Summary:
Christmas is coming… but Alex is running away.
Panicked by the prospect of spending Christmas with his boyfriend’s disapproving parents, Alex flees to the old houseboat in the Norfolk Broads his uncle left him. But when a freak snowstorm traps him there, Alex soon realises he’s not the only heartbroken lover haunting the shores of Halsham Broad.
Two hundred years ago, drummer boy Jack Sadler drowned skating over thin ice to meet his lover. Now, whenever the Broad freezes over, he returns and brings a curse with him.
And every night Alex spends trapped in the icebound boat, he hears the beat of a distant drum draw closer…
OMG!!!! Nothing says Christmas like a good old fashioned ghost story and Amy Rae Durreson definitely has a doozy of a one with A Distant Drum. I stumbled onto it by accident and I am so glad I did!
I won't say too much because I don't want to give anything away, this is definitely one story you have to experience yourself to fully appreciate the creepified factor. Snow and ice storms can be spooky enough(believe me I know I'm a lifelong resident of Wisconsin) but throw in a little history, doomed lovers, and you have a recipe for a very scary Merry Christmas😉 The details the author adds to the distant drums from the title, well let me just say I swear I could hear every beat, every scrape, every chill in the air.
So if you love holiday romance but are looking for something different, a little grit to your Christmas cookies than Amy Rae Durreson's A Distant Drum is right up your alley.
RATING:
Summary:
M/M Fairy Tale Romance
A shivering runaway twink, stumbling through the snowy night in a panic. A lonely Daddy bear who needs a boy. Will they find each other before it’s too late?
In the Kingdom Mountain theme park, a young kitchen worker dreams of being a boy to a Daddy who loves him, but the evil CEO has other plans for Lyle.
Gruff is built like a bear and with the heart of a Daddy. But as the youngest and smallest of seven gay brothers who live together in the Kingdom Mountain forest, the chances of finding a boy of his own are slim.
Lost in the woods as night falls, Lyle is getting colder by the minute. Will he be saved by the Daddy bear just waiting for a boy like him?
Snow White is part of the MM Fairy Tale Romance series. All books are completely standalone and are modern retellings of classic fairy tales with a gay romance twist.
Summary:
The Hollydale Omegas #10
The first rule of business is that you don’t mix it with pleasure. But if you do get involved with your business partner? Try not to knock him up… it goofs up the dividends.
Tired of the playboy lifestyle, Gabe Smythe is ready for change. To start his new life, he’s come to Hollydale with one goal—to reunite with his long-lost brother, Rafe. Along the way, if he happens to meet a sweet omega who’d make a nice little homemaker, even better!
Cody Harper isn’t looking to settle down, and he’s definitely not ever tying himself to anyone. Casual sex and friends with extra-special benefits? Sure! Romance and relationships? Nope. Not gonna happen—especially not with Gabe, his sexy business partner at Nut Juices, the hot new smoothie shop they run together with the help of their quirky employee, Tofer.
Can their friendship and partnership survive an accidental pregnancy? As Cody and Gabe laugh their way from partners… to friends with bennies… to co-parents, they’ll discover that life isn’t always black and white, and sometimes a little compromise comes in handy.
Return to the world of Hollydale with a quirky, holiday romance full of all the fluffy feels and sweet heat that you’d expect from a Hollydale story. This is the tenth book of The Hollydale Omegas series but is absolutely able to be read as a standalone. This is a 34k novel and definitely contains an HEA. 18+ readers only please! And yes, this book contains M/PREG, adults adulting in sexy grown-up ways, and way more than an occasional use of potty mouth language.
Summary:
Hamish Kenneally is moving from Australia to the US for a fresh start, starting with Christmas at his sister’s place in Idaho. When a snowstorm diverts his plane to Montana and leaves him stranded two days before Christmas, he hires a car and drives right into a blizzard.
Ren Brooks has always called Hartbridge, Montana, and his family hardware store, home. After a few failed attempts at love, he’s resigned to being single forever—after all, no guy wants to stay in his sleepy little town for long. And after his dad’s passing earlier in the year, Ren’s Christmas is looking bleak. But when a car runs off the road in front of his property, Ren pulls the driver out and takes him home to get out of the cold.
With the storm and the holidays leaving Hamish with nowhere else to go, Ren kindly offers a place to stay. Hamish is certain he’s crashed right into a Hallmark Christmas movie, despite more car delays and road closures and the prospect of not seeing his sister for Christmas. And with help from Hamish, Ren is beginning to feel a little Christmas cheer.
These two unlikely strangers have more in common than they first realise, and after two days of Christmas decorations, cookies, and non-stop conversation, it looks like Christmas might be saved after all.
Summary:
A Love for the Holidays charity novel
Jason Walker is a child star turned teen heartthrob turned reluctant B-movie regular who’s sick of his failing career. So he gives up Hollywood for northern Idaho, far away from the press, the drama of LA, and the best friend he’s secretly been in love with for years.
There’s only one problem with his new life: a strange young man only he can see is haunting his guesthouse. Except Benjamin Ward isn’t a ghost. He’s a man caught out of time, trapped since the Civil War in a magical prison where he can only watch the lives of those around him. He’s also sweet, funny, and cute as hell, with an affinity for cheesy ’80s TV shows. And he’s thrilled to finally have someone to talk to.
But Jason quickly discovers that spending all his time with a man nobody else can see or hear isn’t without its problems—especially when the tabloids find him again and make him front-page news. The local sheriff thinks he’s on drugs, and his best friend thinks he’s crazy. But Jason knows he hasn’t lost his mind. Too bad he can’t say the same thing about his heart.
Twenty percent of the proceeds from this title will be donated to the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender (GLBT) National Help Center.
Founded in 1996, the GLBT National Help Center is a non-profit organization that provides vital peer-support, community connections and resource information to people with questions regarding sexual orientation and/or gender identity. Utilizing a diverse group of GLBT volunteers, they operate two national hotlines, the GLBT National Hotline and the GLBT National Youth Talkline, as well as private, volunteer one-to-one online chat, that help both youth and adults with coming-out issues, safer-sex information, school bullying, family concerns, relationship problems and a lot more.
To learn more about this charity or to donate directly, please visit their website.
Original Audiobook Review December 2020:
Jason Walker is a child star turned teen heartthrob turned reluctant B-movie regular who’s sick of his failing career. So he gives up Hollywood for northern Idaho, far away from the press, the drama of LA, and the best friend he’s secretly been in love with for years.
There’s only one problem with his new life: a strange young man only he can see is haunting his guesthouse. Except Benjamin Ward isn’t a ghost. He’s a man caught out of time, trapped since the Civil War in a magical prison where he can only watch the lives of those around him. He’s also sweet, funny, and cute as hell, with an affinity for cheesy ’80s TV shows. And he’s thrilled to finally have someone to talk to.
But Jason quickly discovers that spending all his time with a man nobody else can see or hear isn’t without its problems—especially when the tabloids find him again and make him front-page news. The local sheriff thinks he’s on drugs, and his best friend thinks he’s crazy. But Jason knows he hasn’t lost his mind. Too bad he can’t say the same thing about his heart.
* * * * * * *
Twenty percent of the proceeds from this title will be donated to the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender (GLBT) National Help Center.
Founded in 1996, the GLBT National Help Center is a non-profit organization that provides vital peer-support, community connections and resource information to people with questions regarding sexual orientation and/or gender identity. Utilizing a diverse group of GLBT volunteers, they operate two national hotlines, the GLBT National Hotline and the GLBT National Youth Talkline, as well as private, volunteer one-to-one online chat, that help both youth and adults with coming-out issues, safer-sex information, school bullying, family concerns, relationship problems and a lot more.
To learn more about this charity or to donate directly, please visit their website.
I'm not going to say that I forgot the ins and outs of this story because I didn't, how can one forget something really quite unique as I mentioned in the my original review? Nor did I forget how much I loved it, but it has been 5 years since I read it so even though the adrenaline rush I get from a first read wasn't there, Marie Sexton's words and Nick J Russo's narration had me enthralled almost as much as my original visit to Winter Oranges. I won't say anymore because though this is an older story, I'm sure there are those who have yet to find it and I don't want to spoil it for them. I will say that now that I have found it in audiobook form, it certainly won't be another 5 years before I follow Jason and Ben's journey. Definitely a win-win from beginning to end and whether you enjoy holiday stories or not, if you like an intriguing and reasonably unique tale of paranormal elements then Marie Sexton's Winter Oranges is not to be missed.
Original Review October 2015:
Such a unique idea. I've read stories where a building is haunted or a spirit is attached to an object and exists in the home it comes into but to live in the snowglobe and can only be so far from it was intriguing. Jason and Ben quickly burrowed it's way into my heart and it'll definitely be in my re-reading pile. Winter Oranges may be a Christmas story but it fits perfectly onto my paranormal shelf too.
RATING:
Amy Rae Durreson
Sue Brown
Susi Hawke
NR Walker
N.R. Walker is an Australian author, who loves her genre of gay romance. She loves writing and spends far too much time doing it, but wouldn't have it any other way.
Marie Sexton
Marie Sexton lives in Colorado. She’s a fan of just about anything that involves muscular young men piling on top of each other. In particular, she loves the Denver Broncos and enjoys going to the games with her husband. Her imaginary friends often tag along. Marie has one daughter, two cats, and one dog, all of whom seem bent on destroying what remains of her sanity. She loves them anyway.
Such a unique idea. I've read stories where a building is haunted or a spirit is attached to an object and exists in the home it comes into but to live in the snowglobe and can only be so far from it was intriguing. Jason and Ben quickly burrowed it's way into my heart and it'll definitely be in my re-reading pile. Winter Oranges may be a Christmas story but it fits perfectly onto my paranormal shelf too.
RATING:
A Distant Drum by Amy Rae Durreson
1. Thursday Night
The houseboat door was stiff, the wood a little swollen with the damp and the lock hard to see in the grey winter twilight. I eventually managed to shove it open and step inside, navigating the steps down from the deck more from memory than anything else. It was cold inside, and dark, and I dropped my backpack hastily and fumbled across the well—three steps forward and a shuffle left before my knees bumped the wall, and I realised that I’d been shorter last time I came here.
The houseboat door was stiff, the wood a little swollen with the damp and the lock hard to see in the grey winter twilight. I eventually managed to shove it open and step inside, navigating the steps down from the deck more from memory than anything else. It was cold inside, and dark, and I dropped my backpack hastily and fumbled across the well—three steps forward and a shuffle left before my knees bumped the wall, and I realised that I’d been shorter last time I came here.
It still smelt the same—petrol, wood polish, and under it all the cool, faintly salty bite of the water below. Did it smell like this in summer, when the tourists came to rent it out, or was it only in winter that the old scent of the place came rising out of the woodwork? I half-expected to catch a hint of over-brewed tea, or Gabe’s roll ups.
My eyes were adjusting to the light now, and I hadn’t been far off—the mains switch was right in front of me. I reached up and flicked it on. The fridge began to hum in the galley, something groaned and stuttered in the hull, and a red light came on somewhere high on the wall of the saloon which opened from the well. I leaned back and hit the light switch by the door on the second attempt.
The saloon didn’t look the same. It was a hell of a lot cleaner than it had been when Gabe lived here, for a start. It was probably weird to feel nostalgic for overflowing ashtrays, dog-eared paperbacks, and tea-stained mugs, but I did.
Ah, fuck it, I might as well come out and admit it was Gabe I missed, the old git, and now I could spend the whole of Christmas weeping into the lining of my coat.
Partly because I wasn’t going to take said coat off until I’d got the heating going. Back when Gabe had lived here, there had been a single crappy plug-in heater which ate electricity like Gabe went through a bag of Tetley’s, but I’d signed off on the installation of a proper furnace last year, on the advice of the rental company. It would extend the season at either end, they had told me, and I’d been both too busy with work and aching from the loss of the last family member who liked me. I hadn’t wanted to deal with anything about the boat myself.
She’s got a name, numpty, Gabe grumbled in my memory. She’s a lady, and even a lad with no taste for the lasses can show her some respect.
The rental company had given her some twee name in line with their company policy—Halsham Dancer, I thought, or maybe, Halsham Dreamer. I’d never been able to keep it fixed in my head. To me she was, and would always be, Lovely Lily.
I said now, slipping back into childhood habits, “Hey, Lily, milady, help me out. Where’s your heating switch?”
The wind sighed through the reeds along the side of the creek. An owl called, long and eerie. Somewhere out in the darkness, on another boat or, more likely, in a passing car, someone had their music on loud enough that I could just hear the beat, even out here in the darkness.
I sighed and went back to get my bag. If I could get a phone signal, I could check the emails about the installation and find out where—
There was a leather folder sitting on the low bench beside my bag. Embossed letters on the front read Guest Information.
It had probably been there before. It had been dark when I’d come in, and I hadn’t been looking for it. All the same, I remembered all the stories Gabe had told me when I was a kid, and ducked my head, muttering, “Thanks, Lil.”
The switch was in the kitchen. While the boat slowly heated, I stashed the groceries I’d brought with me in the fridge—nothing but beer and service station sandwiches, in proper Gabe style—and wandered through the rest of the not-quite-familiar rooms. It was all very clean and charming, but it felt a little too sanitised to be the Lily. There was even a plaque on the wall outlining her history in an antique font—from her wherrying days on the Thames in the 1930s to her presence at Dunkirk to a mastless retirement here on the edges of Halsham Broad. Most of it was new to me, and I patted her wall fondly, feeling an odd swell of pride in the old girl. “Gabe always said you were an old trouper. Guess he was right.”
As the air warmed, I began to feel more at home. I’d never been here in the winter—even Gabe had been reluctantly dragged away to endure a family Christmas, but I’d been released to Gabe’s care every Easter and for a week every summer. I could still remember the relief of that train ride, each rattle of the tracks drawing me farther away from the boy my parents wanted me to be, until I exploded off the train at Norwich to hurl myself at Gabe and his dog—first Frodo, then Galadriel, and last of all Elrond, all of them smelly, shaggy, and of thoroughly mixed lineage, none of them allowed to visit the London-dwelling parts of the family.
It was only now that I wondered what favours Gabe had traded to get those weeks.
The darkness was different at this time of year. There was none of that lingering light that clung to a summer’s night even when the sun was down, or even the fresh vastness of a starry April night. In December, the darkness felt heavy, clustering close around her windows. I filled the kettle, put it on to boil, and then went back outside, drawn by that absolute darkness.
The air tasted so crisp and cold it stung my mouth. Looking out where I knew there was water, I could see nothing but the black depth of night. To the north, where the village of Halsham clustered around the marina, a couple of lights showed, but it was hard to tell how far away they were. Farther to the south-east, I could just see faint glimmers from the coastal village of Gorsey. The moon was the barest thin crescent, offering no light. Under my feet, the deck was already slick with frost and I couldn’t hear or feel the usual sway of the water beneath the Lily. Had the broad frozen?
The owl cried out again and I could hear that faint beat of music stripped of all its grace by distance.
I wasn’t expecting the sudden shrill of my phone, and jumped enough that I almost went skidding across the deck. I’d left it inside and rushed to get it despite the sudden clench of guilt in my gut. I should have known a hasty text message wouldn’t have been enough, and I’d been relying on the fact that I’d never known a signal at Halsham Broad before to put off what was going to be a monumental reckoning.
“Hey,” I said, closing my eyes.
“So you are alive then?” Nik snapped. “I’ve been trying to contact you for the last two hours.”
“Didn’t you get my text?”
Nik took a long breath and then let it out in one furious huff. “Yes, I got your fucking text. But for your information, needed some time—back in the New Year does not actually tell me anything useful. Like, for example, where the hell you are!”
“I’m fine.”
“Fine is not a place in England.”
“I’m sure it’s a place somewhere, though. I mean, there’s Finland and Finchley, which are both close.” I could usually get a laugh out of Nik if I babbled enough, and I didn’t want to fight. Nik wasn’t stupid. He knew why I wasn’t there.
He didn’t laugh. “Are you in Finland or Finchley?”
“No.”
He grated out, “So, where the fuck are you?”
“I’m—”
“Because you should be here, packing your bags to go to my parents for Christmas.”
“Your parents hate me.”
“Oh, for fuck’s—” He stopped himself and said, “My parents do not hate you.”
“They absolutely hate me. They think I seduced you away from being their good little heterosexual Catholic son.”
“Hate to break it to you, darling, but you were hardly my first.”
“Yeah, but I was the first one they met, right? And it was a disaster.”
“Not that much of a—”
“Disaster,” I emphasised.
Snow Twink by Sue Brown
Chapter One
Lyle
Exhausted and cold beyond endurance, Lyle longed to lay down and sleep in the snow, but he knew if he did, he’d never wake up. He had to keep going. Somewhere there had to be a shelter; a hut or a cave where he could rest until morning. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking. It felt like hours.
He didn’t even know how he’d ended up in this forest. Lyle was sure he’d never been here before. He’d never left Kingdom Mountain theme park since the day he was delivered to its door and discovered the hell that lay beyond the wrought iron gates.
He felt as if he were in a fog. He tried to remember, but as soon as he pinpointed one memory, everything became fuzzy. He’d woken up in the dorm and started work in the kitchen as usual, and after that was a blank. He’d suddenly become aware he was stumbling through a forest of pine trees, freezing cold, his mouth dry. And it had only gotten worse, visibility diminishing with each passing step. When had it gotten dark?
As he grew up, he’d stared at the trees beyond the gates, longing to be free to walk in the forests, but to wake up not knowing where he was or what he was doing here…Lyle was more scared than he’d ever been in his eighteen-year-old life.
“Happy eighteenth birthday, Lyle. Today is the day you’re going to die.”
His voice broke the silence, but it didn’t provide any comfort. For so long he’d heard nothing but the harshness of each breath and felt the burning pain of the cold air in his lungs.
He cried out as he sank deeper into the snow and stumbled, falling flat on his face. He wasn’t dressed for hiking in snowy terrain. He wore a thin red and yellow jacket that was too big for him, and the battered sneakers that he usually wore for work in the vast kitchens of the theme park. His pants were soaked to the knees from sinking into the snow, and he’d stopped feeling his feet a long while back.
“Please help me, Daddy.”
His words, almost fevered, broke the silence again. No one answered him and he sobbed. He didn’t have a Daddy, no matter how hard he prayed, and now he was going to die out here unless a miracle happened. But miracles only happened to good boys. And Lyle had spent his whole life being told he was bad.
He swayed, this time falling against a tree, his cheek scraping painfully against the icy bark. When he fell to his knees, he let himself fall all the way until he was face down in the snow. He stayed down, too stunned to move. Maybe he’d just rest here a while and catch his breath.
Gruff
The fresh snowfall had made traversing the forest harder than usual, and Gruff was ready to go home. Hunting had been poor, and he was thankful for the meat already in the freezer. He couldn’t stay too long out here. Darkness was falling, and it was already getting harder to see in the dense forest. If he wasn’t careful his brothers would be sending a search party out for him. Despite the fact he knew the forest like the back of his hand, his brothers always worried about him. That was the joy of being the youngest and smallest of seven. Gruff was always going to be the baby. Small was relative term as he was six foot three, with broad shoulders and a massive chest, but PJ was nearly seven feet tall. All the Brenner boys were built on the farside of huge.
Seven boys, all unmarried and still living in the family home, managing the family’s Christmas tree farm. They knew the townsfolk talked about them, but by now they ignored it. Folk had learned to be polite to their faces and gossip behind their backs since Damien, the oldest brother, took out Chester Mayfield’s teeth when he’d laughed about one of Damien’s siblings.
The girls had long since quit trying to throw themselves at any of them. Handsome as they were, the Brenner boys didn’t look at girls that way. Everyone knew the Brenner boys were all gay. The women of the town gossiped about how their dear mother must be turning in her grave, and the men opined that their father should have taken a strap to them. The brothers ignored them all. Their wonderful parents had loved them dearly, and the brothers had mourned them hard when a man had liquored up and got behind the wheel of his car. He’d died in the blazing wreck along with their parents.
Gruff was the youngest at twenty-eight, Damien the oldest at forty, and they still lived together. They were all gay, but there was an added complication, which was why they were unattached.
Seven gay Daddies living in a house. That was some complication.
Gruff was happy to be close to home and dreaming of his dinner when something at the base of a tree caught his eye. He squinted, trying to work out what it was. In the middle of the forest, the only colors were the pure-white of the snow and the deep browns and greens of the trees. He didn’t expect to see anything red or yellow glinting through the gloom. Heading in the direction of the tree, he was sinking into the snow with every step. Whatever it was, it didn’t belong out here, and he didn’t want an animal to try to eat it by mistake.
As he got closer, he saw that that it was bigger than he expected, and his heart sank, knowing immediately what it was. They were deep in his family’s land. No one would have ventured here by mistake. Gruff braced himself for what he might find. He’d found people in the woods before, frozen to death, miles from help, although never one so close to their home. The forest wasn’t a place for the unwary or unprepared. He loved it here, but then he and his brothers had been born on the mountain. They knew what they were doing.
Gruff knelt beside the body, snow already covering the thin red and yellow jacket. Five minutes later and he might not have spotted it. He studied the damp, dark curls and briefest glimpse of pale skin, then rolled the body over gently, and his breath caught.
Gruff sat back on his heels. “Oh, you’re barely more than a boy. How did you end up here?”
The dark hair, his face the color of the snow and his lips blue, and an abrasion marring the perfection of his left cheek. The poor boy. How had he gotten trapped up here? The nearest trail was miles away. Usually Gruff left the bodies after snapping a photo and notifying the sheriff’s department. But with this pretty one, his heart sank at the idea of leaving him here at the mercy of the predators. Gruff didn’t question too closely his motives for taking the little one back with him. He was beyond help now. It just didn’t seem right to leave him.
“Why were you here all alone, little snow twink?”
He scooped the body up and put it over his shoulder. Despite the fact the boy could be no taller than five foot eight, he was a dead weight. Gruff wasn’t surprised he’d not seen the boy on the way out. The forest was huge, and he’d only spotted him this time by chance. If only he’d found him sooner. How long had the boy been here before succumbing to the cold? Gruff was just thankful in these temperatures, death would have been quick. Small mercies.
It was dark by the time he got home, as it took longer with the additional weight, and he sank to his knees many times. He was relieved when his family’s large log cabin eventually came into view. Where would he put the boy to make him safe from the predators? He didn’t want to attract stray bears and wolves, and neither did he want a dead body in the home. He could just imagine what his brothers would say about that.
As he approached the cabin, the door burst open and a pile of men, all of them bellowing at the top of their considerable voices, rushed toward him. They were huge and bearded, and all had their father’s deep blue eyes.
“Where the hell have you been?” Damien, his eldest brother, snapped.
“We were about to send out a search party,” Brad groused.
Gruff tuned out the rest of the complaints. As the youngest of seven brothers he was used to doing that.
“That doesn’t look like something we can eat,” Jake said, nodding at the body over Gruff’s shoulder. He was two years older than Gruff and the next one in line.
“Found him under a tree,” Gruff said.
PJ, the middle brother and built like a small tank, folded his arms across his chest. “Why did you bring the body here? It’s only going to attract predators.”
“He’s young,” Gruff said. “It didn’t seem right to leave him there alone.”
He knelt and laid the body on the ground, gentle even though he knew the boy was beyond caring.
“Jesus,” Harry said. He had a shock of bright red hair and when he was being an ass the family called him the prince, because he’d been named after some prince in England who’d been born the same day. “He’s a babe.”
Gruff looked down at him. “He’s a boy.”
Not really a boy when he looked closer, a man. A very young man. Gruff’s heart ached for what he could have been. The potential, lost with one unwary step off the trail. Was a family hurting somewhere, missing their son? Did they even know he was missing yet? He was glad he wasn’t going to have to be the one to deliver that news.
“We’ll put him in the barn with the tools. We can lock that until the sheriff can collect him,” Alec said. He was number five and always practical.
He went to pick up the body, but Gruff stopped him.
“I’ll do it.”
He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want anyone else touching him.
As he knelt in the snow, Gruff looked at the boy’s face. He blinked and looked closer. He swore he saw a puff of breath coming out of the boy’s mouth.
“Hurry up, Gruff. It’s freezing out here,” Brad complained.
Gruff looked closer. It was difficult to see in the darkness, but he was sure he saw the boy’s lips twitch. “He’s alive.”
“What?”
The brothers hustled around him. He paid no attention to them, used to their constant jostling. He picked the boy up, feeling the pull in his shoulders at the dead weight. “We need to get him inside now.”
His brothers parted like the waves to let him through with his precious bundle. The warmth of the cabin hit him like a blast as he walked in. He hesitated, unsure what to do with the boy.
“Put him on the kitchen table,” Harry said.
Gruff grunted in agreement, then headed for the enormous pine kitchen table where they had all their family meals, and laid the boy down gently. His hair looked almost black, as snow and ice melted into little puddles and ran off the table onto the floor.
“We need to get these wet clothes off and get him warmed up,” Brad said.
Gruff looked up to see Brad and Harry with him. “Can you get blankets?”
Harry shook his head. “Skin to skin will be best. Take him to your bedroom and get into bed with him.”
Gruff stared at him. “What?”
“Body warmth is what he needs,” Harry repeated.
“I can’t hug a man,” Gruff stammered, his cheeks heating up.
“You’re gay. You’ve hugged guys before.”
“What if he’s not gay? It’s not like I can ask him for consent.”
“Then apologize to him when he’s not dead,” Harry snapped. “For now, he needs to get warm. If you don’t want to do it, then one of us can.”
“No!” The word erupted out of Gruff’s mouth before he thought about it. “I’ll do it.”
The boy was his! No one else could touch him. No one!
He realized he was growling, and he had to take a deep breath to get himself under control.
“Okay then, little brother,” Harry said mildly, his tone totally belied by his huge smirk. “Get naked and warm him up.”
PJ came in with blankets. Gruff told the three brothers to get out. They saluted him and left. He ignored them all, his attention focused on saving the boy. His boy. He carefully peeled off the wet jacket to reveal a sodden, thin, pale green, long-sleeved t-shirt which clung to his skin. He stripped that off too. The boy’s smooth chest was almost blue with cold, and he was thin, his ribs showing, as if he never got enough to eat. Gruff covered the top half of him with a blanket and pulled off his sneakers and pants. He hesitated at the briefs, but they were just as wet.
“Get it together,” he growled to himself and drew them down the slender legs covered with fine dark hair.
He wrapped the boy up. Not an easy thing to do as the boy was still lax and floppy. Gruff held him close and left the kitchen. Harry had waited for him; the rest of his brothers had disappeared.
Gruff blushed again at Harry’s curious expression, but he said, “Do you think we can save him?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said. “But now he’s got a chance, thanks to you.”
Gruff shivered at the thought he might have missed the boy. He’d only been out so late because he’d been tracking hoof prints.
Harry clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You did good, baby brother. I’ll come in and check on him when you’re settled and bring you something hot to drink. Not for him, mind. He shouldn’t be drinking anything hot just yet.”
Gruff was touched by Harry’s thoughtfulness. In his bedroom, he tugged back the bedclothes and laid his precious burden on the bed. He quickly stripped off down to his boxers, which were dry, then he got into bed, unwrapped the blankets from the boy, and pulled the sheet and comforter over them.
“Skin to skin,” he muttered and drew the boy into his arms.
Gruff was huge and the boy half his size. Still, it was like hugging a body-length ice-block. The boy was so cold. Gruff could feel his own body heat leeching away. He should have dried the boy’s hair. Rivulets of ice-water ran onto Gruff’s chest, making him shiver.
Harry poked his head around the door. “Done? Good. I’ll bring you soup.”
“And a towel,” Gruff said. “I need to dry his hair.”
“Be right back.”
Gruff relaxed as much as he could. How long would he have to lie here? As far as he knew, this was a first for the brothers. They’d never found anyone still living before.
Harry returned with a huge mug of home-made vegetable soup and a towel. He handed the towel to Gruff and put the soup on the nightstand.
Gruff tried to dry the boy’s hair but it was awkward to hold him and rub his hair at the same time.
“Here, let me,” Harry said and reached for the towel.
Gruff couldn't help the growl that seemed to roll up from his chest. He knew intellectually Harry only wanted to help him, but the idea of anyone touching the boy apart from him filled his head with rage.
Harry's eyes went wide, and he stepped back, his hands held up in surrender. "Okay, okay, little brother. He's all yours, I get that. But you can't hold him and dry his hair thoroughly. Let me rub his hair with the towel and dab his cheek with antiseptic, and then I'll leave you alone."
Gruff gave a curt nod, and Harry approached cautiously with the towel. He did exactly as he said. Rubbing the boy's head until it was tousled but at least partially dry and not leaking cold rivers onto Gruff’s chest.
Gruff sipped at his soup, appreciating the warmth while Harry did his thing. But finally he wanted to be left alone, so he took the towel out of Harry's hands. "He's fine now. Clean his cheek and leave."
Harry gave him a ‘you’re being ridiculous’ look, but Gruff didn't care. It was his time to look after the young twink. Harry dabbed at the boy’s cheek with an antiseptic wipe, then picked up the wet clothes and left, closing the door behind him. Gruff expelled a sigh of relief,. then looked down at the boy. His eyes were still closed, his lashes fanned out on his pale cheeks.
Would he survive? He had to, surely. Gruff wasn't sure who he was praying to as he begged them to keep the boy alive. He would give all his body warmth for the young man. Gruff finished the soup and lay back down on the bed, the boy’s head on his chest, body draped over Gruff’s. He was thin for sure, but Gruff noticed defined muscle tone, as if he did manual work but never got enough to eat.
Where had the boy come from? Gruff had found bodies on the mountain before. They usually turned out to be walkers who’d lost their way and ended up miles from the trails. But generally, they were at least dressed for hiking. This boy had been wearing a thin jacket and sneakers. The chances of him getting there by mistake was very slim. Had someone tried to kill him? Had he been drugged?
“Who did this to you, my snow twink?”
Gruff’s heart ached for the young man and he resolved not to let him out of sight, because he was a Daddy and, somehow, he’d found a boy who needed his help.
Nutmeg Spiced Omega by Susi Hawke
Chapter 1
Gabe
I smiled wistfully as I pulled up in front of my brother’s large country manor. So many wasted years. Rafe and I had been strangers longer than we’d ever truly been brothers, but I was ready for that to change. Two decades of jet-setting around the globe had worn me out, especially after losing my mom a while back. I took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. I had no idea what kind of reception I was going to get, but hopefully, Rafe wouldn’t slam the door in my face.
Grinning to myself as I skirted around a bike that had been left lying on its side near the front walk, I took care not to destroy a chalk hopscotch pattern that had been perfectly outlined on the walkway. Yes, it was more than evident that children lived here.
Stepping onto the elegant welcome mat, I took a deep breath and straightened my tie before ringing the bell. I held my breath, trying to ignore my racing heart as I waited for someone to answer the door. I was just about to ring the bell again when the knob turned and the door opened. Blinking up at me through thick-rimmed glasses was the kind-looking omega I remembered as being my brother-in-law. His mouth fell open as he immediately recognized me. I held out my hand. “Hello again, Milo. Is my brother home?”
“Wow… What are you doing here?” He paused and shook his head while taking my hand and quickly shaking it. “I’m sorry, I’m just… wow. It’s a shock to see you after all these years.” Milo blushed as if embarrassed to have pointed out the lengthy absence since the last time he’d see me. “I mean, there isn’t a wedding or a funeral right now so I suppose I’m just surprised to see you on my doorstep. But please, come in. Forgive me, I’m so shocked that I’m being rude.”
“Not at all,” I chuckled with a breath of relief as I walked inside. “You make a good point, it’s not right that I’m not a part of your and my brother’s lives. I’m here to change that, if Rafe will allow it.”
“If Rafe will allow what?” My brother came walking down the stairs, pausing briefly when he spotted me then continuing on as if it were no big deal. “Ah. Greetings, Gabriel, was I expecting you? I haven’t missed word of a family wedding or funeral, have I?”
I dipped my head slightly as I acknowledged his greeting. “Hello to you too, big brother. Don’t worry, I’m not offended by the lack of a warm welcome. And I won’t even try to justify myself by saying that the phone works both ways when I’ve been habitually difficult to reach.”
Rafe stepped forward and regarded me silently for a moment before holding his hand out to shake mine, as though we were merely acquaintances. “Touché, Gabriel. At any rate, welcome to our home. I suppose it’s good to see that you are alive and well. Why don’t you join me for a cup of tea while you tell me what brings you to Hollydale.?”
“Honey, you and your brother go on out to the patio, I’ll put a tea tray together and be right out,” Milo offered with a quick smile.
Rafe bent to kiss his husband’s cheek. “Thank you, baby. You might want to tell the kids their uncle is here. I’m not sure how long Gabriel will be around and I’m sure they’d love to see him.”
“Actually,” I smiled nervously, afraid that my brother would shoot me down before hearing me out. “I was hoping that maybe I could stay with you for an extended visit.” I turned my brother-in-law and held up a hand. “Unless of course you’re not set up for unexpected guests, in that case perhaps you could point me toward the nearest hotel?”
Milo’s shy smile widened. “Are you kidding me? Have you seen the size of this house? Please. We have plenty of space and would love it if you’d stay for a nice, long visit.” He turned to Rafe and shooed him toward a set of French doors at the opposite end of the dining room we were facing. “Take your brother out to the patio; I’ll be right along with the tea.”
Rafe was silent as he led me through a formal dining area and outside to a charming little patio area. There was an abundance of plants and greenery out here, and a casual feel that told me this was where the family spent their downtime. Wisteria vines climbed and wrapped around the support pillars and the eastern side of the patio had been walled off with a long trellis that simply dripped with fragrant flowers. Rafe motioned for me to take a seat at a large, round table that stood off to one side.
Taking my seat, I was quiet while I got my bearings. Sitting there silently, I looked around the yard, smiling at the sight of a faded, well-worn playhouse that sat across from a large, redwood play structure. Looking at the twisty slide, jungle gym, and swings, I wondered how many afternoons had been spent with Rafe sitting in this lovely spot and enjoying the sight of his children at play. After a moment, I realized that my brother was watching me as closely as I’ve been inspecting his yard.
When I looked up, Rafe frowned slightly as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop for a moment. Finally, Rafe leaned back in his chair and voiced his thoughts. “Why are you really here, Gabriel? Surely you haven’t run through your trust fund, right? Forgive me if I sound callous, but I can’t imagine what a playboy like you could possibly find of interest here in Hollydale. Cut the bullshit and level with me—what do you really want?”
“What do I really want,” I repeated thoughtfully. Rafe stared me down with a lifted brow until I shrugged and caved. “I want what you have, and I figure it should be easy enough to get it for myself, right? I want to find an omega, stick a ring on it, and presto change-o, I’m a family man like you. It shouldn’t be too hard, right? And while I’m waiting to find my omega, I thought that maybe you and I could pick up where we left off and finally be brothers again.”
“I’m sorry, Gabriel. It’s not that easy, and honestly? I just don’t know you. While you’ve spent your life chasing the next party and blowing through money like it’s water, I was busy building a family and a future. I’m not trying to be a jerk, I just don’t see what we have in common other than genetics.”
Tic-Tac-Mistletoe by NR Walker
A totally catastrophic, unmitigated disaster.
What is a totally catastrophic, unmitigated disaster, you might ask?
Let me break it down for you real quick.
My life, my relationship, my job, my plans, my future, and this whole damn trip.
So, basically me.
Me.
I am the totally catastrophic unmitigated disaster.
Hamish Kenneally, thirty-one-year-old Australian, who quit his shitty job and sold his shitty apartment and left behind his shitty life in Sydney, packed his said-shitty life into two suitcases, and boarded a plane to spend Christmas with his sister in God-knows-where, Idaho, USA.
Well, Christmas first. Then two years, at least, in America trying to unshitify his life.
And if the trip to said God-knows-where, Idaho, was any indication of just how spectacularly extra-shitified my life was going to get, I should have turned around and stayed right where I was.
Because if the flight from Sydney to LA was bad, which it was, then the second flight, LA to Spokane, made the first flight look like a joy ride.
Because I didn’t get to Spokane, did I?
Oh no, of course I didn’t.
Because you see, Christmastime in America is in winter. Which is weird enough for this Australian. Christmas should be hot summer days at the beach, seafood and salads, beers and watching the bronzed surfers and drunk foreigners at Bondi. That is what Christmas should be.
None of this “sorry folks; to avoid flying into a massive snow blizzard, we’re being diverted to Missoula, Montana” crap the captain of the plane said when we were halfway there. Like the screaming baby in the seat next to me, or the vomiting lady in the row in front of me weren’t bad enough. Like we had any choice about which direction we were flying into.
I had no choice. I was now going to Montana. In a freaking blizzard, of all things. Ever been on a plane that flew into a snowstorm? There is zero joy in that kind of turbulence, believe me. It would also explain the screaming baby and the vomiting woman. And the man behind me saying Hail Mary’s . . . which you’d think might be comforting. But oh boy, is it ever not. Especially when he yelled the prayer every time we hit a particularly large pothole in the sky on the descent. Honestly, if this flight was a scene in a movie, you’d think it was too ridiculous to be real.
After the plane landed—to which I would have clapped and cheered like everyone else if I wasn’t stuck in the brace position after trying to kiss my own arse goodbye—we were kicked off the plane without so much as a good luck in the wrong bloody state.
So there I was, a clueless Aussie, after flying for twenty hellish-hours and now a few hundred kilometres from where I was supposed to be, trying to wrangle two overweight suitcases down the concourse, when one little wheel on my suitcase broke.
Because of course it did.
Frazzled and trying not to cry— Yes, cry. A thirty-one-year-old man can cry; shove your toxic masculinity in your cakehole and stop judging me. I was having a jetlag-fuelled shitastic day meltdown, trying to keep my shit together the best I could, and clearly not doing it very well. I was allowed a little saltwater leakage.
Anyway, getting back to my story. I tried to call my sister.
No signal.
Because of course there’s not.
So, taking a deep breath and willing myself not to spiral, I found my car rental kiosk. Finally, something is going right. “I have a car booked,” I said, trying to keep my now-broken suitcase upright with my foot while rifling through my backpack for my booking confirmation and driver’s licence. After dropping my passport and half the contents from my backpack all over the floor, then scrambling to collect it all while still trying to keep my suitcase upright, I handed everything over with a flourish of triumph. “Oh, that flight was the worst,” I said, sagging onto the counter. I was about to tell her all about my day from the ninth circle of hell when she looked up at me with that look.
You know the one.
The look of superficial appeasement before they cut you off at the knees. “I’m sorry, sir. But I don’t have a reservation under your name.”
I stared at her. My brain short-circuited and the will to live left my body. It was an actual out-of-body experience, I’m sure of it. I could see myself staring at her, mouth gaping like I’d been lobotomised.
Because of course they didn’t have my booking.
Why would they? My rental car was waiting for me in Spokane. In Washington. Not in freaking Montana.
“Oh,” I whispered, and my left eye twitched. “That’s nice.” I looked around the airport, at the line of annoyed people behind me. “Excellent. I’ve seen that movie where Tom Hanks lives in an airport. It wasn’t so bad. Could be worse. Could’ve been the one where he’s stuck on the island, I guess. Though I didn’t pack a volleyball, so that would’ve sucked.”
She blinked and tap-tap-tapped away at her keyboard. “But sir, we’ve had a lot of cancelled flights today because of the weather. I can arrange a vehicle for you, if you’d like?”
Oh, my sweet baby Jesus in a manger, why didn’t she lead with that?
Winter Oranges by Marie Sexton
Chapter One
It was easy to believe the house was haunted. After acting for most of his life, Jason Walker’s first thought upon seeing the home he’d purchased virtually sight unseen was that it would have been a perfect place to film an Amityville remake.
A little far from Amity, but hey, Hollywood had never been a stickler for rules.
Or honesty.
Jason put his car in park and killed the engine. Gravel crunched as his friend Dylan’s rental car rolled to a stop next to him. They climbed out of their vehicles and stood side by side, leaning against Jason’s front bumper, staring up at his new abode.
Dylan whistled, long and low, then shook his head. “This place is creepy as hell.”
“It’s just the light.” Even a washed-up actor like Jason knew lighting could make or break a scene. The pictures he’d seen online of the house had been taken in full sunlight in October, with the majestic glory of autumn on all sides, the gold- and scarlet-leaved trees nearer the house backed by the evergreens of the surrounding forest. But now, only a week into November, the eerie orange glow of twilight fell on bare branches, and the pines seemed droopy and forlorn. None of it was doing this house any favors.
Still, Dylan had a point. The house was creepy. Something about the lone, low window over the second floor’s covered patio. Something about the house’s quiet isolation, and the thin white curtains hanging uniformly in every window. Or maybe it was the detached garage with its guesthouse on top, sitting like a forgotten toy off to the left.
“How old is it?” Dylan asked.
“It was built in the ’90s.”
“The 1890s?” Dylan was incredulous. The idea of spending money on anything so old was obviously beyond his comprehension.
“No. The 1990s.”
“It looks older.”
“It’s supposed to.” His real estate agent, Sydney Bell, had called the house an American foursquare revival. Jason didn’t know what that meant and didn’t care. The price was right, the house was fully furnished, and its relative seclusion in the mountainous region of Idaho’s panhandle would make it harder for tabloid photographers to find him.
“They intentionally made it look old?” Dylan asked, as if it was the most absurd thing he’d heard all day.
“They copied an older style of architecture.”
“Huh.” Dylan scratched his chin and threw Jason a smart-assed grin. “Retro. Like you.”
Jason laughed, because that’s what Dylan expected. “Fuck you.” He pushed off the bumper of his car, rattling his keys in his hand. “Let’s see what it’s like inside.”
The second story extended out over the first like an overbite, creating a covered front porch that ran the length of the house. “A veranda,” Sydney had called it. The front door opened into a hallway, although Jason suspected Sydney would have said it was a foyer. Or maybe a vestibule. To the right lay a large living room, furnished in what could only be called cozy-grandma style, with lots of flowers and overstuffed cushions. A stack of moving boxes stood in the center of the floor, having been left there the previous day by the moving company, working under Sydney’s direction. To the left of the foyer sat the dining room, through which they could see the kitchen. Jason knew a mudroom and pantry made up the back half of the area. Directly ahead of where they stood by the front door, a bathroom and the staircase leading up completed the ground floor.
No ghosts, though. Not so far, at least.
“Who the hell picked out that couch?” Dylan asked.
“The previous owner, I guess.” In truth, Jason hadn’t cared much what the furniture looked like. Sydney had promised him it was all in decent condition. Jason was just happy he didn’t have to go wandering around town searching for a damn table to eat at, or a chair to sit in while he watched TV. He’d had Sydney stock the kitchen with a few essentials too, assuring he wouldn’t have to go grocery shopping for a few days at least. The last thing he needed was for somebody in Coeur d’Alene to discover the child star turned B-list actor known to the public as Jadon Walker Buttermore had moved in to their small community. The longer he remained anonymous, the better.
Dylan scowled at the couch as if it had personally offended him. Knowing Dylan and his neo-minimalist style, it probably had. “It’s like something my grandma would have bought.”
Jason laughed. “What? You have something against giant pink roses?”
“On a couch? Yeah, I do. And so should you.”
Jason sat down on the sofa and leaned back. He searched with his left hand and found the lever to extend the footrest. He reclined the backrest and smiled up at Dylan. “It’s not bad, actually.”
“You should have let me furnish it for you.”
“Yeah, right.” Jason sat upright again, shoving the footrest closed with his heels. “I’d have ended up with one designer chair that cost more than my car. And it wouldn’t even have been comfortable.”
Dylan’s laugh was sudden and loud in the confines of the quiet house. “Boy, you don’t think much of me, do you?”
That wasn’t true. That wasn’t true at all, and he suspected Dylan knew it, but Dylan always did this to him, asking questions that seemed to dare Jason to blurt out how he really felt. Jason chose to ignore most of them, this one included. “Come on. Let’s check out the rest.”
Although the house was more than twenty years old, the kitchen had been updated and included all new chrome appliances and a trash compactor that Sydney swore was top-of-the-line and quiet as a whisper. Jason didn’t bother to test the claim.
The second floor held a tiny bathroom and four bedrooms, one in each corner, which Jason supposed was what gave the foursquare its name. A stairway led to a long, slope-ceilinged attic bedroom. At the far end, the single narrow window Jason had noticed upon arrival allowed a bit of light to creep inside. It was a sad, empty room, and they didn’t linger.
“Whoever lived here sure did love flowers,” Dylan said as they scoped out the first couple of bedrooms on the second floor. “Wallpaper, bedspreads, pictures. Even the rug in the bathroom has roses on it. And they’re all pink.”
“It could be worse.”
“How?”
“Uh . . .” Jason stopped, considering. “I’m not sure, to be honest.”
They ended their tour, by some unspoken agreement, in the master bedroom. It was the one room Jason’d had refurnished before his arrival. He’d chosen the furniture himself—online, of course—and Sydney had made sure everything would be ready when he arrived. His new room held a large oak dresser, a chest of drawers, and a love seat, which he knew would end up a depository for not-quite-dirty laundry. A king-sized bed covered with a thick down comforter sat against the wall, between two nightstands.
Dylan pointed to the glass-paned door in the corner of the room. “This goes to that patio we could see from the front yard?”
“It does.”
The two front bedrooms shared a covered porch that sat dead center of the front of the house, directly below the attic window. It was a strange setup, a throwback to when husbands and wives had separate quarters. The porch would have allowed them to cross to each other’s room without alerting the children, except this house had been built at the end of the twentieth century, making the floor plan an anachronism.
Dylan opened the door, and Jason followed him outside. They still wore their jackets, but now the sun had set and the November evening felt cooler than before.
“There’s a room over the garage too?” Dylan asked.
“Yep, bed and bath.” They stood surveying the building in question from their vantage point on the porch. It was eerily silent.
“Well, is it everything you dreamed?”
Yes. Standing there with Dylan, out of sight of everybody else in the world was exactly what he dreamed about, nearly every night.
Not that he’d ever admit it out loud.
Instead, Jason nodded, then asked, as casually as he could, “You’re staying the night, right?”
Dylan grinned and stepped closer to slide his arm around Jason’s waist. “I didn’t come all this way to see your house.”
Jason’s relief felt almost tangible, so sudden and strong he wondered if Dylan sensed it. He hoped not. He hoped the darkness hid his pathetic happiness at knowing Dylan was staying. They’d been friends for more than ten years. They’d shared a bed more times than Jason could count. Dylan may have suspected Jason’s true feelings, but Jason did his best to never confirm them, especially since Dylan avoided genuine emotions and commitment the way Jason avoided anybody with a press badge hanging around their neck.
Still, Jason rejoiced as Dylan pulled him close. He sank gratefully into the warmth of Dylan’s kiss, comfortable in his friend’s arms. He grew breathless as Dylan began fighting with the buttons of Jason’s jeans.
“Let’s do it here,” Dylan whispered.
Jason glanced around in alarm, searching for the telltale wink of light reflecting off a camera lens. “Somebody will see.”
“There’s nobody around. That’s why we’re in the wilds of Idaho, remember?”
Jason’s protests dwindled as Dylan sank to his knees, pulling Jason’s pants halfway down his hips as he did. He traced his tongue up Jason’s erection. “God, Jase. It’s been too long.”
“I know.” Way too long since he’d had Dylan to himself. Too many lonely nights since he’d felt Dylan’s touch. He’d been in love with his friend for longer than he cared to admit, but this was the first time in months they’d been alone together. Still, he was hesitant to do anything out in the open. “Dylan, wait. I—” His words died as Dylan wrapped his lips around Jason’s glans. “Oh God.”
Dylan sucked him in deep, stalling for moment with his nose pressed against Jason’s pubic bone. Then, finally, he began to move, sliding his warm mouth up and down Jason’s length. Jason gripped the cold porch railing with one hand, tangled the fingers of the other into Dylan’s heavily moussed hair, and tried to lose himself to the pleasure of being sucked by the man he loved. He breathed deep, willing the tension away. Doing his best to banish the pressure of trying to make it in Hollywood and failing, of never living up to what was expected. He tried to forget it all. To simply revel in the pure joy of being with Dylan here and now, knowing they had one full night together, just the two of them. No other struggling actors or desperate starlets. No two-bit directors or double-crossing producers. And above all, no media waiting to catch them with their pants down.
Literally.
But as good as it was being with Dylan, the real world always intruded. His house was set back half an acre from the road, but anybody who came up the drive would be able to see them. The No Trespassing signs wouldn’t mean a thing to a photographer hoping for a scoop.
Jason moaned—part pleasure, part disappointment that even now he couldn’t relax—and opened his eyes. He kept his hand on Dylan’s head as he surveyed the tree line, his chest tight with anxiety at what he might find.
But the grounds around the house—his house, he had to remind himself—were dark and still and silent. Nobody lingered there.
Yes, this could really happen. Jason almost laughed at the realization. He imagined being fucked by Dylan right there on the porch. The thought thrilled him, and his throaty moan made Dylan speed up, his ministrations gaining a new urgency as he sucked Jason’s cock. In the low light on the porch, Jason could barely make out the movement of Dylan’s hand between his legs as he stroked himself.
Did they have any lube handy? Or condoms?
Fuck it. Just this for now. I’ll let him suck me here, where only the moon can see. We’ll have time for the rest later.
He surveyed the yard again, his eyes half-closed, his breath quick and labored as his orgasm neared. He peered past their parked cars. Found the garage. Followed its lines up toward the second-story guesthouse and its single window—
“Holy shit!” Jason jumped back, away from the porch railing, away from Dylan, trying to clumsily pull his pants up and hide himself against the wall.
“What the hell, Jase?” Dylan’s voice was low and hoarse.
“There was somebody—” But there wasn’t. Jason swore he’d seen a face in the window of the apartment over the garage, but now it stood empty except for the unmoving curtains. Jason swallowed hard, willing his heart to stop pounding. He pointed with a shaking hand toward the garage. “I thought I saw somebody in the guesthouse.”
“I’ve never met anybody as paranoid as you.” Dylan pushed himself up from his knees, his pants still hanging open, his erect cock sticking into the night air like some kind of ridiculous talisman. “Not that it isn’t justified, but . . .” He gestured to the empty lawn. “There’s nobody there.”
“I thought I saw—”
“What? A photographer?”
Jason shook his head, holding his pants closed around his waning erection, trying to sort through his thoughts. Had he imagined it? “It was a man.”
“Did he have a camera?”
The question took him aback. “No,” he said, almost surprised at his own answer. He’d seen only a face. Not even a full face, to be honest. Only the pale suggestion of eyes and a chin, and lips held in a comical O of surprise.
But now, the window was empty. The curtains weren’t even swaying. The room over the garage was pitch dark.
“Do you want me to go check?” Dylan asked with the accommodating condescension of a father offering to check for monsters under his teenage daughter’s bed.
“No.” Jason took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, feigning a bravado he didn’t feel. “You’re right. There’s nobody there. I must have been seeing things.”
Dylan grinned and moved closer, wrapping his arms around him. “You need to relax, JayWalk.”
It was the press’s nickname for Jason. He hated it, although it didn’t sound quite so ridiculous when Dylan said it. “I’m trying.”
“You want a drink?”
“That won’t help.”
“Some weed?” He kissed Jason’s neck, pushing his erection insistently against him. “Poppers? A Valium? I have some in my bag. Tell me what you need, baby, and I’ll get it. You know that. Anything for you.”
Anything.
As long as it was only for tonight.
Anything he needed, but only until morning.
“Let’s go inside,” Jason said. “I have a brand-new bed in there, you know.”
Dylan’s laugh was throaty and gratifying. “Then let’s go break it in.”
Jason followed him inside, glancing once toward the guesthouse over the garage.
Nobody there.
***
Jason woke to birds chirping happily outside the window. Sunlight was streaming through the thin white curtains, making the entire room feel like a midmorning dream. Dylan slept next to him, his bare back rising and falling with his soft snores. For a while, Jason simply watched him, remembering the night before. Reliving how good it felt to fall asleep next to the man he loved.
If only it could be like this every day.
But no. Dylan would go back to California, and Jason would be left alone in a house that was way too big for him.
He was looking forward to it. Not to Dylan leaving, of course. That’d break his heart, like it always did. But after that, there’d be only him, the house, and the bliss of seclusion. People often said privacy was the last luxury. Jason knew it was true. After a lifetime in the limelight—or chasing the limelight, at any rate—he’d learned that privacy was a commodity more precious than gold, as unattainable as stardom and fame, rarer than real breasts in porn. Privacy was the great white whale, and Jason was determined to harpoon that beast and make it his.
Buying the house had been the first step.
He climbed out of bed and considered what to wear. Of course, the closet and all the drawers were empty. They’d never gotten around to bringing his suitcases in from the car. Some of the boxes in the living room held clothes, but he’d didn’t relish the idea of digging through them naked. He put on the jeans he’d worn the day before and went barefoot down the stairs in search of coffee. He waited until it was brewing to check his cell phone. No messages from Natalie Reuben, his agent. That meant no pictures had surfaced of him and Dylan on the porch.
Not yet, at least.
He took his coffee out onto the veranda. Movement flashed in his peripheral vision, but when he turned, he caught only the unmistakable white tale of a deer bounding into the trees.
“Hey, you can stay,” he called after it. “As long as you don’t have a camera.”
The deer kept running, clearly unimpressed by Jason’s concession.
Jason rested his hip against the railing and searched in vain for more wildlife. Sydney had mentioned deer, caribou, bighorn sheep, and lemmings, although Jason wouldn’t know a lemming if it popped up and said hello. She’d also mentioned foxes, wolves, wolverines, and grizzlies, although she’d assured him those were more elusive. Jason had jokingly told her he’d rather face a grizzly than a photographer. Now, staring out into the woods that surrounded him, he wasn’t so sure.
His eyes fell at last on the garage. It’d been built in the style of an old barn, with a tall, rounded roof. The big doors meant for cars were on the far side of the building. On the near side, there was only a single, person-sized doorway, with a cobblestone path leading to the mudroom off the kitchen. Jason eyed the window on the second floor. Had he really seen somebody in it?
He left his coffee cup on the porch and descended the front steps, angling off the path toward the garage, the frosty grass crunching under his bare feet. It was colder than he expected, each step worse than the one before, and he ended up doing an ungraceful skip-hop-hop across the frozen ground, trying to walk without letting his feet touch the ground any longer than necessary. He imagined he looked like those idiots who walked across coals, so he stopped when he reached the cobblestones and glanced around, hoping no photographers had shown up to capture it on film. No matter how innocuous the activity, the tabloids always managed to put a tantalizing spin on things. He imagined the headlines.
Jadon Walker Buttermore on Drugs! Thinks the Ground Is Hot Lava!
JayWalk in the Throes of Drug-Induced Hallucination!
JayWalking His Way to the Loony Bin!
Not as sensational as a sex tape, but still enough to sell a few copies.
His paranoia proved unwarranted. He saw no sign of trespassers. Then again, he hadn’t seen the photographer who’d taken the pictures of him and Dylan eight months earlier, either. He hadn’t known until Natalie called him the next morning that he’d made StarWatch’s cover once again. In some ways, it had been a relief. He’d been debating the best way to come out for ages. But being outed in such a sensational way hadn’t been part of the plan.
He glanced toward his bedroom, and the second-floor porch, where he and Dylan had made out the night before. He shuddered, thinking how careless he’d been. Some people said there was no such thing as bad press, but those people had clearly never been caught in a tabloid’s crosshairs.
“Can’t let that happen again,” he mumbled as he turned toward the garage.
The door was nothing special. A four-paned window up top, solid wood below. He tried the knob, but found it locked. Nothing of interest when he peered inside, either. Empty spaces where cars belonged and empty shelves along the walls. He knew from viewing the floor plans that the staircase to the guesthouse lay directly to his right, along the same interior wall that held the door, but he couldn’t see it.
He tried the knob a second time, for no good reason whatsoever. Still locked. Not that he’d expected that to change.
If a photographer had found their way inside, would they have thought to lock the door behind them? Would they still be up there, or had they snuck out during the night?
Jason crouched and inspected the cobblestones at his feet, searching for footprints, or—
Well, to be honest, he didn’t know what exactly. Maybe a note written in chalk, “The paparazzi was here”?
He found nothing but dirt and damp cobblestones.
He crossed back over to the house, confident that he looked less ridiculous than he had the first time. He went quietly up the stairs, wondering if Dylan was still asleep. He imagined crawling under his new down comforter, snuggling into the familiar warmth of Dylan’s arms, maybe making love one more time before saying good-bye. It disappointed him to find Dylan already up and half-dressed.
“Hey, there you are,” Dylan said as he buttoned his shirt. His jeans were on too, although his feet were still bare.
Jason settled on the bed and crossed his legs. “Are you leaving already?”
“I have a flight to catch.”
“I see.” Jason had driven his car full of belongings to Idaho and checked into a motel in nearby Coeur d’Alene a few days before the closing. He’d been thrilled when Dylan had called at the last minute and told him he’d booked a flight to Spokane and would be there in time to help Jason with the move. And now here they were: Jason’s bags still sitting in his car in the driveway, and Dylan already with one foot out the door.
Jason fiddled with the ragged hem of his jeans, debating. He wanted to ask what was so urgent that Dylan had to rush out before breakfast. He wanted to suggest that Dylan stay, if not another night, at least a few more hours. But he couldn’t figure out how to say any of it without sounding desperate.
“I have an appointment for new head shots at four,” Dylan went on. “And then later tonight . . .” He grinned mischievously. “I have a hot date.”
Jason’s heart sank. “Oh?”
“Remember Tryss?”
“Victim Number Five, from Summer Camp Nightmare 3?”
“That’s the one. Poor girl has daddy issues from here to the moon, a failed acting career, and a boob job she’s still paying off. It’s like the desperation trifecta.” He winked. “Even you couldn’t turn that down.”
“I have turned that down.”
Dylan laughed and perched on the edge of the love seat to pull on his shoes. When he glanced up again, Jason was surprised to find his expression somber. “It was good seeing you, Jase.”
Jason did his best to keep his tone casual when he answered. “You too."
“I had a great time last night.”
“So did I.” But those words didn't sound casual at all. Jason knew his heartache had crept into his voice, but Dylan showed no sign of having heard it as he crossed the room and put a hand on either side of Jason’s face, leaning close to peer into his eyes.
“You know I love you, right?”
Jason’s heart leapt. He swallowed hard. “You do?”
“Of course. You’re like a brother to me. You know that.”
Jason was pretty sure most brothers didn’t do what they’d done the night before, but he didn’t argue. He only hoped Dylan couldn’t see how much those words hurt him. “I love you too.” He was proud that he managed to keep his voice steady.
And casual.
“You’ll call me if you need anything, right?” Dylan asked.
Jason nodded. “Right,” he lied.
“Good.” Dylan kissed him—not like a brother, certainly, but not quite like a lover either.
Like a friend.
“Take care, JayWalk.”
“You too.”
And then Dylan walked down the stairs. Out the front door. Jason refused to watch. He only listened as Dylan’s car crunched over the gravel drive toward the main road.
And then there was only Jason, and the solitude he’d longed for so desperately.
Funny how solitude and loneliness felt so much alike.
Amy Rae Durreson is a quiet Brit with a degree in early English literature, which she blames for her somewhat medieval approach to spelling, and at various times has been fluent in Latin, Old English, Ancient Greek, and Old Icelandic, though these days she mostly uses this knowledge to bore her students. Amy started her first novel a quarter of a century ago and has been scribbling away ever since. Despite these long years of experience, she has yet to master the arcane art of the semicolon. She was a winner in the 2017 Rainbow Awards.
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.
I'm a happily married mom of one snarky teenage boy, and three grown "kids of my heart." As a reader and big romance fan myself, I love sharing the stories of the different people who live in my imagination. My stories are filled with humor, a few tears, and the underlying message to not give up hope, even in the darkest of times, because life can change on a dime when you least expect it. This theme comes from a lifetime of lessons learned on my own hard journey through the pains of poverty, the loss of more loved ones than I'd care to count, and the struggles of living through chronic illnesses. Life can be hard, but it can also be good! Through it all I've found that love, laughter, and family can make all the difference, and that's what I try to bring to every tale I tell
N.R. Walker is an Australian author, who loves her genre of gay romance. She loves writing and spends far too much time doing it, but wouldn't have it any other way.
She is many things; a mother, a wife, a sister, a writer. She has pretty, pretty boys who she gives them life with words.
She likes it when they do dirty, dirty things...but likes it even more when they fall in love. She used to think having people in her head talking to her was weird, until one day she happened across other writers who told her it was normal.
She’s been writing ever since...
Marie Sexton lives in Colorado. She’s a fan of just about anything that involves muscular young men piling on top of each other. In particular, she loves the Denver Broncos and enjoys going to the games with her husband. Her imaginary friends often tag along. Marie has one daughter, two cats, and one dog, all of whom seem bent on destroying what remains of her sanity. She loves them anyway.
Amy Rae Durreson
B&N / SMASHWORDS / KOBO
Sue Brown
FACEBOOK / BLOG / NEWSLETTER
EMAIL: sue@suebrownstories.com
Susi Hawke
NR Walker
AUTHORGRAPH / KOBO / PINTEREST
EMAIL: nrwalker2103@gmail.com
Marie Sexton
DREAMSPINNER / B&N / YOU TUBE
EMAIL: msexton.author@gmail.com
A Distant Drum by Amy Rae Durreson
Snow Twink by Sue Brown
Nutmeg Spiced Omega by Susi Hawke
Tic-Tac-Mistletoe by NR Walker
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