seemed to be dulling the pain in his back, at least. “I’m really blind without my glasses. Sorry.”

“It’s cool. Honestly? I don’t really want to go to that party. My ex is going to be there. You okay to walk? This weather sucks ass. Guess they haven’t had a chance to salt the paths yet. Need to bust out my real winter boots.”

“Me too. Well, I need to buy some.”

“Yeah, those Chucks aren’t going to cut it.” With a gentle hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, Max guided him off the path. “Better to walk on the grass. More traction.”

It crunched under Jeremy’s sneakers, crusted with a thin layer of ice. Jeremy blinked at the old buildings rising around the grassy area. They were looming brown shapes, and the path’s streetlamps were big pinwheel sprays of light. The holiday decorations and lights just added to the confusion.

“Um, can you tell me when we get to a curb or anything?” Jeremy asked. “The world’s like the crappiest Monet painting ever without my glasses.”

Max laughed. “Gotcha. Blurry lily ponds and shit.”

“Yeah. I’m really near-sighted. My prescription’s minus-nine if that means anything to you.”

“Not really. What are most people?”

“Zero is good. Twenty-twenty, I guess. I read somewhere minus-three prescription is the average for people who wear glasses.”

“Whoa. You don’t wear contacts?”

“My eyes are too dry. Lucky me.”

“That sucks. You have a spare pair of glasses in your room, right?”

“My old ones. They’ll do for tonight.” He’d have to get the copy of his prescription and—

Jeremy tensed with the now familiar clench of hurt and dread. His mom had always handled that kind of stuff, but their most recent text exchange had been awkward at best, and his parents were the last people he wanted to deal with. That the feeling seemed to be mutual didn’t help. At all.

“You okay? You look like you’re gonna hurl. Shit, if you’ve got a concussion after all, we should get to the ER.” Max leaned closer, but he’d have to get six inches from Jeremy’s face for Jeremy to really see him, and he was still blurry.

“I’m good. Just thinking about my prescription. I’m not sure where it is. My mom’s probably got it.”

“Just tell her to take a pic with her phone.”

“Good idea.” Jeremy nodded, pushing away the thoughts of home and walking carefully on the crunchy grass that now looked faintly white. The wind gusted, the freezing rain morphing into snow.

“Why don’t you have boots? I’m assuming you’re a first-year. You’re not from here?”

“Victoria.”

“Oh, cool. I love BC. Vancouver Island is gorgeous.”

“Yeah, I guess so? We don’t get snow very often. Usually just rains. I had winter gear, but I outgrew it.”

“You definitely need boots in Toronto.” Max grasped Jeremy’s bare hand, the leather of his gloves cool and soft. “And you need gloves. Dude, you must be freezing!”

Jeremy’s heart went BOOM, and he hoped it was too dark to see his red face. Max had only held his hand for a second—and he hadn’t really held his hand—but it was a thrill. A sad, pathetic little thrill.

“Yeah, forgot to bring my gloves from home, and I’ve been meaning to go shopping. It was still mild and now all of a sudden winter’s here, I guess.”

“Take mine while we walk back.” Max pressed the leather into Jeremy’s hand.

“No, that’s not fair.”

“I’m used to the cold. Besides, I think you might be in shock a little, so put them on.” His tone was commanding but kind.

“Okay, but I’m fine.” Jeremy had to admit that it was a relief to slide his numb hands into the warm, fuzzy lining of the gloves. They were too big for him, so he clenched his fingers to stop them from falling off. “Thank you.” It was an even bigger relief to have someone taking charge. Taking care of him.

“No prob. Okay, we’re going to have to cross the street in a minute.”

The bursts of streetlights filled the dark sky as they came to the end of the grassy area. Cars zoomed by, headlights and red taillights huge, going fast despite the conditions. Jeremy stared down at the slick, blurry sidewalk, stepping gingerly. His sneakers didn’t grip the layer of ice at all, and he flailed and clutched at Max.

Max laughed good-naturedly. “I’ve got you.” He wrapped a big arm around Jeremy’s shoulders.

Jeremy’s breath stuttered, and not just because his ribs ached where he’d smacked the pavement. He was tucked against Max’s side, and Max was a good foot taller than him. And buff. And it was warm like a hug. Jeremy hadn’t been hugged in months, not since…

“Put your arm around my waist,” Max said.

“Okay.” Jeremy did, loving how that felt, to hold onto another guy like that. Like they were boyfriends or something. Another pathetic thrill ran down his bruised spine.

“We’ve got about ten feet, and then there’s a curb. I’ll tell you when.”

Max walked slowly, his steps careful. Jeremy couldn’t really see his feet but assumed Max was wearing something sturdier than sneakers since he seemed able to grip better than Jeremy could. They shuffled to the curb, where they stopped for the light.

“Thanks for this,” Jeremy said, blinking at the massive balls of light all around. He realized how much he took seeing the world in focus for granted. “It’s kind of scary when you can’t see.”

“Dude, I’d be shitting myself.” Max squeezed Jeremy’s shoulder where he held him securely. “Okay, we’re stepping down onto the road. It’s not salted yet either.”

They shuffled across, and Max guided him back up onto the curb on the other side. They continued along the sidewalk with arms around each other.

Do people think we’re boyfriends?

Despite everything, it was exciting. Which was cringey and probably why Jeremy had never actually had a boyfriend in real life. Because he was the biggest loser on campus.

“Do you know what your major’s going to be?” Max asked.

“Biochemistry.”

“Wow. You must be smart.”

“I guess?” He was, but he obviously wasn’t going to say that. “I’m really interested in gene expression and development.”

Max whistled. “That sounds very science-y.”

“That’s what they said in the brochure.” Jeremy was stupidly proud when Max chuckled at his weak joke. He asked, “What’s your major?”

“Sociology. I’ve always planned on law school. Assuming I didn’t blow the LSAT last month.”

Max’s voice had tightened, and Jeremy gave his waist an awkward pat. “I’m sure you did great.”

“Thanks. Still another few days for the results. Waiting’s the worst.”

“Totally. I—” Jeremy’s foot slipped, and he clung to Max, wheeling his left arm wildly. Max skidded, and they fought for balance.

“That was close,” Max said, a warm puff of his laughing breath brushing Jeremy’s cheek. “One more street to cross, right?”

Jeremy’s heart raced as he glanced around. “Um, I think so?” The precipitation was fully snow now, and the world was just shadowy buildings, blinding starburst lights, and white. He shuddered at the thought of navigating it alone. “Thanks for helping me.”

“It’s cool. There’s another curb coming up.”

They made it to the residence building, sudden wind slamming the outer door shut behind them, the glass rattling. They stamped their feet on the mat, and Jeremy tugged at Max’s gloves, which came off easily since they were so big.

He handed them back. “Thanks again. I’m sure I’ll be fine now.” He pulled out his wallet and held it close to his face, looking for his access card.

“Dude, you really can’t see, huh?”

He grimaced. “Nope. But I’m okay. I’ve taken up enough of your Friday night.”

“I’ve brought you this far. Don’t want you to take a header now that we’re in the home stretch. Besides, I’d rather wait until they salt before I go back out. If it’s cool to hang for a bit?”

Jeremy’s heart skipped. Hang? With him? “Of course.” He fished out the card, immediately dropped it, then finally buzzed them in. “I’m on the fourth floor.”

Max handled the elevator buttons. Under the glare of the fluorescent lights, Jeremy could see that he had medium brown skin and was indeed tall, which made sense the way he’d tucked Jeremy under his arm. The details of his features were still a blur under a blue and white hat—probably a U of T toque—and Jeremy was eager to see his rescuer in all his glory. When they reached his floor, he unlocked his door quickly, almost dropping the key card again.

Now he just needed to find his old glasses.

“Um, sorry for the mess.” His sheet and duvet were a rumpled pile on his bed, which he knew not because he could see them clearly, but because they always were. He’d never been one for making his bed, which his mom had always nagged him about.

The hurt was a swift throat punch, and he choked it down.

Max laughed. “Yeah, this isn’t a mess, trust me. Can I help find your glasses?”

“I just need to think about where I’d have put them.” He sighed. “I’m sure it was in a very logical, safe place.”

Max chuckled. “I’m sure. It’s not a big room. Do you even have a roommate? This side barely looks lived in.”

“Yeah, Doug. He’s from Hamilton and goes home every weekend to see his girlfriend. He’s only here Monday to Thursdays, and he’s gone already since his program doesn’t do December exams.”

“Lucky bastard.”

Did Max mean having a girlfriend or not having exams? Jeremy just murmured in agreement. “Oh! I think I know where they are.”

He pulled a plastic storage container out from under his twin bed and fumbled with unsnapping the lid. Practically sticking his head in the box, he went through the random contents—health coverage paperwork, a spare power cable for his laptop, double-A batteries for his mouse, condoms—

Swallowing an embarrassed yelp, Jeremy thrust the Trojan box—unopened—back into the bottom of the container, hoping he was blocking Max’s view. The thin throw rug on the floor didn’t do much to cushion his knees, and he rooted around with increasing frustration.

“They have to be in here!”

“It’s okay. We’ll find them.” Max sounded completely confident, and somehow it helped, even though he had no way of knowing if it was true.

Jeremy’s fingers closed around the hard leather case, and he pulled it out with a triumphant cry. Max applauded, and Jeremy had to laugh. He quickly opened the case, hinges creaking, and put on the wire-framed glasses.

His prescription had gotten worse, so the periodic table poster he’d tacked up over his bed was a little fuzzy. But old lenses were still a heck of a lot better than nothing. He looked behind him at Max.

Holy. Crap.

Max’s short, dark brown hair was wavy and a little longer on top, messy from wearing the woolen hat that sat beside him on Doug’s bed. He had rich brown eyes, full reddish lips, and a strong and stubbly jaw with a little cleft in the chin that Jeremy wanted to lick.

He’d taken off leather ankle boots and left them beside Jeremy’s sneakers, his coat hanging on the doorknob. There was a hole in the big toe of his red sock, and jeans clung to his muscular thighs, one knee up as he lounged on Doug’s bed, leaning back against the wall. The forest green of his thin sweater outlined trim arms and a narrow waist.

Max waved. “You can see me now?”

Could he ever. “Yep!” Jeremy shot to standing, stifling the burst of attraction before he humiliated himself with a boner. What was he going to do now? Max looked like he was staying for a bit—right, waiting out the weather.

Jeremy belatedly shrugged off his raincoat. His jeans were uncomfortably damp, but he wasn’t about to take them off in front of a guy he’d just met. Especially since the guy in question was all sprawled and threatening to make him hard. His socks squelched, so he peeled them off, dropping them with a wet slap by his shoes.

“Do you want a drink?” Jeremy opened the bar fridge in the corner. Doug had brought it and said Jeremy could use it as much as he wanted as long as there was always enough room for a six-pack.

“Sure.”

Jeremy squatted and pushed up his old glasses on his nose. It felt strangely familiar and foreign to wear them again, like trying on old clothes that didn’t quite fit. “There’s water and Moosehead and…milk.”

Max laughed. “Hey, calcium’s important, right? But I’ll take a beer.”

When Jeremy stood, he tried to hide a wince. He gave a bottle to Max and kept one for himself, making a mental note to replace Doug’s stash. He walked gingerly to his own bed and perched on the side. His pasty feet were bare, and he scrunched the thin rug with his toes.

“You sure you don’t need a doctor?” Max frowned as he twisted the cap off his bottle. His extended leg was so long—and the space between the beds so narrow—that Jeremy could have leaned forward and touched that exposed toe without hardly moving at all.

“My lower back’s sore, but I’ll ice it. My butt took most of the fall.”

“Be careful with your tailbone, though. If your ass is sore tomorrow, get it checked out.”

“Yep. Right.” Just talking about sore asses, as you do. No big deal. “Um, I’m sure it’s fine.” Jeremy gulped from his bottle and stared at Max’s toe peeking out through the red sock. Otherwise, he’d stare at Max and probably look like a total creeper.

There was an electronic ping, and Max took his phone from his pocket and groaned. “I’m definitely not going to that party. My ex is asking where I am. Like I owe him anything after he dumped me.”

Jeremy almost choked. He? Max’s ex was a he?

Max scoffed, muttering more to himself than Jeremy. “We only went out for, like, a month in September. It wasn’t serious at all. I’m too young for serious. And I was already thinking about ending it when he did, so.” He shrugged. He paused and read another message. “Now he’s acting like we had plans. What the actual fuck? No. Hell no.”

“Right. So you’re…”

Max tapped his phone. “Gay. Uh-huh.”

“Oh.” Jeremy’s head spun at the casual way Max said that. Fearless, like it was nothing.

Now Max frowned at him, still holding his phone. “What?”

“Nothing! I’m not—it’s totally okay with me. I just didn’t expect someone like you to be…” Like me.

Max arched a thick brow. “Someone like me?”

Oh God, Jeremy was screwing this up epically. This is why I don’t talk to people! He waved his hand. “You look like you’re the stereotypical captain of the football team. Or maybe soccer? Baseball? Hockey? Lacrosse? But I’m guessing football because you’re so big.” His face went hot.

Thankfully, Max laughed. “Yep, football team. The season’s over, and it’s not like we’re in the States. Not a ton of people at U of T care about football. We were two and six, so can’t blame them.”

“Right. It’s not a big deal like being captain of the hockey team.” He quickly added, “Not that it isn’t impressive! I’m not captain of anything.” Please shut up now.

Max chuckled. “It’s cool.”

Sweat prickled the back of Jeremy’s neck, and instead of shutting up, he said, “And that’s good that you’re, um, gay.” He got up and went to his desk in his corner of the room, suddenly unable to sit still although he was aching. He put down his beer and gulped from the tepid glass of water on his desk from earlier. “I mean, not good. Not that it’s bad!”

“Dude, relax. I’m not going to jump you.”

“I know!” Ugh, he didn’t want Max to think he was a homophobe. “Was one of those guys your boyfriend now?”

“Huh?” Max lifted his hips and slid his phone into his pocket. “Why would you say that?”

Jeremy tore his gaze from Max’s crotch. “You called one sweetheart or something.”

“What? We need to revisit the concussion discussion, because—oh! You mean Honey. He’s my roommate—we’ve got a basement apartment in the Annex. His real name’s Cedric, but way back during frosh week, he won a wing-eating contest. Downed fifty wings in a few minutes.”

Jeremy winced. “I feel sick just thinking about that.”

“He felt sick doing it.” Max grinned. “Hurled before he even got his dollar-store trophy. The sauce was honey garlic, and that morphed into the nickname. It’s normal to us, so I forget what it sounds like to other people.”

“Is he a football player too?”

“Yep, he was our quarterback. We’re all pretty tight.”

“And they don’t mind that you’re…” Jeremy’s heart kicked up. It was surreal to talk about it. It was surreal that he was talking to anyone! That this guy was in his room. That this gorgeous guy was like him. Aside from being a billion times more confident and good-looking. He was surely smart too if he was applying to law school. Like everyone else at school, Max seemed to have his shit together.

“That I’m queer? No, man. It’s not an issue. I’m sure there are still some ignorant assholes around, but you usually don’t have to worry about them here on campus or downtown. I’ve never had a problem.” He paused and gave Jeremy a knowing look. “If you’re nervous or curious or anything…”

Now Jeremy’s heart was pounding so hard he could hear it. “I’m not. I mean, I know I’m gay. I’m definitely gay. I’ve known for as long as I can remember. That’s not the hard part.” He forced himself to keep looking at Max. He’d actually said it out loud for the first time in months. The words floated in the air. In the world.

Max nodded. “Cool.”

Jeremy drained the water glass and fidgeted. There—he’d told someone at school. It wasn’t so bad. Even though he might throw up, he’d done it.

“You dating anyone? Having fun?”

He shook his head rapidly and opened his desk drawer to rearrange the paper clips.

“Why not? You’re really cute.”

Jeremy scoffed. “You’re just being nice.” He pushed paper clips around, his ears going hot. He could imagine how stark the freckles across his cheeks looked as he blushed. How ugly.

“So this is the part that’s a struggle?”

“Part of it, I guess.”

“Dude, you’re totally cute. Everyone loves redheads. Did you join the queer club on campus? You’d meet a ton of people. Are you nineteen?” At Jeremy’s nod, he said, “Hit the Church Street bars and hang out in the Village. Or there are plenty other queer spaces in the city. You don’t have to be nervous.”

Barking out a laugh, Jeremy closed the drawer with a thud. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. Being nervous is my usual state of being. I’ve only said it out loud twice now.”

Max’s brows drew together. “Wait, which part?”

“That I’m…you know. Gay.” He needed to get used to it already. He needed to stop cringing when he said it, waiting to be rejected. He needed to get his shit together like everyone else on campus. Everyone else in Toronto, it seemed like. The sidewalks and subways were crammed full of people rushing around, and they all seemed to know exactly where they were going.

Too restless to sit, he went to the window between the beds in the shoebox of a room and pulled back the curtain. “Still snowing.”

“I won’t stay too long, don’t worry.”

“No, I don’t mean that you should go!” Now he was being rude when Max had gone out of his way to help. When he’d been a hero. “Really.” Jeremy paced over to the desk to grab his beer before sitting on the side of his bed again, facing Max.

“Cool.” Max sipped his beer. “So you’re not out to many people yet?”

“Just my parents. I’m not allowed to tell my little brother yet, or anyone one else in the family. I think they’re hoping it’s a phase. Or they’re just completely ashamed of me. Or both.”

“Shit. That’s brutal. I’m sorry.”

Jeremy shrugged it off. “Anyway.” The last thing he wanted to do was burst into tears. “My roommate Doug knows. Although I never told him myself—we had to fill out these info forms with allergies and likes and dislikes. I wrote it on there.” He cleared his throat, putting on an announcer voice. ‘Hey, I’m Jeremy. I’m from the West Coast, I have a pineapple allergy, I always heat up cold pizza, and I’m really into dudes. Great to meet you.’ Maybe not those exact words.”

Max narrowed his gaze. “Wait, you heat up cold pizza? In the microwave or oven?”

Jeremy was relieved Max was letting the stuff about Jeremy’s parents drop. “Oven preferred, but microwave will do.”

“Whoa. I’m shook. Cold pizza left out all night in the box is basically a food group at my place. I don’t know if we can be friends.”

“Oh.” Friends? Was that on the table? Jeremy knew Max was joking, but the idea of becoming friends with this gorgeous, confident senior had apparently fried his brain. “Uh…”

Max shot him a wink, and Jesus, that cleft in his chin should be illegal. “I suppose I’ll allow the reheated pizza. So your roommate’s cool with you?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t seem to care. He’s chill. Comes in every week and goes to class and does his assignments. Then takes off home for three days. Perfect roommate, I guess.”

“Not so much when you’re trying to make friends.”

Jeremy shrugged. “That’s on me, though.”

“Hmm. And what’s the deal with your parents?”

He tried to shrug that off too. “It’s… It didn’t go great. Coming out, I mean.” Understatement of the year. The hurt swelled, so huge and terribly hollow at the same time. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Sorry. That’s rough.”

Nodding, Jeremy took another sip from the cold beer bottle. His fingers were wet with condensation, and he peeled at the green label.

“No high school friends out here?”

“Nope. Kara’s at McGill, and we said we’d totally get together since Montreal’s only a six-hour drive—not that I have a car, but there’s the train.” He sighed, trying for a careless smile. “We got busy, I guess. She has a new boyfriend. All my high school friends seem to be having an amazing time at university. Having a blast. Which is great! I’m really happy for them.”

“Sucks to lose touch though. Happened to me too. Is Kara your best friend?”

“Not really. I never had a best friend, even when I was little. The people I hung out with are scattered all over now and…moving on. I see them on Insta or wherever, but I have nothing to post myself.”

“You’ve got a whole city outside your door. I bet people would like to see your pics.”

“Maybe.” Jeremy groaned. “Talk about a pity party. I’ll shut up now.”

Max didn’t seem bothered. “Nah, it’s cool. So what’s the prob? You’re too nervous to make friends?”

“Dumb, I know. I’m living in downtown Toronto with a million people, and I can’t meet anyone.”

Max shifted on Doug’s bed, crossing his legs. His exposed toe still poked from its red sock. “I get it, man. The city can be really lonely. So many people around, but they’re strangers.”

“Yeah. But it’s not like I’ve never been to the city before. Victoria’s not huge, but I’ve taken the ferry over to Vancouver enough times. Toronto shouldn’t be so intimidating.”

“This place is a lot. University’s a lot. Leaving home’s a lot. Especially if it’s tense with your parents.”

Jeremy exhaled a long breath. He wasn’t sure how the captain of the football team could even begin to understand not fitting in, but somehow Max seemed to. “I got here just before frosh week, and I tried to have fun. Meet people and make friends. But after a couple of events, it was just…” He shook his head. “I kept thinking about home and my parents. My brother who I can’t even talk to besides emails to his monitored school account. He’s in grade seven, and our folks won’t let him have a cell yet. He actually sent me a postcard as part of a school project, but he’s busy being a kid.”

“Was the project on ancient communication?” Max nodded to the bulletin board nailed up over Jeremy’s desk. “Is that it?”

“Something like that, and yeah.” Jeremy went over and plucked the glossy postcard of the Rockies from the top corner. The only other thing he had tacked up was his class schedule, which was dumb because he’d memorized it by day two. He handed the postcard to Max.

“Wait, he calls you ‘Cherry’?” Max grinned. “And you thought ‘Honey’ was weird!”

“No, not weird!” I just thought he was your boyfriend, but apparently you don’t have one, which shouldn’t be as exciting as it is.

“I’m teasing.”

“Right. And yeah, Sean couldn’t say ‘Jeremy’ when he was little. Called me ‘Cherry,’ and with my hair, it stuck.”

Max smiled, reading the postcard, which was only a few lines saying that Sean missed him and would kick his butt at Super Mario when Jeremy came home. Jeremy had read the messy scrawl of words a hundred times. He wished he knew when exactly he would be going home. They hadn’t kicked him out, but…

“Must be fun to have a little brother.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy took the postcard and carefully tacked it back up before sitting across from Max again.

Max carefully said, “Must’ve been tough to leave him and come here and not know anyone and have drama with your folks on top of it.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy repeated. “Frosh Week was like torture trying to be social and smile when I just wanted to cry.”

Max’s brow creased, his mouth turning down in sympathy, and shit, Jeremy’s eyes burned. No. He would not cry now. He refused, forcing a laugh. “Man, this pity party is turning into a rager. You sure you wouldn’t rather brave icy sidewalks and your clingy ex?”

Max laughed softly. “I’m good. And I don’t blame you. That all sucks. Hard.”

The sympathy and kindness from this stranger made Jeremy’s throat tighten, but he breathed through it. No tears shed. “Thanks.”

“What about classes? There must be kids in your major you can get to know.”

“First year it’s all prereqs in these massive lecture halls. In September, I should have talked to people, but I was so…” He tore off a strip of wet beer label, not knowing the right word. Pathetic? Cowardly?

Raw. Breakable.

That felt too…real to say aloud. Instead, Jeremy said, “It seems so easy for everyone else. I just want to hide. Like… I don’t, but I do. You know?”

“Yeah. And don’t be too sure other people are doing so great. They might just be better at faking it.”

Jeremy smiled. “Maybe.”

“I’m telling you, all the confident people you see rushing around campus are probably just as fucked up as you are.”

“Not possible. I’ve made zero friends, I’m unloading all my trauma on a stranger who is being way too nice, I’m going to be alone for Christmas, and I’m definitely going to die a virgin.”

Oh fuck. That he’d said out loud. For sure this time. He flushed so hot his head spun and he tasted bile.

“Aww, buddy.” Max laughed, a deep, sexy rumble, but it wasn’t unkind. “You really are having a shit time of it.”

“I’m sorry. You’re not my therapist. I don’t even know you! I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. Ignore me.”

“And you’re not even drunk.” Max grinned—lord, the dimples. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“Definitely not. Can I blame this confessional on a concussion?”

“Absolutely.” But Max’s smile vanished, and he unfolded his big body, fluidly moving to kneel at Jeremy’s feet. He held up his index finger. “Follow this with your eyes.”

“I was kidding. I really didn’t hit my head.” Jeremy was very aware of Max’s other hand resting a few inches from his hip on the rumpled duvet. “I swear.”

“Humor me. Concussions are no joke. Honey kept playing once when he should have gone to the hospital.” He shuddered. “It was bad.”

So Jeremy submitted to Max’s experiments, finally standing and closing his eyes to test his balance. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze rested on Max’s Adam’s apple. A bristly five o’clock shadow was visible over his smooth brown skin, and Jeremy followed the shadow up over that chin cleft to Max’s full, smiling lips. Then he met brown eyes through lashes so thick that this close, Max looked like he was wearing eyeliner on his bottom lids.

Jeremy had never wanted to climb another person like a tree so much in his life.

“Did I pass?” he croaked.

Smiling, Max flopped back onto Doug’s bed and drained his beer. “You passed. Okay, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Studying.” Jeremy perched on the side of his bed again, running through the periodic table in his head to avoid a humiliating erection.

“Study in the morning, and then we’ll knock out our to-do list.” Max ticked off items on his long fingers. “One: get your glasses replaced. Two: new boots. There’s a good place on Queen West that usually has a sale going. Three: get you a winter coat and gloves and all that. We can hit Winners.”

For a moment, Jeremy could only stare. “You—you don’t have to do that. I can figure it out on my own.”

Max ignored him, tapping another finger. “Four: get you laid. We’ll go to the Village.”

Excitement and fear jackknifed through Jeremy. “What? Me? Tomorrow? That’s… Tomorrow?”

“Why wait?” Max asked it like it was a genuine question, as though he just did things all the time without analyzing them for days first. Weeks. Months. Years.

Max stood, and he had to be six-two. Jeremy was only five-seven, and Max towered over him—which was oddly pleasing. He’d liked being tucked under Max’s arm. Max grabbed his coat off the doorknob and fished something out of the pocket.

“I guess these aren’t much use now, but it seemed wrong to leave them murdered there on the sidewalk.” He deposited the twisted metal remains of Jeremy’s glasses on the desk. “Sorry I smoked them.”

“It was an accident. You’ve already done way more than most people would.”

Max shrugged. “’Tis the season for giving, remember? Think of it as an early present. Besides, I need a distraction from waiting for my LSAT scores. It’ll be fun. I’ll be your fairy godfather.”

Jeremy probably should have protested more, but his chest was strangely warm and tight. Max’s friend had said something about him taking frosh under his wing, so apparently this was a thing he did? It didn’t mean Jeremy was special—just that Max was generous.

“I’ll get my glass slippers ready,” Jeremy joked, but his smile faded. “Thank you. Really.”

“Sure.” Max pulled out his phone. “Give me your number.” Jeremy did, and then Max was gone with a wave.

Jeremy honestly might have thought the whole thing had been a figment of his lonely mind, but the blue-and-white toque sat forgotten on Doug’s bed. Letting his dick get hard freely—which took about three seconds—Jeremy picked up the hat by its fluffy pom-pom. The wool had a soft fleece lining, and he buried his face inside, inhaling deeply.

It smelled like any hat would—stuffy fabric and dried sweat and a hint of coconut, maybe? Probably from Max’s shampoo. If Jeremy pressed his face to Max’s actual head, dipping his nose into that tousle of almost-curls, would the coconut fill his senses?

Jeremy carefully folded the hat into his coat pocket so he wouldn’t forget it tomorrow. Tomorrow, when he’d see Max again. When he actually had plans to hang with someone. And not just anyone. Max had spent time with him and listened to him and seemed like he really gave a shit.

Even if Max was just being nice to the pathetic frosh virgin, Jeremy couldn’t deny that it felt really, really good to have someone look after him. To have someone care enough to give up their Saturday to hang with him. It was the best Christmas present he could hope for, even if it was only for a day.

⁣⁣⁣Clare London

Clare London took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fueled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant.

She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters.

All the details and free fiction are available at her website. Visit her today and say hello!

Drew Marvin Frayne

Drew Marvin Frayne is the pen name of a long-time author (Lambda Literary Award finalist) who is finally taking the opportunity to indulge his more sentimental and romantic side. When not writing the author lives with his husband of 20+ years and their dog of 10+ years in a brick home in the Northeast.

Sue Brown

Sue is a cranky, middle-aged, bi author with a hard-core addiction for coffee, and a passion for romancing two guys. She loves her kids, her dog and coffee; the order depending on the time of day.

Riley Knight
Riley Knight is an avid reader and has always had a soft spot for gay romances. What could be better than a sweet story between two beautiful men who need each other? It only seemed logical for Riley to write these steamy, emotional romances, focusing on an emotional and happy ending.

When not reading or writing, Riley can be found wandering the landscape and loves to go for long walks and observe all sorts of people and situations.

Keira Andrews
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.”

Clare London

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Drew Marvin Frayne

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Sue Brown

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Riley Knight

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Keira Andrews

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EMAIL: keira.andrews@gmail.com

Goldilocks and the Bear by Clare London

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Peter Cratchit's Christmas Carol by Drew Marvin Frayne

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Last Place in the Chalet by Sue Brown

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Second Chance Christmas by Riley Knight

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Merry Cherry Christmas by Keira Andrews

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