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In honor of Mother's Day here in the US today, I wanted to showcase stories with strong, influential mother figures. I say "mother figures" because it isn't always a mom, sometimes it isn't even family, sometimes it can be a stranger who steps up and fills in. Some aren't necessarily even a lengthy factor in the story, perhaps it's even just one chapter, or a flashback, etc. The mother figure has however, left a lasting impression on the characters, the story, and the reader. For Mother's Day 2025, I chose 5 stories where the mother, aunt, friend, and all around motherly figure helped to shape the characters, intentionally or not, made them stronger and in doing so made the story even more brilliant and left me smiling. If you have any recommendations for great mother figures in the LGBTQIA genre, be sure and comment below or on the social media post that may have brought you here. The purchase links below are current as of the original posting but if they don't work be sure to check the authors' websites for up-to-date information.
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Rattling Bone by Jordan L Hawk
Summary:Outfoxing the Paranormal #2
Some secrets won’t stay buried.
Oscar Fox grew up suppressing his psychic gifts. Now he and his ghost-hunting team, including his boyfriend parapsychologist Nigel Taylor, travel to Oscar’s hometown in hopes of learning more about his legacy.
A trail of family secrets lures them to an abandoned distillery, still haunted by the ghosts of Oscar’s ancestors. A curse lies upon his bloodline, and if the team can’t figure out how to stop it, he might be the next to die.
Original Review Book of the Month May 2024:
Our little band of ghost hunters is once again on the trail but this time the trail leads to Oscar's family. Okay, so even though the phrase is used in the blurb, "ghost hunters" is a bit lax, a bit neat, a bit simple in explanation. The group, Oscar, Nigel, Tina, and Chris, are doing so much more than just hunting them, they are attempting to set them free to move along. This time there is a curse, killing a member of the family every 25 years and guess what? Yeppers, it's been 25 years since the last death.
It's been over a year since Rattling Bone was released and 6 months or so since I read book 1, The Forgotten Dead, Rattling was just as deliciously danger-filled mayhem as Forgotten. I would say Rattling is probably marginally less horror labelling and more paranormal than book 1 but only by the slimmest of slims. On one hand the victims are less evil than the curser but they too have had generations to relive their ghostly fate and in letting it fester all that time they are definitely creepy and perfect for this horror-ladened paranormal gem.
As for Oscar's dad, well you want to hate him, think badly of him for trying to supress his son's gifts but at the same time you understand it stems from a place of fear after what his mother went through all those years earlier. Does it make me want to forgive him instantly? No but I do understand where it comes from and for that I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that he'll accept the truth. Whether he does or not, well you have to read that for yourself to discover.
As to the original ghost who has cursed the family line? She's just pure evil, not saying there wasn't reason for her initial anger but to go after so many lines that had nothing to do with her fate is what makes her the big bad. There is just so many levels to this story and the characters, good and bad, you can't help but be intrigued, conflicted, but above all else entertained to the nth degree.
A Christmas Engagement by Ellie Thomas
Summary:
A Christmas Engagement #1
In 1805, Charles Denham’s comfortable life in Regency London with his long-term partner Avery Mallory is disrupted by the sudden death of his father. As the heir to a modest country estate in Gloucestershire, Charles returns home to care for his bereaved family and take up his new responsibilities.
Overwhelmed with grief, rather than leaning on Avery, Charles becomes fixed on the idea of taking a wife for reasons of family duty alone. With this plan in mind, he travels the short distance to Bath only to find that Avery and his family have already arrived at the resort.
Will Charles follow through with his ill-conceived plan for a hasty betrothal by Christmas? Or will he come to his senses and resume his relationship with the nicest man in England?
Original Review January 2024:
I discovered Ellie Thomas' writing in the second half of 2023, I'm so glad I did. There is a lot of stories I have yet to read, many of which have already found a home on my Kindle but when I was looking for holiday stories and found A Christmas Engagement, how could I not jump in? Christmas ✅
Historical ✅
Second Chances ✅
Subtle(or not so subtle) Helpful Family ✅
Regency Era ✅
Friendship ✅
Heart ✅
Charles steps up to do what he thinks he has to when his father dies but is it really what is best for him? I think you can guess the answer to that but as I'm all about the spoiler-free zone I'll just reiterate my go-to line: you have to read for yourself to find out. There's always a fine line between duty and self, many can stand on the outside and not understand choosing duty over self but unless you lived that choice you can't completely get it. I can't imagine the heartache Charles faces when that line is before him and I can't say I would have Avery's willingness to accept that choice with such support but I do understand and commend it.
Ellie Thomas has once again painted a picture with words so deliciously that you can see it play out in front of you. If I wasn't already a fan, A Christmas Engagement would make me one. There's just the right amount of humor mixed into this heartbreaking yet oddly heartwarming tale of friendship, romance, and deciding if doing what society deems right is really what is best.
So many wonderful boxes ticked. My reading wants tend to favor the longer full-length novels but when a novella is well written it can pack quite a punch, A Christmas Engagement packs just that punch. I have already pre-ordered(2/10/24 release day) the follow-up novella, A Lasting Vow to see where the next leg of their journey finds Charles and Avery.
Summer Drifter by RJ Scott
Summary:Whisper Ridge, Wyoming #2
One man craves family, the other isolation; neither of them was searching for love.
Experienced and much-in-demand horse trainer Levi doesn't need or want people. With his horse and dog at his side, he lives out of his trailer and trains horses in the summer to earn just enough to head south for winter. Infrequent hook-ups with no-tell cowboys takes care of sex, but the moment any connection gets anywhere near complicated, he moves on. Losing a lover to violence has taught him that if he's alone he can't get hurt, and in return, he avoids the pain of loss. Everything in his easy-going life is on track until he knocks over Quinn, a pink-haired stranger who pirouettes in front of his truck, sits in his lap and calls him cowboy with the sexiest voice he's ever heard. Anger turns to frustration, lust turns to love, and by the end of the summer, Levi doesn't know which way to turn.
Quinn loses everything when the cops find his brother's body on the remains of a compound that belonged to a cult. Damaged and vulnerable, Max had been the only safe place for Quinn in his otherwise cold family, but finding out that Max might have had a son sends Quinn to Wyoming and the Lennox Ranch. When he's knocked to the ground on day one at the ranch, he wonders if maybe he should have thought things through better. After all, he'd bought two horses and a house to get close enough to Lennox ranch just to see if he was an uncle. He craves love, connection and is excited to be part of a family, searching for a place where he can finally stop running. He never meant to fall for the closed-off cowboy, but somehow Levi steals his heart and Quinn falls in love.
Original Review April 2024:
I have no excuses for why it took my nearly 3 years to read Summer Drifter. I loved the first book in the Whisper Ridge, Wyoming series, Winter Cowboy, when it first released back in 2018 and I remember being ecstatic to find book 2 was finally coming. When I say "finally" I don't begrudge the author on the delay because the author can only go where the characters take them and I respect that, I use "finally" only to express the level of YAY I was experiencing. If you must have a reason so that you don't think I was disappointed in the blurb here it is: in 2020 I turned to more viewing forms of distraction to get through Covid and it really put a whopper of a kibosh on my reading mojo which if I'm 100% honest has only just returned to any level of pre-pandemic levels and the summer of 2021 found my mother in hospital and me in a hotel for 108 days(non-covid reasons) so there were many books that normally would have been immediate reads finding themselves nearly buried in my never-ending TBR list.
So back to Summer Drifter.
As stated above the delay had nothing to do with unhappiness with the book, truth is, though I think in my heart Micah and Daniel will forever hold the top spot in the Whisper Ridge shelf I do think this overall story drew me in more. I think that all comes down to the "cowboy norms" being a bit knocked on it's side when it comes to Quinn and Levi and their personalities, in and out of the bedroom. I've read others where they don't always follow the stereotypical guidelines(for lack of a better, simpler phrase) but there was just something about these two men that I found refreshing. Maybe it was the blending of stereotyping and knocked on their backside that did it, a certain level of what I call snark and cuddle, or maybe it was just because the anticipation and adrenaline rush from having waited so long? Whatever "it" was, "it" blew me away.
As for Levi and Quinn? There are definite moments of lack-of-communication drama but I get it, I understand that neither exactly have the history that screams "Open up to him!" "Be honest!" "He(or they in Quinn's case of wanting to see connections to his deceased brother) will understand!". Let's face it, without drama life can be boring and without fictional drama books can be vacation pamphlets. Quinn may be a fish out of water at the Lennox Ranch but his free spirit is something we can all use a little of in our lives. Levi guards his heart by not letting anyone in but when a certain pink-haired strangers falls in his lap Levi is in trouble. Together they may look opposites attract but deep down the things that made them protect their hearts and family is what proves they aren't as opposite as appearances thought.
Summer Drifter may have been a long time wait for me but boy was it worth it!
Body at Buccaneer's Bay by Josh Lanyon
Summary:Secrets and Scrabble #5
Dead Men Tell No Tales
Mystery Bookshop owner Ellery Page and Police Chief Jack Carson are diving for the legendary sunken pirate galleon Blood Red Rose when they discover an old fashioned diver's suit, water-damaged and encrusted with barnacles. Further examination reveals the 19th Century suit contains a 21st Century body.
Who is the mysterious diver? No one seems to be missing from the quaint and cozy town of Pirate's Cove. Was he really diving for pirate's gold? And if not, what exactly did he do to earn that bullet hole in his skull?
Original Review May 2022:
Some authors can write in multiple genres and excel at every one, Josh Lanyon falls into that category but there is just something special about her mystery-telling talent. Secrets and Scrabble series furthers the proof of that.
No matter how much mayhem lurks in the pages, there is almost always an element of lightheartedness when it comes to amateur sleuths. Ellery Page is the epitome of amateur sleuthing but he's not alone which is another element about this series that I love, he is joined by the Silver Sleuths reading group, or at least they try to work their way into the investigations, and though they may not always get as much sleuthing in as they'd like, they almost always manage to offer information to Ellery. Now sometimes that info isn't always the answer, sometimes it leads Ellery in the opposite direction which in itself is also helpful(just not quite how they planned😉).
Pirate's Cove is filled with an eclectic cast of characters, most are so wicky wacky there's minimal to no chance we'd ever meet someone like them in our communities and yet Lanyon has a way of making them very real, very . . . well not "next door" but definitely "pass by and nod to in the toilet paper aisle". It's the ability to create unique yet familiar characters that lets the reader get lost within the story. By "lost" I don't mean "completely befuddled swearing to oneself 'WTF is going on?'" I mean getting so absorbed into the story you become a customer in Ellery's bookstore that has to be forcibly pushed out the door at closing time.
This is sounding more like an overall series review so let me talk about Body at Buccaneer's Bay for a minute(and it will be brief as I refuse to spoil any aspect of the mystery). Ellery and Jack are growing closer and closer but once again outside forces, mainly Ellery's acceptance of an amateur sleuthing job, find a way to sneak a wedge into the relationship. And that's all I'm going to say about the mystery part of this entry, yes I know that is very vague indeed but let me just add it's deliciously fun. Nora continues to help, Watson is still an attention junkie, and Ellery's folks arrive. So many treats to gobble up.
One scene I will talk about and that is Nora signs Crow's Nest up as a stop on Kit Holmes' upcoming book tour. Love it when authors throw little cameo mentions of characters from their other series' into the mix, it just connects it all into one big world. Not sure if we will get to see Kit actually on his book tour in a future entry but if we do, even if just a one page scene, I can see Nora filling Kit in on all the intrigue that happens in Pirate's Cove and then seeing Kit pull Ellery aside and telling him what not to do when bodies start piling up at his feet. The potential for them to "work a case" together has my Lanyon-loving brain going into overdrive, what a pure fun romp of mayhem-ry that would be😉😉.
Back to Buccaneer, there is just so many good things about this entry and despite the potential(I won't spoil the whats, wheres, or what ifs) for death and danger, I was smiling from beginning to end. Ellery Page and Jack Carson(and my old movie loving brain still chuckles when I picture the actor Jack Carson's portrayal as the beat cop in Arsenic and Old Lace even though Lanyon's Jack is much better at his job) just keep getting better, both as a growing couple and in their investigations with all the trials and tribulations the criminals of Pirate's Cove throw at them. Chock up another winning gem for Josh Lanyon.
Wintering with George by Mary Calmes
Summary:With George #2
George Hunt is certain that spending time with his boyfriend’s family over the holidays will be a disaster. How can it not? For starters, he knows nothing about families, never having had one, as for the rest…talk about pressure. What if he messes up, says the wrong thing, and ends up losing the most important person in his life? Dr. Kurt Butler is his miracle; George can’t afford any missteps. But if he’s careful and does everything right, perhaps they’ll see his good qualities instead of the lethal ones.
Sometimes, though, fate lets you put your best foot forward, and George gets to show off how handy he is to have around when bullets start flying. If he can keep everyone alive long enough to do some wintering, maybe he’ll discover that a family is something worth having after all.
Original Review March 2024:
George Hunt truly is the star of this holiday novella. Obviously he was the main focus of Just George as well but we also had Hannah Kage and as she is nearly as a big of a trouble magnet as her father, Jory Kage, she has an unwitting tendency to draw the readers attention away from anything else around her😉. That's not a bad thing, as a matter of fact it was a brilliant way for us to get sucked into George's journey.
I got sidetracked there. Let's talk George Hunt and the man who owns his heart, Dr. Kurt Butler in Wintering George . . .
George and Kurt are just as great together in their established relationship as they were when they first were thrown together in Just George. George is returning from an unexpected mission, who am I kidding😉, all his missions are unexpected that just comes with the territory but he does it so well and he has a routine to unwind, to readjust, to regroup his mind and body after the action. Unfortunately as there was the typical SNAFU that comes with his profession he is unable to have his routine and has to fly straight to Kurt's family holiday. Despite not being able to let his mind and body come down as needed he is still the gentleman with the family meets but he also has the presence of mind to spot trouble as they near the family's home.
That's all the details you're getting from me as I don't want to spoil any of the possible mayhem that ensues. I will say it's not the family holiday that Kurt's sister and family planned but in the end it's the holiday they probably all needed the most. I know it sounds cryptic but no spoilers from me so cryptic is what you are getting😉.
George may not be a trouble magnet like the earlier mentioned Jory and Hannah Kage are but he does seem to have a knack of being in the wrong place, wrong time or perhaps more accurately stated: right place, right time considering his expertise in the area of mayhem.
For those who are looking for a heartwarming Xmassy tale, then don't be put off by the mayhem label because Wintering George definitely leaves you full of all the loving holiday feels. For those(like me) who enjoy a little danger to combat all the happy happy, Wintering is perfect for you too because there is a perfect blend of sweet and salty in this novella. If you only like reading about Christmas in December(possibly July for Xmas in July) then be sure and bookmark this tale so it doesn't get lost in 2024's additions to you TBR list.
One last note: if wondering, you don't have to read Just George first, Mary Calmes does a lovely job referencing how George and Kurt met so you won't be lost but I know I'm glad I read it, I just think I have a deeper heartfelt connection to both men having read it but it's not a must.
Rattling Bone by Jordan L Hawk
CHAPTER ONE
Nigel stared out the van window as they rounded yet another hairpin curve, his knuckles white on the armrest. His ears popped from the altitude change as the road kept climbing toward the ridge above, hidden in a shroud of trees. The branches were winter-bare, the forest floor beneath covered with only a dusting of snow even though it was deep December, the day after Christmas.
Thank heavens he didn’t get carsick. His stomach was already unsettled enough at the prospect of meeting his boyfriend’s parents.
He glanced at Oscar, who sat in the driver’s seat, attention thankfully on the narrow road. A big guy, in both height and girth, Oscar’s hair and dark eyes contrasted against his pale skin. Right now, his cute face was scrunched in a look of concentration as he steered the lumbering van around yet another blind, hairpin curve, the wheels only inches away from a drop down the mountainside.
According to Oscar, he hadn’t brought any of his other boyfriends all the way out to Marrow, West Virginia, to meet the family. Which was amazing—they’d only been together since early October, not even three months. Nigel hadn’t wanted to come off as clingy, had told himself to take things slow, but maybe this was a sign that Oscar also felt their relationship was serious.
It also made him nervous as hell. What if Oscar’s parents didn’t like him? Things were so new between them; parental disapproval might make Oscar think twice about taking it any further.
Chris leaned forward from the backseat, where they sat beside Tina. Their hair was currently dyed a vivid shade of neon blue. “Your folks really live out in the boonies, huh?”
They’d been driving for over five hours, up from Durham, North Carolina, across into Virginia. As they headed northwest, the interstate failed them, and they’d spent the last few hours on narrow state roads, climbing over the ancient spine of the Appalachians to get into West Virginia.
“You can say that again.” Oscar didn’t glance into the rearview mirror, eyes remaining firmly on the road. “Once we get over this last ridge, we’ll almost be there.”
“Thank God, because I have to pee,” Tina said. “I thought there would at least be a gas station or somewhere to stop out here.”
Chris sat back. “Too bad we didn’t pack the camping toilet.”
The back of the van was stuffed with almost all of their ghost-hunting equipment, but none of the camping things they’d used during the investigation of the Matthews house back in October.
“Do you have any ideas about the ghost in your parents’ house?” Nigel asked, grateful for something to distract him from his nerves. “Who it might be, that is?”
That was the reason they were all going to meet Oscar’s parents, instead of just Nigel. Oscar had been working on his mediumship, at least as much as he could, but with the holidays, jobs, and family commitments, OutFoxing the Paranormal hadn’t had time to do another investigation since the Matthews house.
The intermittent haunting Oscar had grown up with—and over the years trained himself to ignore—seemed like the perfect opportunity for him to get his feet wet as a medium. The spirit, whoever it was, wasn’t violent, and had seemed content merely to show itself now and again. Neither of his parents had ever even noticed it was there, so presumably it wasn’t very strong.
Still, from Nigel’s point of view, data was data. And it would be good for the OutFoxing the Paranormal show to put out something new after their Halloween spectacular. According to Oscar, they had some good sponsors lined up already.
“I don’t have any idea who she was, and it wasn’t like I could ask my parents.” Oscar grimaced, and Nigel reached out to touch his shoulder,.
“I’m sorry.”
Oscar sighed. “It’s okay.”
The road finally crested the ridge and began to angle steeply down. A gap in the trees revealed a river valley running roughly north-south below them, a small town nestled in the widest part of the flats, before the view was swallowed up again by the trees.
“Was that Marrow?” Tina asked.
“Yeah, and my folks live on this side of town, so you’ll have somewhere to pee in a few minutes.” Oscar hesitated. “Look…Mom and Dad don’t know about the whole ghost-hunting thing.”
Nigel dropped his hand and half-turned in his seat. “What?” Chris asked from the back, at the same time Tina said, “You haven’t told them about OtP?”
“How could I? You know how my dad is. Was,” he corrected hurriedly. “They know I’m bringing friends, but not that we explore abandoned buildings together looking for ghosts. But once they see some of our videos, they’ll be really proud of what we’ve accomplished.”
“What do they think I teach?” Nigel asked.
Oscar winced. “Psychology. Which is close!”
“It really isn’t.” Nigel pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. “So you’re introducing your friends the ghost hunters, and your new boyfriend the parapsychologist, to your father who historically hasn’t reacted well to the concept of seeing ghosts.”
“It’ll be fine,” Oscar insisted.
Chris flopped back in their seat. “Or a complete disaster. One of the two.”
* * *
As he pulled into the familiar driveway, Oscar told himself yet again that there was no reason to be nervous.
Everything was going to be fine. He’d lay everything out, Nigel would say something smart, Tina something technical, and Dad would realize they were professionals. This was science.
Oscar wasn’t crazy.
This was going to be a new start for them, a chance to work on their relationship without any lies or tension between them. Maybe he could even get Dad to talk about his own mother, Oscar’s mamaw, who might have been a medium too.
The house, built around the turn of the previous century, nestled on the uphill side of the road. A convex mirror, mounted on a tree on the opposite side of the driveway, offered as much view around the curve as possible for anyone pulling out. The driveway itself was fairly short and quite steep, leading up to a two-story house set partly into the hillside. The siding was white wood, set atop a foundation of local rock mortared in place.
The front door swung open before the engine was even off. Mom and Dad both came out, Mom bundled against the cold as if she was going on an expedition to Antarctica, and Dad wearing a Christmas sweater depicting kittens in Santa hats.
“You get out first,” Nigel said with a glance.
Oscar winced. Okay, yes, he probably should have told his parents about the whole ghost-hunting thing before they got here. And he should have warned everyone else that he hadn’t, especially Nigel. But he’d been…
Scared. That was all. Worried about Dad’s reaction if he heard the news over the phone.
It was going to be different now, though. He climbed out of the van and walked to his parents, who immediately engulfed him in a hug. He took after his father in coloring, and his mother, who was the taller of the pair, in build.
“It’s so good to see you!” Mom said. “We missed you at Thanksgiving.”
They’d spent the holiday with Nigel’s mother, a cheerful woman who lived in Myrtle Beach. Before Oscar could apologize, Dad slapped him on the arm. “I guess we’ll have to get used to sharing, now that you’ve got someone special,” he said with a wink.
Oscar grinned and turned to the van. Everyone else had climbed out, Nigel hovering warily and Tina shooting desperate looks at the house. “Tina, the bathroom is through the front door, first door on the left.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude,” she called as she power-walked to the front door.
Mom laughed. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve made that long drive myself plenty of times.”
“And this is my friend Chris Saito,” Oscar went on. “They/them.”
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Mom said warmly, and went straight in for a hug, followed by Dad who did the same.
“Thanks for having us, Mrs. Fox, Mr. Fox,” Chris said.
“Oh goodness, call us Lisa and Scott, we’re too young for that nonsense.” Mom laughed again and turned expectantly to Nigel.
Nigel looked slightly alarmed. “I’m, uh, Nigel. He/him.”
“DoctorNigel Taylor,” Oscar added, as Mom went in for a hug.
“It’s so good to finally meet you,” Dad said, shaking Nigel’s hand, then pulling him in for a hug. “Oscar can’t stop talking about you!”
A light blush spread across Nigel’s face. “Oh?”
“I love your name,” Mom went on. “Nigel; it’s so old-fashioned!”
Nigel blinked, nonplussed. “Thanks? I picked it myself.”
“We should get in out of the cold,” Oscar put in quickly.
“Of course, of course; I’ll help with the bags.” Dad took a step toward the van.
The van packed with their equipment. It was now or never.
“Um, so, something I haven’t mentioned.” He could hear himself speaking too fast but couldn’t seem to slow down. “Tina, Chris, and I have a hobby—well, it might be more than a hobby, we do get money from the videos and selling Chris’s pictures.”
Both Mom and Dad looked at him expectantly. Oscar took a deep breath to steel himself. “We’re ghost hunters.”
There was a seemingly endless moment of shocked stillness. Then Dad turned and walked back to the house without saying a word.
* * *
An hour or so later, Nigel found himself sitting at the dinner table, Oscar on one side and Mr. Fox—Scott—on the other, at the table’s end. Lisa sat beside her husband, and Chris and Tina filled out the rest of the table.
“I hope we made enough,” Lisa fretted, though the food on the table could have fed an army. “How are the potatoes?”
“Delicious,” Nigel said truthfully.
Oscar didn’t say anything, and neither did his father. Their tension toward one another radiated through Nigel’s space.
“Oh good, it’s my mamaw’s recipe,” Lisa went on, apparently determined to fill the uncomfortable silence. “The secret is to use buttermilk.”
“It’s all wonderful.” Chris reached for second helpings of turkey. “Two Christmas dinners in one year—score!”
“Well, it didn’t make sense to have it just for ourselves, since y’all were coming the next day.”
The Fox household didn’t go all-out on holiday decorations, but there was a tree in what would have been called the parlor when the house had originally been built, and now was referred to as the den. The sight of the wrapped presents underneath sent a current of panic through Nigel—was he supposed to have brought something?
He and Oscar had already exchanged presents; a book on the history of ghost hunting from him, and an incredibly warm woolen sweater, hat, and socks from Oscar. He hadn’t really thought about what meeting Oscar’s parents the day after Christmas might entail.
“Sorry we kept Oscar away for the actual day,” Tina said, “but if I’d missed the family dinner, my abuela would’ve turned me into a ghost.”
As soon as the last word was out of her mouth, she realized her mistake. She held up one hand, as if to catch it, but of course it was already gone. The tension around the table went up a notch.
Whatever Nigel had thought meeting Oscar’s parents would be like, this wasn’t it. Coming here had clearly been a mistake. Certainly they weren’t going to be able to try and contact any spirit lingering in the house.
Lisa glanced at her husband, then fixed on Nigel. “So, Nigel, Oscar tells us you teach at Duke University!”
With the sinking feeling things were about to get worse, Nigel nodded. “That’s right.”
“You’re a psychologist, is that right?” she prompted, when it became clear he wasn’t going to elaborate.
Scott murmured something under his breath. His mother had died in an overcrowded state hospital; probably he had just as bad an opinion of psychology as he would of Nigel’s actual job.
“I work in the Institute of Parapsychology,” Nigel clarified. “We study phenomena outside of known biological mechanisms. My specialty is the survival of personality beyond death.”
There was a long moment of silence, before Scott spoke up. “Ghosts?”
He was going to be thrown out of the house and forbidden to ever speak to their son again. “The technical term is incorporeal personal agencies, but yes. Ghosts.”
“Excuse me,” Scott said, and pushed away from the table. He stalked out of the room.
Oscar shoved his chair back, shot an “excuse me” at his mother, and followed.
The rest of them sat in excruciatingly awkward silence for a moment. Then Lisa picked up a serving spoon. “So…who wants more potatoes?”
A Christmas Engagement by Ellie Thomas
Charles paused before saying clearly and deliberately. “With Papa’s passing, it seemed expedient to start to look out for a wife.”
He heard Avery’s sharp intake of breath as Aunt Clarissa looked at him shrewdly. Her bright, old eyes, darker and sharper than Avery’s, seemed to pierce his soul. “You have come to the right place,” she remarked. “Far better to make your selection at your convenience in Bath than to be bothered with the fancy folderols of the London Season. I might be biased as I have fond memories of the place. The town will never be the same as in the heyday of Beau Nash, but it still passes muster, although I say it myself. And you should find a wide array of suitable ladies now you are resolved on matrimony.”
Charles had the sneaking suspicion that Aunt Clarissa was laughing at him and was spared further embarrassment by the timely approach of Mr. King.
“Ladies,” Mr. King uttered, addressing the group. “Might I interest you in a game of Cribbage at the Card Room tonight? The tables are filling up quickly, and I’d be glad to put your names down. From experience, these events prove very popular and can be over-subscribed.”
That popularity was confirmed by eager fluttering from the group of ladies, mercifully distracting Aunt Clarissa’s attention away from Charles.
Charles’ dearest hope was for Avery to have melted away into the surrounding throng during the conversation. Having only begun to establish himself in the confines of Bath’s society, Charles could not afford to cause gossip or general disgust by delivering a cut direct. And in truth, he flinched from being unnecessarily and publicly cruel. None of this was Avery’s doing. He must simply accept that Charles’ priorities had altered with his father’s death.
But when Charles glanced around, Avery was still standing there. He looked a trifle pale at Charles’ announcement but managed a smile as he said conversationally, “You must wonder why we are here. I’m sure you remember all those letters from my aunts pressing Aunt Clarissa for suggestions for her seventieth birthday celebrations?”
Charles nodded as he remembered their shared London rooms in Rupert Street, Avery’s face alight with laughter as he passed Aunt Clarissa’s typically scathing letter over the breakfast table for Charles’ amusement, in a gesture of everyday intimacy.
“Well, Aunt Clarissa refused to be contained by any sedate or convenient notions and decided to drag us all to Bath for the occasion, complete with a hired house on The Circus. According to her, since she’s in her dotage, she won’t get another opportunity to relive her past successes or criticise the current fashions and assembled company at the top of her voice. As you can imagine, both my aunts are thrilled.” Avery’s mobile mouth quirked with humour, and Charles was almost tempted to smile with him until Avery asked, “What does your mother think of your resolution to marry?”
Avery was still smiling, but his eyes seemed almost as shrewd and watchful as Great Aunt Clarissa’s. Charles was only glad that the necessarily loud interchange between the Master of Ceremonies and a lady of the party who was hard of hearing masked the personal turn of the conversation.
“She is delighted I’m assuming my obligations in seeking to establish our family connections.”
“Is she?” Avery sounded mildly surprised. “I’d have thought she would be far more concerned about your happiness and state of mind.”
“I am happy,” Charles retorted.
“If you say so,” Avery smiled agreeably before asking casually, “and since when have you been attracted to women?”
Charles bristled, “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Everything, I’d say if you seek marital accord.” Avery had the gall to look faintly amused as Charles cast around for a suitable retort, stumbling over half-remembered phrases he had recited to his mama. As Charles reeled off homilies on duty and family responsibility, Avery’s smile faded. But rather than displaying the outrage or bitterness of a repulsed lover, Avery’s expression was full of compassion, tinged with sadness.
Charles completed his speech, sounding pompous and prematurely middle-aged even to his own ears. Avery opened his mouth to impart an urgent observation before hesitating. Instead, he patted Charles on the arm, saying, “I’m sure you know best, Charles,” in a manner that implied no confidence whatsoever in his former lover’s judgement.
Summer Drifter by RJ Scott
Chapter One
Quinn
Last Fall
“Alexander.”
“Quinn,” I corrected my father.
His lips thinned at the deliberate slight. I was named for an entire family tree of Alexanders, each one of them more messed up than the one before. I’d taken to using my middle name as a way of distancing myself from painful memories, and from a family I didn’t belong to.
I took a seat on the empty side of the conference table, facing my father, Alexander Dawson Senior, former senator, liar, abuser, and head of Dawson Pharma, plus his lawyer, a conniving asshole called Yan. My mouth was dry, my stomach heaving, my chest tight, but I took a breath and tucked my hair behind my ear. My father’s eyes narrowed at the gesture and that simple reaction helped me to center myself. I’d dyed it the brightest purple I could find, my eyes were smoky with liner, and my lips berry-red, this was me—the me my father hated.
Hate might’ve been a strong word, but it wasn’t as though he loathed me in a way that was fixable, where one day we’d magically make up, hold hands, and skip around declaring our rediscovered connection. He detested me for the fact I wasn’t his biological son, although he’d never admit it and the fact I was gay.
I’d hated him right back for the longest time, despite years of therapy. But if I was going to survive then I had to shut my heart to my toxic family, and I would be done. We’d buried my brother seven days ago, and as soon as the earth fell on him I was finished with the life that had been carefully planned for me. Maybe it was the way my father stood by the grave and showed no sign of emotion, or it could have been that I’d finally gotten through the fog that surround me, but I’d gone through my life in a daze, manipulated by my parents, expectation laid on me so thick I couldn’t breathe.
“You want to tell us what the fuck you want, Alexander?” my father asked, lifting a brow in question. He wanted me to be the silent shareholder, supporting his votes, working the fact that the Dawson family still had the majority share in Dawson Pharma.
Well, they did until thirty minutes ago.
“Will your lawyer be joining us?” Yan peered at the door as if he was expecting someone to enter.
“No.” I didn’t need a lawyer for what I was doing here—hell, the team I’d hired was busy dispersing money right now.
“Is that wise?” the lawyer commented, and then glanced at his boss who rolled his eyes. My father was not a subtle man. “We’re not aware of any issues that need addressing.”
“Yan, you wouldn’t believe the issues I have here, but none of them need a lawyer sitting next to me.” My heart pounded as I fronted them. “I think you should leave.”
My father snorted a laugh and stared at me. “He’s not going anywhere.” I knew my father better than most people did. I’d seen him at his worst, and I knew that tone—it was dripping with contempt. My fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, terror lodging in my chest, but I forced myself to breathe through it.
He can’t hurt me anymore.
“I’ve sold every single one of my shares in Dawson Pharma, including the ones I inherited from Max’s estate. Twenty-two percent in total. Gone.”
A muscle twitched by my father’s eye, shock clear as day in his expression, and then his jaw tightened, and he sneered at me.
“The fuck you have,” he snapped.
“Antitrust,” Yan offered immediately.
“No,” I said with calm. “There are no antitrust issues. Williams, Byers, and Green are seeing to that.”
Yan paled at the name of the prestigious firm of antitrust lawyers. Even with his own team, plus the million dollar retainer I know my father paid him, he was small fry compared to them. Yan glanced at my father, and his expression was desperate when he faced me again. “We’re prepared to pay over the offer you accepted—”
“The fuck we are,” my father roared. “Get the hell out of here, Yan.”
“As your representation I—”
“I said leave.”
Yan looked as if he was going to argue again, but then he left me and my father alone. Alexander Dawson Senior never took his eyes off me as he stood, and I stared right back, aware of how far I was from the exit and that there was security I could call if this went south. He stalked around the table to me, but I held up a hand.
He vibrated with anger, this big bear of a man who was half a foot taller than me and fifty pounds heavier—a ticking time bomb of fury.
“What did you do, boy?”
“Sold every single share.”
“You waste of fucking space!” my father snarled, but then his anger gave way to a practised smugness. “You won’t have the time to spend any of that money when I take you for every penny you made.” Threatening anything with money was his go-to step when his entire world revolved around the almighty dollar. Without the shares that myself and Max held, he wouldn’t own the board anymore, and the way he stared at me, I know he was fully aware of that fact. He was trying to regain control, thinking he could work his way around the law and get back the shares. I’d seen him do things like that before, which is why Williams, Byers, and Green were in my corner.
I feigned a calm. “That threat only works when I actually want the money I made, but every single cent is currently being dispersed to charities.”
“Why would you do that to your family?”
“Is that the same family that sent me to a camp? Or the father who hit me so hard I lost consciousness, who broke my arm, tried to kill me when I was eight—“
The time bomb exploded, and he grabbed me by the throat and pushed me up against the wall, my feet leaving the floor. Blackness consumed me, and I saw stars when my head hit the paneling. Now this was the father I knew, the horrific demon inside the urbane businessman who could trick everyone else. This was the man one who abused my brother and I with hands and words since I was old enough to understand pain.
“I will fucking destroy you,” he roared. He tightened his grip and I saw spots in my vision, but my words were nothing more than a whisper. He released me so fast I hit the floor hard and my hands went to my throat, pressing the pain he’d caused, just to ground myself.
“You don’t scare me!” I choked for a breath as tears of pain filled my eyes. “I can… prison… fuck you.”
Maybe prison was enough of a trigger word to break through his hatred and he went straight for verbal abuse as a defense.
“Fucking waste of space. Look at you crying,” he sneered, as I tried to breathe. “You’re as weak as Max was.”
“He was a better person than you will ever be.” I wasn’t going to let this monster know my pain at hearing my brother’s name spat with such venom.
“Fucking queer,” he yelled in my face, but there was fear in him; I could almost smell it.
I stood my ground. Name-calling was the last resort, and I’d heard way worse in my years under his roof. I wasn’t going to lie down and take his shit anymore because it was poison and I’d been slowly dying.
“I have enough on you to put you inside for a very long time. Names, dates, pictures of what you did to me, evidence of the shit you’ve pulled. You come near me, and I will release every single fucked up secret behind Dawson Pharma doors.” I straightened my back.
“You little shit, you can’t—”
“We’re done.” I backed out of the door and stalked past my dad’s bewildered PA, then headed to the rear exit and stepped out into the cool Boston fall. Even though my emotions crashed and burned the tears still didn’t fall.
I caught a flash in my peripheral vision, and winced, thinking the paparazzi had realised I would leave through the back entrance, but it was just the sun glinting off the huge monstrosity that was the head office of Dawson Pharma. My fear of getting photographed, or hurt, was real, and I took random sidewalks to reach my car in the underground parking lot three blocks from the office, before locking myself inside. Too many times the media had tracked me for something that my father had done, and I was finished with it all.
I couldn’t do it anymore.
And the tears fell.
From icy control I couldn’t stop crying, gripping the wheel for support and letting years of pain and grief well up and roll down my face in burning tears. I wanted Max back with every beat of my desperately miserable heart, and I’d held hope for so long, thinking Max would come home, but he hadn’t. My brother was dead and the hope was gone. Everything was gone.
A loud thump hit the window, and a man peered in. He wouldn’t be able to see me through the tinted glass but I hated that he was even near me.
“Fuck you,” I shouted. I didn’t recognize him, and fear knifed through me. I didn’t know all the media vultures by sight, and I was alone in a dimly lit parking area and this could be anyone out to hurt me, because of my name or money.
“I’m here to help you,” the man called, then knocked again. “My name is Connor.”
“Leave me the fuck alone!” I started the engine and checked the mirrors to reverse, hoping to hell he moved out of the way so I didn’t run him over.
He slammed a photo on my windshield, then moved it just as quick. “This is about Max.”
I reacted blindly to the photo and my brother’s name, and with 911 ready on speed dial, I lowered the window a crack. I don’t care what this asshole wanted to say about me, but if he planned on dragging my brother’s name through the mud then I was ready for a fight. Hell, if this stranger wanted an interview then I’d give them one before running them the fuck over.
Connor peered through the crack. Was he armed? He didn’t seem to have a gun pointing at me, or a camera. At this point I didn’t know which was worse. “Alexander, please, I have something I need to show you.”
“Then show me.”
I heard Connor muttering, saw him frown, before he slid the photo through the small gap. It slithered to the floor, and I leaned over to pick it up, seeing writing on the back but ignoring it to check the photo. Part of me expected a blackmail image, but instead it was a simple photo of my big brother, Max. He was maybe six or seven here, standing next to a horse, but I didn’t recognize the shot, and turned it over to see information.
Laurence Lennox, Lennox Ranch, Wyoming. It was dated only two years ago, which didn’t make sense.
“What do you want?” I asked, confusion making me frown.
“Can we please just talk?” Connor asked from outside. He had his forehead against the window and he looked destroyed. “My cousin Natalie was at the commune where your brother died. Please, let me in.” He didn’t seem to be threatening me, in fact I thought he seemed close to tears, and I did the singularly most stupid thing I’d ever done. If he killed me then whatever, it wasn’t as if I cared about anything today. I released the locks, and the dark-haired man slipped inside then shut the door. I locked us in again because I could handle one man, but if he had accomplices…
“Connor Mason, PI,” he introduced himself, and we shook hands. “I don’t know where to start,” he murmured.
I tucked my hair behind my ear, my hands shaky with adrenaline. “How about you give me an executive overview?”
“Your dad hired me to find Max.”
Shock gripped me? This was another one of my dad’s lackeys. I unlocked the car and shoved at him. “Get the fuck out.”
“No—”
I connected to 911, but he reached over and pressed end call. For a second we tussled, and then he slumped back in the seat. “Actually, you know what? Call the cops because I’ve got nothing to hide. But you have.”
“What?” This wasn’t making sense, but I hesitated to pull in the cops when he said I had something to hide. What did he mean?
“There are things I never told your dad. I don’t work for him anymore. I want you to trust me… you have to trust me.”
“I don’t have to trust anyone. What do you want to say?”
He was relieved, but there was some hesitation in him, as if he was going to tell me the absolute worst of news and he didn’t want to. After a pause he exhaled noisily.
“I never told your dad what I found, even though he’d been the one to hire me. I had a bad feeling about him. He said he didn’t want Max to come home, that I had to track Max down and tell him so.” Why didn’t that surprise me? Our father didn’t want Max or me. “I was told in no uncertain terms that he wanted me to make sure Max stayed away. That there was a bonus if no one saw him again.” There was so much innuendo in that simple sentence. “So, what I’m telling you now… I’m trusting you with this because I’ve been watching you. I saw you at the funeral.”
“You were at the funeral?” I hadn’t seen him, but grief had blinded me to everything that day. He ignored me.
“I know what you’ve done today with your holdings in Dawson Pharma. You sold everything today, didn’t you? Removed yourself from the family.”
“How do you even know that?”
Connor shrugged. “I have sources. But I’m trusting you by even showing you the photo. See, that photo isn’t of Max, it’s of a boy called Laurence Lennox.”
“The name on the back.”
“I think he’s your brother’s son.”
I blinked at Connor, struck dumb. “Huh?” was the only coherent response I could muster as anguish fought with a flicker of hope in my chest.
“I have reason to believe Max had a son when he was at the Brothers of Chiron compound, and I think Laurence is that son.”
“Max had a son?” I repeated, and my chest tightened so much that my vision blurred.
“Yes.” Connor nodded.
“I’m an uncle?” Wonder pushed aside distrust and anger. I’d lost hope so long ago when Max had vanished; ten years he’d been gone, and then they’d found his remains, and told us he’d been dead for much of that time. For so long I’d imagined him out there living his life, and all that time he’d been dead. A sob caught in my throat, but the emotion forced to the surface was optimism, and then the tears fell again, and Connor gripped my hand.
I could be an uncle.
Body at Buccaneer's Bay by Josh Lanyon
Gulls circled overhead, mewing plaintively.
Water sloshed and lapped against the side of the rocking boat. The hot bright August afternoon smelled of diesel and brine and rubber and…liverwurst.
Ellery said, “Hey, do you remember that poison pen letter I got a while back?”
“Yep.” Jack spoke absently, double-checking the regulator and hoses of Ellery’s diving equipment.
Jack was a certified diver. Scuba was his one and only hobby, so it was no surprise he owned his own gear, but Ellery was renting everything from his flippers to his air tanks, and Jack was not a believer in leaving anything to chance.
“Whatever came of that? Anything? I mean, did the lab find any fingerprints?”
Jack glanced automatically toward the bow of the Fishful Thinkin’ where “Cap” Elijah Murphy sat in the cockpit, eating a sandwich and arguing amiably with whoever was at the other end of the ship to shore radio. Although technically employed at the Scuttlebutt Weekly, Cap was no reporter. He contributed a weekly column wherein he detailed his fierce objections to any and all changes to Buck Island in general and the village of Pirate’s Cove in particular.
“No. That is, the only decipherable fingerprints were yours.”
When Ellery didn’t respond, Jack squeezed his neoprene-clad shoulder, turning Ellery to face him. “Why? I really do think that letter was just…local hysteria over Trevor’s murder.”
Ellery’s smile was wry. “I thought so too. But.”
“But?”
“I got another one yesterday evening.”
Jack’s blue-green eyes narrowed. “You…”
“Same as before. No stamp. No return address. Heck, no mailing address. Just my name printed on the face of the envelope. Hand delivered to the Crow’s Nest.”
“By who? Did you see who dropped it off?”
“No. We were busy all afternoon, and then I let Nora leave at three because we were closing early anyway.” Ellery’s parents had arrived on Saturday’s five o’clock ferry and he’d wanted to be there to meet them. They were spending the next ten days on Buck Island. “I only noticed the letter as I was locking up. It was propped on the base of Rupert’s case.”
Rupert was a glass-encased resin skeleton clothed in vintage pirate costume which “greeted” customers as they entered the bookshop. The case was positioned just a few feet from the front door, so someone could easily enter the shop, leave the envelope, and duck out again without ever being seen from the front desk.
Jack’s brows formed a single dark, forbidding line. “Did you open it?”
“Of course. It didn’t occur to me it was another anonymous letter until I was already reading it.”
Jack’s scowl deepened. “What did it say? I hope you kept it.”
“I kept it.”
“Good.”
“It was pretty much a repeat performance. You will die was the central theme.” Ellery said it lightly, but the truth was, he was troubled by the reappearance of his poison pen pal. Like Jack, he’d dismissed the original anonymous threat as his neighbors’ suspicion that he’d murdered Trevor Maples.
If that wasn’t the reason, what was?
Wintering with George by Mary Calmes
ONE
It was a mistake.
From the jump, I should have said no.
The first year we were together, I wasn’t ready, and I had assured him, no worries. You go ahead with your plans for the holidays. Go see your sister and her family in Portland. Take the dogs. I would be fine. My little black cat and I could do Christmas alone. And it would be good. Beelzebub—Bubs, for short—and I would be just great.
Kurt Butler, the man I was crazy about, laughed at me, then took my face in his hands and kissed me until I couldn’t think about anything but getting him into bed. “No, baby. I would never leave you.”
I loved that he put me first. It said a lot.
It didn’t end up mattering, though, because right before Christmas, I was deployed. So he took the dogs and my cat to Portland with him because clearly, he was a glutton for punishment. I told him he could leave Bubs and I’d send Hannah, my minion, over to watch him, but he wasn’t having that. He took the demon with him because he loved my stupid cat too.
So this year, there was no question. Of course I would go. I had to go even if it was going to give me hives. I had to go even if just thinking about it was making me nauseous. I really hoped that whatever I did, or whatever way I acted, wouldn’t be the end of us.
That was what scared me the most. I didn’t want to push him away, but I feared that him seeing me through the lens of his family would only be bad for me.
Family.
The hell did I know about family? The closest I ever came were the guys in my unit. It was why I was still a reservist. I would not, could not, let them go into combat situations without me. And I wasn’t the best at my job, but I was better than others I currently knew would take my place if I took myself off the board. The difference being, the men I went into life-and-death situations with knew and trusted me. Kurt’s family didn’t know me, and the worst thing I could think of was that they’d find me lacking. The problem was, there were more things wrong with me than right, and I could own that.
I didn’t share easily. I had to trust you before I gave up anything remotely close to my heart. I could be stoically quiet for no good reason other than I had nothing substantive to add to a conversation, and I wasn’t great about change. Like, at all. And while those things didn’t sound so horrible in my head when I listed them, in real life, not talking, not sharing anecdotes or wanting to “go with the flow” were not great things to be. I was not an easy person to love, but Kurt hadn’t noticed yet. He didn’t see my many flaws. What if being with the people who loved him opened his eyes? Suddenly he’d realize I wasn’t much of a catch. I couldn’t have that. My only recourse was to make sure they adored me. The inherent problem there being that whatever the opposite of a people person was, that was me.
“Stop worrying,” Kurt told me over the phone. “My sister’s going to love you.”
I scoffed. “Why would I be worried?”
He chuckled, not buying it at all. “I adore you, and so will my family.”
The thing was, when he used that word—family—I wanted to be what he thought of first. And that was ridiculous. How was he supposed to know that when I’d never said anything like that to him? Ever.
This was what came from being a total shit at communication.
Kurt’s sister, Thomasin—a name I’d never heard before in my life—and her husband and two kids were the only real family Kurt had. Their mother had walked out on them when Kurt was seven and Thomasin five, leaving them with an abusive, alcoholic father. Now, as an adult, Kurt understood why she had to leave—or said he did—but at the time, the abandonment cut deep. He and his sister navigated violence and uncertainty for years until Kurt got a job at fifteen at a grocery store, stocking on the overnight shift. Thomasin was allowed to stay in the manager’s office while he worked. She got snacks, could sleep on the couch, and most importantly, it was warm and safe. When she was old enough, she got a job there as well, and the two of them got a miracle when Kurt was a junior and his boss helped him file paperwork to become an emancipated minor. Then at eighteen, Kurt received a full ride to Emerson College in Texas, and Thomasin got a scholarship to finish her high school at a boarding school in New York. It changed the lives of the two St. Paul, Minnesota, teenagers, and they both made the best of their opportunities.
In Texas, Kurt smoked a lot of weed, slept with a lot of girls, talked to his little sister every Saturday, and brought her to live with him each summer in the house he shared with his roommate. Along the way, after an unrequited crush on a friend opened his eyes to the fact that he was bisexual, Kurt got to sleep with even more people. He enjoyed that quite a bit. He always said he was an aimless whore in college, but he took care of his sister, so I always stuck up for his younger self. When Thomasin got a full ride to Brown, no one was prouder than Kurt.
Now, his sister was a celebrity life coach, had one of the top podcasts in the country, and had three bestselling books to her name that told people how to overcome demons. Not the fire-and-brimstone kind, but personal ones that stunted growth, triggered pain and depression, kept you from goals, and lied to you about your own value. I thought it was all stupid, and because I’d promised never to lie to Kurt, I said nothing. Better to keep my feelings to myself.
With Thomasin becoming wildly successful and Kurt himself an in-demand psychiatrist, both had enough money to fund their dream homes. For Kurt, it was an open-concept, airy-but-cozy, three-bedroom, two-bathroom house with lots of windows on a beautiful, secluded street in Chicago, where his backyard backed up to a nature preserve. For Thomasin, it was a mansion with spectacular mountain views down a private drive in Portland, Oregon. The place had five bedrooms and six bathrooms, so there was more than enough room for us to spend our holidays there. No Airbnb needed.
We had plans to fly out together on a chartered plane, with his two dogs and my cat—the jet being yet another perk their wealth afforded them. But then I was deployed after Thanksgiving.
Kurt was miserable, thinking we were having a repeat of the year prior. I had just gotten back in mid-October from a short stint, so the fact that I was going again so soon was a surprise.
“I do like my alone time,” he told me the night before as he watched me pack with hungry eyes, “but this is getting ridiculous.”
Having been briefed on the op, I assured him I would be home for the holidays.
He didn’t look convinced, and really, there was nothing I could say to convince him. The mission was classified. I couldn’t share that my unit was off to extract a Polish journalist working in Belarus, who’d been illegally detained. If I had told him, Kurt—who was a smart man—would’ve known we had no right to be in Minsk. He’d be terrified for me and rightly so. A Black Ops team was not supposed to be there, and if caught, we were all dead. It was one of those times where if we were captured, our government would deny any knowledge of us and claim we were mercenaries and acting on our own, perhaps hired by the family of the reporter we were there to save. If I had related a word of what I knew, Kurt would have begged me not to go. But I had no choice. My team needed me, and I would not, under any circumstances, have him worry while I was gone. So I did the only thing I could, which was assure him my op would be a quick one.
Technically, that part was true. On paper, it was a simple extraction. Pick up target, get target out of country. Snatch and grab that I could do in my sleep. Of course, our intel was for shit, everything from the maps to the checkpoints were compromised, and only because I had my own network and knew some good people in Lubelskie, which was where we crossed into Poland, did we make it out. The thing was, it took longer than it was supposed to, three weeks in total. Kurt ended up having to fly out without me.
But now, getting off the plane in Portland two days before Christmas, from how excited he was on the phone the night before, I knew I’d made him happy. It was all that mattered.
As Poznan, where I’d flown out of, was nine hours ahead, by the time I was walking through the terminal toward the arrival area, I was dead on my feet. The thing was, I’d had to get a military transport out of Poznan to New York, and when you flew that way, you caught whatever flight was available. It was their timetable, not yours. I really wanted to make a good impression on his family, but I was both sleep-deprived and starving, not at all a winning combination.
As I had no luggage, just my Army duffel, I headed toward where it said ground transport was and called Kurt.
“Hey,” he greeted me, answering on the second ring. “We parked, and we’re on the way to baggage claim to meet you.”
First off, we? I hadn’t slept in four days, I was bruised—nothing broken though it felt like it—and with no food, greeting others was a mistake. Of course, since this was the first time I’d spoken to him, other than the quick I’m on my way when I called earlier, there was no way for him to know I wasn’t ready for a meet-and-greet. But what annoyed me was that he knew better. He knew me. And he certainly understood that when I’d just gotten off a plane after a mission was not the time for introductions of any kind.
“Well, I’m headed to where all the taxis are because I don’t have anything but my duffel, so there’s no baggage to get.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he groaned. “Crap.”
Immediately, I felt bad because Kurt running himself down, for any reason, bothered me. He was such a kind man, and I told him that often. “It’s fine. I’ll wait inside. Just come back up the stairs; I’ll be right there.”
“Okay, perfect,” he said with a sigh. “I can’t wait to see you.”
I wished I looked a bit better, but I was in my ACUs, my Army Combat Uniform, and my field jacket that was not as clean as I would have liked it to be. Seemed like good first impressions were out the window, and I felt bad about that. I hoped they weren’t huggers either, because yes, I’d been medically cleared at the base in Poznan once the op was done, but I had fresh stitches and bruises. Being squeezed, by anyone but Kurt, could be uncomfortable.
Standing there, waiting, I thought of all the times no one had been there to get me, and reminded myself that this was a blessing, having someone like Kurt in my life, someone who showed up. I had to stop being a prick, being selfish, just thinking about myself. And I could. I would. Because he was worth it.
“George!”
Turning, I saw Kurt rushing through the crowd—or trying to, with so many people blocking his way. He stopped moving, lifted his finger to signal for me to wait a moment, and then finally threw up his arms in frustration. I couldn’t help smiling. The second there was an opening in the crowd, he bolted toward me.
It hurt a little when he collided with me, but it was worth it to feel his warm, muscular frame wedged close, his lips on the side of my neck, then my cheek, and finally, his mouth on mine as he kissed me once and then again.
“You missed me,” I whispered against his mouth when he leaned back with a whimper. Clearly, he wanted to go right on kissing me.
“I always miss you,” he replied hoarsely. “Are you hurt?”
“Do I look hurt?”
“It’s hard to tell,” he said before kissing me again.
“Let the man breathe, K,” a woman said with a laugh. She was a stunning blonde with the same gunmetal-gray eyes her brother had.
“Breathing isn’t necessary,” he assured her. “George, this is my sister, Thomasin, but you can call her Sin.”
Her smile was big as she stepped in close and offered me her hand. “Please don’t call me Sin. Thom is great, or Tommy as my friends do.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” I said softly, shaking her hand.
“This is my husband, Brad.” She let go of my hand so her handsome husband, who looked like the investment banker he was, leaned in to shake.
He was wearing a puffer vest, and so was she. They looked adorable, like they belonged in Town & Country Magazine, both crisp and polished, she in her brushed-leather Prada loafers, he in his Ferragamo driving ones. And as a rule, I didn’t know one pair of shoes from another, but Kurt was a brand-conscious guy and was slowly adding to my wardrobe from the shoes up. I now had both of those in my own closet and so recognized them. He liked me to have nice things, and I appreciated that. I’d been wary at first, thinking he needed a far richer partner than me, but it came down to him loving spoiling me, and that was all. But his sister and her husband were definitely in a different tax bracket than me, and it was more than evident in everything, from their shoes to his massive watch to her jewelry—an enormous diamond ring and several gold and precious-stone bracelets on her wrist. Neither was shopping at Target with me, that’s for sure. And that wasn’t a judgment, just an observation. And because of how those things would have sounded if I said them out loud, as a rule I made comments like that to very few people. Kurt and I weren’t there yet, even after two years. I didn’t want to lose him, so I was careful about everything I said.
But I shouldn’t have been, and I knew that. Beyond not saying anything unkind, I should have been able to speak my mind about anything I was thinking, especially since Kurt truly wanted to know. He wanted to learn everything about me.
“I worry about that,” I told him once.
“What?”
“Me telling you what’s in my head.”
“Why?”
Hard to explain that I worried about the fact that how I saw things wasn’t how other people did. And if Kurt and I weren’t aligned, was that it for us? Would he throw me away? “What if you disagree with me, or worse, think I’m psychotic or something?”
He chuckled. “I see.”
“Don’t laugh. I worry about this. I’m desensitized to some things, and I know that. I might not react how you think I should, and what if that’s a deal breaker?”
He nodded. “Maybe let’s wait and worry about that when the time comes.”
But what would happen if that time came?
Fears like that, and others, kept me from just blurting out my thoughts. I could, and did, with the guys in my unit. I never worried they’d think I was wired wrong. It was the same with my boss in the private sector where I worked now. I didn’t worry that if I responded differently than expected, I’d be ridiculed or second-guessed. It never occurred to me that a disagreement could lead to dismissal.
But with Kurt, I could mess up, and that might be the end of us. If I said something about his sister or her kids that he disagreed with, I had no safety net. The best thing, the smart thing, was to simply be better than myself. Be Stepford George. Just smile and be agreeable.
“George, you must be exhausted,” Thomasin said, smiling. “We should get you home and get some food in you, then let you rest before the festivities begin.”
I didn’t react, which I was very proud of myself for, since, again, no food plus no sleep normally equaled no filter.
“Let’s go,” Kurt said, lacing his fingers with mine, tugging gently to get me moving.
The car we walked to, a white Lexus SUV, had all the bells and whistles and was comfortable inside.
“Sin made her world-famous pot roast for you,” Kurt informed me, “which is much better than mine.”
“I dunno,” I said, grinning at him. “Yours is pretty good.”
“Oh dear God,” he groaned, leaning in close, his fingers brushing over the side of my neck. “You have bruises all over—”
“It’s fine,” I soothed him.
His sigh was heavy. “Do you have stitches?”
My gaze met his. “Don’t make a big—”
“It is a big deal,” he stated, and I saw Brad, who was driving, look at me in the rearview mirror before Thomasin turned around in her seat.
“My understanding is that you’re a sniper?”
“Yes.”
“I suspect, then, that my brother wonders how you got hurt.”
“No,” Kurt snapped at her, which surprised me. “I know how. He has to go in just like everyone else, and there’s always hand-to-hand combat at some—” He took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. “I would just like to know how many new stitches.”
I grinned at him. “I dunno, honey, but you can count ’em later.”
Kurt’s breath caught, and those expressive eyes of his went dark and liquid, pupils blown that quickly with lust.
Thomasin’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, I wasn’t sure over what, but perhaps she wasn’t used to seeing her brother react physically to his partner.
Kurt watched me, eyes locked on my face as I lifted his hand, kissed the back of his knuckles, then lowered it back down to the seat, never once letting go of him.
“Everything is going to be fine,” I promised him.
From the way he was looking at me, he believed me.
Jordan L HawkJordan L. Hawk is a trans author from North Carolina. Childhood tales of mountain ghosts and mysterious creatures gave him a life-long love of things that go bump in the night. When he isn’t writing, he brews his own beer and tries to keep the cats from destroying the house. His best-selling Whyborne & Griffin series (beginning with Widdershins) can be found in print, ebook, and audiobook.
If you want to contact Jordan, just click on the links below or send an email.
Ellie ThomasEllie Thomas lives by the sea. She comes from a teaching background and goes for long seaside walks where she daydreams about history. She is a voracious reader especially about anything historical. She mainly writes historical romance.
Ellie also writes historical erotic romance under the pen name L. E. Thomas.
RJ ScottWriting love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
Josh LanyonBestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."
Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Josh is married and they live in Southern California.Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Mary Calmes lives in Lexington, Kentucky, with her husband and two children and loves all the seasons except summer. She graduated from the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California, with a bachelor's degree in English literature. Due to the fact that it is English lit and not English grammar, do not ask her to point out a clause for you, as it will so not happen. She loves writing, becoming immersed in the process, and falling into the work. She can even tell you what her characters smell like. She loves buying books and going to conventions to meet her fans.
Jordan L Hawk
Ellie Thomas
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Rattling Bone by Jordan L Hawk
A Christmas Engagement by Ellie Thomas
Summer Drifter by RJ Scott
Body at Buccaneer's Bay by Josh Lanyon
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Wintering with George by Mary Calmes
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