I knew I had problems when I woke up in the middle of the night to find Mike Stubbins sitting at the foot of my bed, stark naked, still as gorgeous as every one of my memories of him.
So what’s the problem, I hear you cry? Gorgeous, naked man in my bedroom?
Well, there’s the not-so-small, highly significant detail that he died six years ago.
Yup. You read that right. And now he’s everywhere. I can’t even brush my teeth in peace. And did I mention that he never stops talking?
I’ve missed him like crazy, every day of the six years he’s been gone. And with Christmas coming, the memories are even more acute. But this is getting beyond a joke. Ignoring a naked guy is a pretty tough task, especially when I’m the only one who sees him.
So when he bops a complete stranger on the head with his dick in the middle of the coffee shop, I have to laugh. Anyone would, right?
Except… there’s a look on the guy’s face that tells me he felt that. But… how could he?
And now he’s looking at me like he’s expecting me to explain what just happened.
Either he’ll call for the guys with the straitjacket… or this will be one of the most interesting conversations I’ve ever had….
Chapter One
Twenty Days to Christmas
Ever woken up in the middle of the night, and you just know something isn’t right? It’s dark, you can’t see a damn thing, but there’s this feeling you can’t get rid of, a feeling of not being alone. What’s the first thing you do?
Right. You switch on the light.
So I did just that. I reached over, trying not to knock my glass of water onto my phone—yeah, been there, done that—and clicked on my bedside lamp. I blinked a couple of times to become accustomed to the light, before sitting up to take a look around my bedroom. Everything seemed norm—
Fuck. Mike was sitting at the foot of my bed, smiling. And naked.
I did what any sane person would do. I pinched myself, then I closed my eyes and waited a few seconds. Cautiously I opened them and—
Fuck. He was still there.
Then I got it. I was dreaming. But God, it felt so real.
“Aren’t you going to say hello?”
It was Mike’s voice. Not that this was the first time I’d dreamed of him. The first couple of years after he died, there’d been a lot of dreams.
Never one like this though. For one thing, the only naked dreams I’d had were of the two of us between the sheets. Mike sitting cross-legged, hands clasped, his elbows on his knees? This was a new one.
Mike’s rich chuckle was exactly as I remembered it. “You’re not dreaming, sweetheart.”
“Sure,” I said. “In which case, I’m talking to a ghost.” And didn’t that thought send a shiver down my back? Not to mention icy fingers trailing over my skin, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.
Mike simply nodded.
I took a deep breath. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
This wasn’t fair. Why my subconscious had chosen to torture me like this, I had no idea. I closed my eyes again, squeezing them tight shut. This time, he’d be gone.
When a cool, gentle hand touched my shoulder, I almost leaped out of my skin. I opened my eyes, and Mike was standing beside me, and…
Oh dear God. I could smell him. The same familiar scent that had clung to his pillowcase. I’d put off washing it for so long, desperate to hold onto a part of him. I wanted to inhale him, to fill myself with him. I gazed at his body, as toned as I remembered, not a hair on that smooth, wide chest, his abs still as perfect as the day he—
This was not fucking fair.
“Do they have a gym where you are?” I demanded, more harshly than I intended, but I was pissed off. I didn’t ask to be tortured with dreams of Mike. Not after six years. And certainly not with him looking so… perfect. Even his dick was as I remembered it. He used to call it his torpedo, for obvious reasons. That thing was lethal.
“I take it I still look good.” Mike preened, flexing, his muscles bulging.
That did it. Despite my initial fear, I started laughing. “Still as vain as ever, I see.”
He narrowed his gaze. “There is nothing wrong with wanting to look your best.” He peered closely at me. “You haven’t changed much. Your beard’s fuller, and you’ve let your hair grow longer on top. And you’re still hot.” He grasped his dick and smacked it against his palm. “I’d do you,” he added with a grin. “If I was allowed to, which I’m not.”
I almost choked. “Gee, thanks.”
If this wasn’t a dream, then what the hell was he doing here? I figured the obvious solution was to ask.
“Mike… Not that I’m not delighted to see you…” Except ‘delighted’ was the wrong word. Shocked? Amazed? None of them came close. What surprised me was that I was no longer afraid. Ghost or not, I had nothing to fear from Mike. “What are you doing here?”
“What happened to being delighted to see me?” That grin hadn’t faded. “Aren’t I allowed to pop in on a visit?” He rolled his eyes. “At least this time I get to speak to you.”
“This time? There have been others?”
His expression softened. “Every time you dreamed of me.”
That brought a lump to my throat, and I swallowed hard. I gestured to his body, his erect dick that was so difficult to ignore. “And why the lack of clothing?” I rolled my eyes. “For God’s sake, stop pointing that thing at me.”
He snorted. “They said I could come back anyway I liked.” Mike’s eyes gleamed. “I chose naked.”
They? Not that I was about to inquire further. “Okay, so you were just passing through and you thought you’d drop in. Why now? It’s been six years.”
Mike studied me in silence for a moment, then sat at the foot of the bed. “I’ve been taking a look around the flat. It looks a little different.”
“I refer you to my last remark. It’s been six years.” Some part of my brain was having severe difficulty coping with the fact that I was talking to a dead guy. And there was still a tiny part of me that was certain this was a dream.
“Andy, Christmas is in three weeks’ time. Not that you’d know it, looking at this place. No cards up. No tree. In fact, the apartment looks like Ebenezer Scrooge lives here.”
“Hey!” I gave him an indignant stare. “When did I ever put up a tree before the 13th of December?”
Mike waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Twelve days before, and it has to be down by twelfth night.”
And so it had always been, except for once. Not that I was about to go there.
He cocked his head to one side. “You can’t bullshit me, Andy. The tree ornaments are still in the box in the garage. You haven’t been near Garretts. You know, that place you always got your tree from.”
I blinked. “Have you been watching me? Because that doesn’t sound like I was dreaming at the time.”
Mike snorted again. “Sweetheart, I’ll let you in on a secret. You know that favourite film of yours, Dogma? When Rufus says that all the dead do is watch the living? He nailed it.”
I widened my gaze. “Oh, now there’s a creepy thought.” “
And you’re being evasive.” Mike speared me with an intense gaze. “You were a Christmas nut. Decorations, films, those cheesy Christmas songs on the radio, carol concerts, turning on the Christmas lights in London…”
I didn’t want to talk about this.
“So, is this a fleeting visit?” The joy I’d experienced at seeing him again had faded into a sharp reminder of the pain of losing him. A pain I thought I’d gotten used to. Apparently not.
Mike got up off the bed. “I’m going to be around for a while. I’m not done yet.” There was something in his voice that troubled me. Mike had always been such a carefree, laid-back soul. Nothing ever got to him. This Mike sounded like a grown-up.
It took dying to mature him? Now there was a strange thought.
“So you are here for a purpose?”
Mike nodded.
“Care to share it with me?”
“Eventually. Right now, you need to get some sleep. You’ve got work in the morning.” And before I could say a word, he faded from view. No sound to accompany him, just a gentle fadeout, leaving me alone in my room.
I stared at the spot where he’d stood. Part of me knew why my brain had chosen to inflict me with such a hallucination at this time. The following day would be six years since I got that damned phone call. It was one of those days that I didn’t need to keep marked on a calendar.
This one would be forever etched in my memory.
Six years ago
I smiled to myself, as I liberally added tinsel to the tree branches. He is going to love this. Mike was on his way home from a business course, three days stuck in Oxford. I normally waited until 12 days before Christmas to put up the Christmas tree, but he’d sounded so pissed off on the phone that I wanted to surprise him. I’d even found our new Christmas decoration, and I couldn’t wait for him to see it. It was kind of a tradition. The year we got together, we’d gone shopping for a new tree ornament. The following Christmas, we did the same. Just one new thing. And here we were, five years since he’d moved in, and it still felt fresh and new.
I glanced at the clock. Mike had taken the decision to drive to the course, after checking up on the train times and discovering it would not be as straightforward as he thought. December was a shit time for the rail company to strike. Of course, the sudden snowfall would make life more interesting, but that was typical of life in the UK. A couple of inches of snow, and it made the news.
My phone warbled on the coffee table, I picked it up, smiling at Mike’s name. I swiped a finger across the screen to answer. “Where are you? You must be almost home by now.”
There was silence for a moment, then the distinctive noise of a throat clearing. “This is Sergeant Paul Owens of the Thames Valley police.”
My heart stuttered. “Oh really?”
“You’re acquainted with Mike Stubbins?”
Then I got it. “This is some friend of Mike’s from the course, isn’t it? He’s put you up to this. Well, put Mike on the phone. This isn’t funny.” Except… what was he doing with Mike’s phone, if Mike was driving back to me?
There was another brief silence. “Sir, I’m calling from the John Radcliffe hospital in Oxford. There was an accident this evening.”
Oh my God. My heart started hammering. “A traffic accident? Is Mike okay?” I haven’t seen or heard any news of a pileup on the TV.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Mr. Stubbins apparently had a heart attack while driving, and lost control of the car. He managed to steer it onto the hard shoulder, but ended up hitting the barriers. He was taken to the hospital, but they weren’t able to save him. He’s…”
Enough. The memory was still fresh. I didn’t want to think about it anymore.
I clicked off the light, pulled the duvet up over my shoulders, and settled back to sleep.
Except sleep proved pretty elusive. I closed my eyes, and there was Mike.
Why did you come back?
Unless it had all been a figment of my imagination. I knew which of the two options I preferred. I grabbed a pillow, wrapped my arms around it, and buried my face in it. The tears I thought long gone were back, soaking into the fabric.
“Mike,” I whispered into the soft cotton. “Why did you come back?”
Author Bio:
K.C. Wells lives on an island off the south coast of the UK, surrounded by natural beauty. She writes about men who love men, and can’t even contemplate a life that doesn’t include writing.The rainbow rose tattoo on her back with the words 'Love is Love' and 'Love Wins' is her way of hoisting a flag. She plans to be writing about men in love - be it sweet and slow, hot or kinky - for a long while to come.
K.C. started writing gay romance in 2012, and at the time of writing this, (July 2020) she has sixty books published. Judging by the outlines in her Plot Bunnies folder, there's a lot more to come...
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