Summary:
Valley Ghosts #7
It’s Christmas, and an invitation to a party is too tempting for Wade and Jason to pass up. When The Running Scared Paranormal Research crew realize it’s not just a party but a gathering of all the paranormal investigators in the area, they’re suspicious but excited to meet others in their same business.
A mystery, a ghost, and a love story play out for them through the evening on board the riverboat docked in Old Sacramento where the party is held.
After the party, Wade and Jason decide to take a big step in their relationship. One they’ve both wanted for years, but never seemed to find the perfect time for. In a spur of the moment decision, they decide to go for it, and even a snowstorm won’t stop them from getting married. With the help of all-wheel drive, Santa, and a ghost, they’ll get their happy ending. #FriendsToLovers #Ghosts #Ghosthunters #PNR #MMRomance
Summary:
Reindeer Mate for Christmas
Alpha reindeer shifter, Theo, almost ruined Christmas. Literally.
Now Theo has twelve days to help a random person find the spirit of Christmas or Santa will expel him from a coveted internship in the North Pole. He finds the perfect target in Shaun, a young business-owner more concerned with turning a profit than being festive. But somewhere in the middle of trying to get Shaun to fall in love with Christmas, Theo realizes he might just be falling in love with Shaun…
Omega snow leopard Shaun loves all things Christmas. In fact, he loves it so much that his father has decided that if Shaun can’t prove he can turn off his festive side, he’ll cut Shaun out of his inheritance. For the next twelve days Shaun has to run his future resort without a single holiday distraction. His unexpected roommate, Theo, is as Christmas-crazy as he is attractive, and under any other circumstances Shaun would be head-over-heels. Luckily, it doesn’t take Shaun long to figure out that Theo must have been hired by his father to sabotage him. He’ll prove to both of them what a grinch he can be, even as Theo starts to melt his heart.
Unbeknownst to them, Theo has given Shaun more for Christmas than either bargained for: a gift that comes with nine months of cravings, mood swings, and nausea...
How to Lose an Omega in Twelve Days is a cheesy Christmas movie in book form, with two shifters who are confidently wrong that they can outsmart each other. Their mix-up is your holiday ticket to a cozy read with enough spice to warm you up.
How to Lose an Omega in Twelve Days is part of the multi-author, gay romance, mpreg shifter Reindeer Mates For Christmas series. Each book can be read as a standalone, but why stop at one when you can read them all!
Summary:
Will I give my heart away this holiday season? Noel, I won't.
When my first head chef gig implodes and I find out my dad has a health crisis, I go home for the holidays.
Only to find the lovable farmboy next door has moved in.
He's helping my parents run our family's Christmas tree farm. Has moved into my house. Has seemingly *replaced* me.
He may be gorgeous and a hard worker and even sweet when he wants to be, but I can't step aside for him. Can't let my parents continue to struggle with the farm.
Not even when we find new life for the farm--and for me as a chef.
Not even when Hopper warms my bed every night.
I might be falling in love--with Hopper, with my hometown, with a life I could never envision when I was eighteen and desperate to leave. But I vowed long ago that I'd never be happy in small-town Nebraska.
But when Hopper asks me not to leave him, what can I say except...
Noel I Won't.
Summary:
Someone wants Patrick to find love this Christmas--no matter what it takes.
When game developer Patrick Bocker receives a Krampus figurine in the office Secret Santa exchange, he doesn’t think much of it. Then the accidents start happening. The absurd calamities mount, and Patrick becomes a repeat offender at the Emergency Room. By his third visit, Patrick starts to believe that maybe, just maybe, the Krampus figurine is cursed. There is, however, one silver lining – a super hot ER doctor.
Dr. Gray Reynolds is prepared to ignore his attraction to the striking young man in bay two. But by the third time Patrick shows up with new injuries, Gray starts to fear for the cute redhead’s life. He’s determined to drive Patrick home, make sure he’s safe, and get to the bottom of this string of bad luck.
To lift the curse, Gray and Patrick have to find out which of Patrick’s co-workers gifted him the Krampus and return it, all while evading livestock, a criminal Santa, and general mayhem. Oh—and fall in love. Is that too much to ask of one crazy Christmas Eve?
THE CURSE BEFORE CHRISTMAS is a wild romp set in Chicago with a hot doctor, a cute patient, a cursed figurine, game developer hijinks, trapped-together-in-a-car-in-the-snow spice, and an uber Christmasy vibe. This MM rom-com story has plenty of giggles and a touch of magic.
Always You by RJ Scott
Summary:Guardian Hall #1
In the frostbitten heart of Chicago, a scarred and solitary soldier finds a second chance at love with the man who broke his heart.
Twenty years at war have left Sergeant Jasper "Jazz" Brookes battered, scarred, and haunted. His marriage is wrecked, his daughter barely speaks to him, and the world he fought for has moved on without him. Homeless by choice, Jazz manages until the brutal Chicago winter forces him to seek help from a shelter he doesn’t want to need.
The weathered building in Humboldt Park offers veterans a place to rebuild, but Jazz doesn’t expect to find Alex Richardson there—his first love, the boy who chose money over him, the one he left behind. Seeing Alex again cracks open old wounds and stirs feelings Jazz buried long ago.
For Alex, the sight of Jazz reminds him of everything he’s tried to forget. But neither man has moved on. As they grapple with their past and confront the scars they’ve carried for years, they’re forced to decide if the connection between them is strong enough to survive the pain.
This time, it’s all or nothing.
Original Review February 2025:
A new book AND a new series from RJ Scott? Yes, please. Always You, the first entry in the author's new series, Guardian Hall is amazing. I won't say it has a dark element but it definitely has heartwrenching and heartbreaking elements on multiple points. I won't list the points so as not spoil anything but just know this story, these characters will definitely squeeze you through the emotional wringer.
Alex Richardson made a bad choice long ago thinking he'd have a chance to explain it or perhaps manage it the way he planned, needless to say things did not go as the young man planned. Jazz Brookes was left aching after Alex's choice but tried to make the best life possible, unfortunately things also did not go as he planned. Both men had hit their own rock bottom, we learn and see more of Jazz's collapsed state but we learn some of Alex's as well through conversation and internal monologue. Now some might like to have seen more of Alex's but personally I like a little off-page storytelling because there comes a point where it's just too much. Subtlety and readers imagination can be extremely powerful.
When dealing with PTSD in fiction I find there is too often two ways an author goes: short & brief to minimize the angst or highly detailed heavy on medical wordage so you feel like you're studying a medical school book. I'm all for reality in fiction when it comes to health but sometimes less can truly be more but not at all can disconnect a reader from the characters, so balance is key. RJ Scott has found that balance in Always You. As I said above, both characters are dealing with hurt and healing but Jazz is the primary focus on the healing front IMO and we see the hurt, the comfort, and the fallout/side effects but they don't overpower the story and the romance.
To put it bluntly and paraphrase Goldilocks: RJ Scott got it "just right" with Always You. You'll smile, you'll cry, you'll laugh, basically you'll be "ooohing" and "awwwing" all over the place.
Haunting Destiny by BL Maxwell
Chapter One
Wade
“How many people will be there?” Jason asked as we walked into the house.
We’d received invitations to a Christmas party a few weeks ago. At first I thought it was a joke. The party was an invitation only, black-tie event held every year—one I’d only dreamed of being invited to. But then I found out everyone we knew in the ghost hunting community of Sacramento had been invited. “I’m not sure, it’s on the Spirit of Sacramento, and I know it’s rented out for the evening,” I explained as I hung the tuxedo I’d rented for the party. “It shouldn’t be too many people; the boat’s not that big.” The Spirit of Sacramento was a refurbished paddle-wheeler that was permanently docked in Old Town. It was more a floating restaurant than a boat, but it was popular for parties, and it wasn’t easy to get an invitation.
“Well, at least I get to enjoy seeing my man looking hot in a tux all night,” Jason said as he pulled me close.
“Oh god, you guys, please,” Jimbo said, and covered his eyes as he walked right into the house without knocking.
“You know, this wouldn’t happen if you knocked first like normal people do,” I said, and kissed Jason’s lips with a loud smack.
“Yeah but then you wouldn’t know it was me,” he said and walked past us into the kitchen and opened the door to the refrigerator.
“Don’t you know everything that’s in there by now?” Jason asked, and Jimbo met his eyes over the top of the door.
“Just checking to see if there’s anything I need to bring the next time I stop by,” Jimbo said, and focused on the interior of the fridge again.
“Where’s Dean?” Jason asked and pushed past Jimbo to grab a beer.
“He’s—”
“James, you know we’re supposed to be picking up our tuxes, what are you doing?” Dean asked as he walked in the front door.
“Do any of our friends knock before they come in?” Jason asked, and Dean rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, sorry.” Jimbo rubbed the back of his head. Dean stood right in front of him, hand on his hip looking as in charge as he usually did. “I was in the area and thought I’d stop by and—”
“Check their fridge?” Dean asked, and grinned.
“Sorry, you know I can’t resist coming by to give Jason a hard time.” Jimbo raised his eyebrows and lowered his chin in Jason’s direction before softening his expression to face Dean.
“Well, are you done now?” Dean asked.
“Pretty much. Do you guys already have your suits?” Jimbo immediately tried once again to get Dean’s attention away from him.
“Yeah, we just picked them up. I’m excited about the party. You know everyone who has anything to do with paranormal around Sacramento will be there.” Jimbo looked at me like I’d grown three heads, but Dean shoved past him, his eyes wide with excitement.
“Oh, I didn’t know that. I thought it was just a few ghost hunting groups.” Dean stood in front of Jimbo as he spoke.
“No, it’s urban explorers, psychics, pretty much anyone who has anything to do with the supernatural. It should be an interesting evening.”
“Yeah, sounds great,” Jimbo mumbled, making Dean widen his eyes before rolling them.
“It’ll be fine, James. There’re so many people you know in that community I would think it would be fun for you to spend a night with them.”
“Oh sure, can’t wait to spend the night on a haunted riverboat filled with people who have all been touched by the spirit world. Did any of you even think that just your mere presence, and the combined energies of everyone in one place, would put a target on you from the veil?” He looked at each of us and crossed his arms, reminding me of a father looking at his kids with disappointment after one more prank they’d pulled. “Shit can get bad real fast and being on the water will amplify it even more. Did you know that?”
“It’ll be fine. Between the four of us we’re more than capable of dealing with any spirits who think it’s a good idea to mess with us. You’d think word would spread through the spirit world to avoid us,” Jason said and bumped me with his hip.
Jason knew a lot about the spirit world, but he hadn’t experienced it the way some of us had. Jimbo’s eyes locked on mine, and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. Neither of us wanted a repeat of what had happened at the last place, or the place before that. I didn’t want any of us to be in danger, so I knew exactly what we needed to do.
“We’ll need to talk to Janis. She’ll know what we need to do to stay safe. I mean, just in case. I don’t really think anything will happen while we’re there, but it doesn’t hurt to be sure.”
“I want to say right now, if shit starts happening and we’re on the fucking river, I’ll probably be swimming for it. It’s literally the last place I want to be stuck with a boatful of ghosts and a group of people touched by the veil. Thank god Janis isn’t going. If she were shit could really go down.” He wiped his hand down his face and took a deep breath.
“What do you mean?” Dean asked.
“James, why didn’t you tell me you were stopping by.” Mom walked in just like they had, unannounced and without knocking. We seriously needed to start locking the door.
“Oh, he didn’t plan it, he was just trying to avoid going to pick up our tuxes,” Dean said with a lifted brow pointed at Jimbo.
“Did you need some help? I’m more than willing to tag along.” She smiled at the two of them and attempted to control her excited bouncing, but that only lasted for a fraction of a second.
“N—”
“Yes, I’d love you to go,” Jimbo said, cutting off Dean, and reaching for his hand. “You know how I am with wearing anything more formal than chef’s whites.”
“Aw, yes, I understand. Are you ready to go, Dean?” she asked and took both their arms. Dean tried to control his reaction, but my mom always took him by surprise.
“I—uh I guess so.” Dean looked to Jimbo for some guidance, but he just shrugged his shoulder and smiled.
“She didn’t get to go with us when we picked out the tuxes for the wedding, let’s give her this.” Jimbo leaned over her and kissed Dean while Mom watched with a sappy smile on her face.
“You two,” she whispered, and shook her head. “Come on, let’s go.”
They were gone as fast as they’d arrived, and when my eyes met Jason’s we both bent over in laughter. “Oh my god, the three of them are such a handful,” Jason said when he could finally breathe enough to speak.
How to Lose an Omega in Twelve Days by Kallie Frost
Chapter One
“Jake Winter”
Our laughter turned into horrified gasps as the giant candy cane began to fall the wrong way.
“Oh, no. No, no, no…” Theo moaned.
I held my breath as the massive hunk of sugar crashed down onto the runway. It shattered into a billion shards of red and white. As the peppermint scented dust cleared I heard a sound. I knew what it was immediately. In fact, it was one of my least favorite sounds: cracking ice.
Sure enough, a large crack suddenly cut through the ice of the runway. And kept going. It took an eternity, or maybe just a few seconds, for the perfectly smooth runway to turn into a jagged pile of ice. The thing looked like a giant ice maker had just dumped out tons of ice into a pile.
“Well, well, well,” boomed a voice from behind us.
Maybe if I didn’t turn around…
“Theobroma Jingle,” the voice continued. “And…”
“Jake Winter?” I offered pitifully, turning around.
Santa narrowed his eyes at me and I knew that he knew. He was Santa, after all. He always knew.
“Santa,” Theo cried. “I’m so sorry! It was an accident! We were just… just…”
“I’m sure you didn’t mean it,” Santa said gently. “But, unless we can fix this runway before Christmas Eve… I don’t know if I’ll be able to get the sleigh off the ground.”
“I’ll fix it, sir,” I said quickly, rolling up my sleeves. I loved a good prank, but I wasn’t above cleaning up my messes either. But, as I surveyed the damage, trying to figure out where to start, I knew the shattered runway wasn’t going to be easy to fix.
Santa shook his head. “I’m afraid this is too much ice, even for you.”
“Are we going to be expelled?” Theo asked.
“Not today,” said Santa slowly. “But, I cannot simply let this go without addressing it either. Play time is over this semester,” he added firmly to me. “I suggest that you stay out of the way until Christmas.”
“Yes, sir. Yes. I should uh… go decorate some windows or… something.” I spun in a tight circle and vanished in a puff of snowflakes before he could change his mind.
I didn’t go far, however. I materialized in a tree nearby and leaned down to see what happened to Theo. He was a good kid, I didn’t want to get him in trouble.
“Where did he go?” Theo cried. “How did he do that?!”
Santa laughed. It wasn’t quite his usual jolly belly laugh, but I figured if he was laughing, then he must not have been too upset about the ruined runway. And, hopefully, was optimistic about Christmas. “Ah Theo, you’ve just met the North Pole’s most infamous prankster. And a good thing too. If Jack hadn’t been with you, you would be expelled now. But, seeing as he was involved, I can’t be too upset with you.”
“Jack? You mean Jake?”
“I mean Jack,” Santa corrected. “Frost.”
Theo let out an audible gasp and looked around as if he expected to see me. “Jack Frost? The Jack Frost?” he said.
I couldn’t stop a smile at his excitement. When things calmed down, I’d have to go reintroduce myself.
Theo was one of a handful of students enjoying a coveted, highly competitive winter internship in Santa’s Village. I sometimes liked to disguise myself as one of them and cause mischief. It usually didn’t end up with anything this bad happening though.
“That’s right,” Santa replied. “The Jack Frost. Now… what do we do with you?”
Theo cleared his throat nervously, but said nothing.
“Let’s do this the old-fashioned way, Theobroma. Enjoy the rest of your evening and get ready. Tomorrow you’re going down south.”
“Down… south?” Theo echoed in dismay. I winced. When St. Nick said “down south” he meant way down.
“Yes. I want you to find someone who has lost the spirit of Christmas and rekindle it for them. You have twelve days.”
“But Christmas is in twelve days!”
“It is. I’ll pick you up on my Christmas Eve route. You’ll have to find someone in need of cheer quickly. Help them find joy in the holiday season and you will remain here to finish out your internship. Fail, and when you return, you will pack your bags and return home.”
Theo stammered a moment, but nobody argues with Santa. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled.
“Don’t you have windows to frost?” Santa suddenly said loudly.
Why I ever thought I could get anything past him, I’d never know. I winked away. Far away, this time.
I found myself in another tree and looked around a ski resort. A very green ski resort.
“I think this place needs some fresh snow,” I said out loud.
With that, I got comfortable on my branch and settled back as the temperature dropped and the snow started falling. As I watched my handiwork, I brainstormed a way to make it up to Theo. Sure, Santa had gone easy on him, but missing out on the days leading up to Christmas in the North Pole would stink. I sat there, lost in thought until the sun started to set, casting a dreamy glow over the snow.
“I don’t like snow either.”
The annoyed voice drifted up to me and I narrowed my eyes at the sentiment. Excuse you! Who doesn’t care about snow?!
I leaned down to see a sour-faced young man pulling a suitcase out of a car nearby.
“Suit yourself. Merry Christmas!” called the driver.
“Bah! Humbug!” retorted the cranky guy.
He slammed the trunk and stomped off toward the main entrance. I shook my head and made the snow fall harder out of spite.
“Someone needs to get into the… spirit…” I said, trailing off as a brilliant idea struck me.
Noel I Won't by DJ Jamison
CHAPTER 1
NOEL
I walked through one of Chicago’s farmers markets that had popped up close to the coast of Lake Michigan, offering the best selection I’d ever found of fresh produce, fish, honey, and handcrafted goods.
Now that I was without a job, I had more time than I knew what to do with, so like any good chef, I’d been experimenting with all the recipes I’d never gotten to try while at the Orchid Room.
The owner, Reginald, had promised me creative freedom—until it cut into the bottom line. Then he’d slowly tightened his purse strings into a noose, strangling all the hopes and dreams I’d had for my first restaurant. With cheaper cuts of meat, less fresh ingredients, and a stale menu, we’d quickly gone from Chicago’s exciting new eatery to disappointing and pedestrian, according to food critics.
They were assholes who’d decimated our bookings with a few words in print, but they hadn’t been wrong. I’d spent years working my ass off in other people’s kitchens, all so I could one day manage a restaurant.
Now, all I had to show for it was the awful realization that my backbreaking labor of love might be at an end. Not to mention all the bills I was falling behind on without a job. My condo wasn’t cheap, and the head chef gig had paid well above my previous positions. I couldn’t afford to keep it, even if I was willing to go back to working on a line.
“What happened to you is a fucking shame,” Kody said. “I’d never treat a chef with your talent like that.”
“Yeah, well, you know how to manage a restaurant,” I said wryly.
I’d met Kody on a day trip to Christmas Falls for a wine-tasting event last year. I’d been impressed with his pub—which was really quite upscale for a little town—and he’d picked my brain about my favorite items on his menu and ways I might change them.
We’d clicked right then, and even though he didn’t need a chef, we’d stayed in touch. Occasionally, Kody came up to dine in great Chicago restaurants. He was always invested in making the White Elephant everything it could be. His enthusiasm was what I’d expected from Reginald—and sadly did not receive.
We stopped in front of a table covered in beautiful winter squash. I ran my fingernail over the edge of a butternut squash, testing the thickness of the skin, but I knew just from the looks of it—and the grizzled farmer who’d grown it—that it was going to be perfect.
“It’s a shit deal,” I said to Kody, continuing our conversation, “but it’s my fault for not sticking to my principles.”
He picked up a spaghetti squash and tapped the side, listening for the hollow sound that indicated ripeness. Satisfied, he set it in the joint basket we were carrying and dug in his pocket for a credit card. Most of the vendors were cashless, though there were a few holdouts.
Once he’d paid, we continued on, bypassing the fish stalls to browse the handcrafted goods. There were carvings of woodland creatures, delicious-smelling candles, even dog treats on offer. I snagged one for my sous chef. We were due to meet up and commiserate over our failed careers tomorrow night. Probably over too much wine.
“You should come down to Christmas Falls,” Kody said. “I don’t have a chef opening, but hell, you can come in and help us with some new recipes. I know everyone in town. Mik or Rudy might be open to hiring in their kitchen—”
My phone rang, cutting across his words. It was sweet of Kody to offer. We both knew I’d have an uphill battle in Chicago.
I glanced at my phone’s screen. “It’s my mom. I can just call her later.”
“No, you don’t,” Kody said, a scold in his tone. “That lady loves you, and we’re just wandering around aimlessly. Pick it up.”
“You’re not my boss yet,” I grumbled.
Probably not ever. I appreciated Kody’s offer, but there was no quicker way to kill a friendship.
I answered the call. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“Oh, Noel, I’m so glad I finally caught you!” She took a big breath. “You’re so busy that I just never know when to call.”
Guilt flared. A chef’s life wasn’t very family-friendly. I spent long hours in the kitchen, and when I wasn’t there, I was so exhausted I was mostly passed out or vegging in a fugue state in front of an old episode of Dexter. Watching a man chop up serial killers was oddly cathartic, and you had to admire his knife skills.
“Sorry,” I said. “I actually, uh, have some time off for the holidays.”
“You do?” Her whole voice brightened. “Oh, gosh, that’s lovely. If you have time, come see your dad. I know you’ve probably got much more important things to do, but we miss you.”
“You’re important, too,” I said, and then the rest of her statement caught up with me. An internal alarm went off. “Why should I see Dad?”
“What?”
“Well, you said I should come see Dad. Not both of you?”
“Oh.” She laughed. “I’m here, too, of course.”
“Right, so why—” I sucked in a breath. “Did something happen? Is he—”
“He’s fine,” she said, voice soothing. “We had a little heart scare. He’s recovering well.”
“Recovering!” I yelped. “What happened?”
My mother proceeded to tell me all about my father’s minor heart scare, which had ended with stents being inserted into his arteries. Not once, but twice! And without a single call to me.
“How could you not tell me?” I asked, wounded.
“Well, I did call,” she said tentatively. “I didn’t want to blurt it all on the voicemail, honey. I told you we had something to talk about.”
Shit. That message came in the night of a major blowup with Reginald. I’d completely forgotten to return the call. I’d been melting down over a stupid restaurant while my father was in the hospital.
“I’m so sorry,” I croaked while Kody turned, concern creasing his forehead.
“Noel,” she said, her stern mom voice coming out, “listen to me.”
“I’m listening.”
“You work in a demanding, stressful, ambitious field. We’ve always understood you had dreams. We want you to live your best life. We’re fine here. This is our happy place. It hasn’t always been yours, and I’m so sorry it wasn’t the best place to come out as a young gay kid.”
“Not your fault, Mom.”
“Still,” she said. “We’re not upset you’re busy. You have a life. We get it. But…”
“I should have called back,” I murmured.
“If you don’t, you could miss something important, honey. And I only worry because we won’t be the ones living with regret.”
“You’re right.”
“If you can’t make it home, we’ll understand. We always do. It gets so busy around here—”
“Wait, how are you managing a tree farm in Dad’s condition? He’s not out there working, is he?”
“No, of course not. Hopper is helping us out. You remember him, don’t you?”
Tall, broad football player with every girl in school panting after him—and one scrawny, terrified gay boy? Yeah, hard to forget.
“His parents’ farm went under years ago. He’s been running the farm for us. Honestly, we owe him so much. We’d probably have to retire otherwise.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? It sounds like Dad needs to take it easy.”
“Maybe not,” she allowed. “But you know your father. He’s a third-generation farmer. He’s not going to just sell it to the highest bidder.”
No, he’d always wanted to pass it on to me, and now that I was gone, Hopper had moved in, taking advantage of my parents’ precarious position. With a little charm, he might even convince them to just hand over the deed, no money needed, for all his dedicated work.
Dad’s voice called out in the background.
“Be right there!” Mom called, muffling the receiver so she didn’t blast off my ear. Her voice was quiet as she returned. “I should go make Ed some lunch. Otherwise, he’s likely to cover the whole meal in salt. Honestly, he’s worse than managing a toddler!”
I chuckled. “Okay, Mom. Thanks for calling again.”
“No worries. You have a Happy Thanksgiving, sweetie.”
“Oh, I will. Don’t make any plans. I’ll be home to cook a big meal for us all.”
“Really?”
“Really,” I said. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with family for the holiday.”
And by the sounds of things, someone needed to keep an eye on Dad and Hopper both.
The Curse Before Christmas by Eli Easton
Chapter One
Myth Monster Games
Chicago, Christmas Eve day
In a grove of glass trees, you encounter a cloaked figure holding a lantern made of woven twigs and tiny bones. The figure offers passage—but only if you answer this riddle:
"I was yours before you asked.I was broken when you dared.I echo through what you chase,yet vanish when shared.What am I?"
Patrick
"A secret," I said under my breath.
I hit the function key to pause the game and another to open up the code window. I studied the lines of C++, tapping my pencil on the desk to help me think. Everything looked perfect. What could possibly be causing the elf animation to glitch?
"Time to stop now," came a perky voice. "It's Christmas!"
The voice was a distant bell I easily ignored, focusing on my screen. Then a face swam into view, blocking my line of sight.
"It's Christmas Eve!" Eleanor exclaimed.
I made a face. "Technically, no. Eve implies nighttime, and it's not even noon."
Eleanor tsked. "Don't be so pedantic. Christmas Eve Day then. Come on, Patrick. It's time to get out of that noggin of yours. Cake? Secret Santa? Fruit punch? Par-tay! Par-tay! Par-tay!"
Eleanor made a rowing gesture with her hands—a gesture that was always ridiculous but was even more ridiculous when Eleanor did it. She was plump, middle-aged, and matronly, with a short helmet of reddish-brown hair. Her red yoga pants and poinsettia top added to the impression that she belonged in the 70's, maybe teaching preschoolers, and not in 2025 leading a team at a hip game company. And yet, Eleanor was the best game producer I'd ever had.
"Patrick is too good to party with the likes of us," snarked Raphael. He was another coder on the team, and his cubicle was next to mine. As usual, he was sticking his nose into my business.
"Not us," I replied mildly. "Just you."
Raphael's sneer grew like the Grinch's heart. He'd hated me from day one. I figured he was homophobic. Which was strange because I wasn't even out at work. Not that I was in, exactly. It was just no one's damn business. Raphael seemed to sense it though. Typical bully—he had better gaydar than I did.
Eleanor patted my shoulder. "Come on. Party at eleven. Office closes at noon. Thems the rules." She bustled out of my cubicle with an air that assumed my compliance. She did the mom-guilt thing so well.
"Yes! Off until January second, baby!" Traya popped out of her chair. She was an animator, but she seemed happy to abandon her work indefinitely.
She probably had holiday plans with a Satanic cult. Traya was uber goth with hair dyed darker than a black hole and worn up in high pig tails. Those pig tails swooshed around like whips of doom. Add white face paint, black lips and nails, and funereal schoolgirl clothing right out of Wednesday's closet, and she could be Beelzebub's main squeeze. Then again, for all I knew, she was married to an accountant and grew dahlias in her spare time.
I didn't know much about any of my coworkers, truth be told. And that was fine with me. I'd been lead coder on the team for the past year after moving to Chicago from a game company in LA. I wanted to be closer to my parents in Ohio as they aged. Besides Myth Monster made some of my all-time favorite games, and the chance to work on a new online RPG, Veilborn: Echoes of Midwinter, had been too enticing to pass up. But damn, Illinois was cold, and I’d yet to make even one real friend.
Though I was on good terms with the guy who ran the convenience store on the bottom floor of my apartment building. Small wins, everybody. Small wins.
I refocused on my code. I wanted to close out my open bugs before Christmas break, and I was good at this. Code had rules and predictability. Unlike people, it didn't vanish when you reached for it.
I was vaguely aware of people moving around behind me, the dragging of chairs, the laying out of food on a table.
Then I saw it. There was an extra period in the elf's fidget loop file name. Having the wrong file name should have broken the game, but when I looked out on the server, I found an old animation file with that exact name. An extra period? Really? Why couldn't people be more careful? I fixed the name in the code to match the correct file name. I ran the sequence again. No glitch.
With a sense of triumph, I went into Jira, our bug tracking software, and closed the bug. Ka-ching! Take that!
Suddenly, my computer screen went black. Eleanor stood there with a pink-nailed finger pressing on my monitor's power button.
"Hey!" I said.
"Now, don't give me that. I was watching. I know you just finished. No digging into something new. Come on, Scrooge. It's our annual Christmas party, whether you like it or not."
"Scrooge? I'll have you know I always play Santa at our family Christmas."
Eleanor's face got a tragic look, and she lowered her voice. "Which you're not having this year. The invitation to come to mine for dinner still stands. I don't like the idea of you—" she looked around and her whisper turned into a barely audible hiss "—being A-L-O-N-E on Christmas."
Geez, did she think there was anyone on the team who couldn't spell?
"I told you, I'm fine. I'm looking forward to a quiet, meditative holiday. I'll ruminate on the reason for the season. And eat the tin of cookies my mom sent. It'll be great."
Her disapproving frown deepened. "It's only a short drive to Wayne. I'm making ham. With all the fixins? Come on. What'd'ya say?" Her tone turned into a singsong wheedle.
"That's sweet, and I'm sure your ham is the hammiest. But I have plans for Christmas dinner." Those plans included Chinese takeout and a new game I'd been anxious to dig into. But Eleanor didn't need to know that.
Sam, in the cubicle on my other side, popped up and held out a couple of action figures. "You could take Butch and Spike with you to keep you company," he offered. "Only, make sure to bring them back in January, k? They're my favorites."
I widened my eyes. "You have favorites? Is that fair, Sam?"
Sam got a guilty look and sank back into his chair. His cubicle was arrayed with at least fifty action figures. If I was a nerd, Sam was at a whole other level of geek. He even still lived at home with Mom. Poor Sam looked around at his figures anxiously and whispered something under his breath. It very much looked like, I didn't mean it.
Eleanor mildly slapped my shoulder. "Stop it. Good will towards men, Patrick."
"What? I was kidding."
"Sam, Patrick, come on. It's cake time."
Sam, all lumbering, 6'2” and 250 pounds of manchild, hoisted himself up and headed for the confection. But I felt rooted in my chair. I wished I'd never told Eleanor I wasn't going home for Christmas. Probably the whole team knew. I felt like I had a big "L" stamped on my forehead, and I didn't need their pity right now. Or ever. Though I just… maybe wished I had someone to talk to who knew me for real.
Anyway, I was alone this Christmas out of a spirit of self-sacrifice, and that ought to count for something. It was my parents' thirtieth anniversary, so me and sis had gone in on two tickets for a holiday cruise. Which was great. I was so glad my folks were going.
No, really. I was. I was twenty-seven. And Christmas was just a day on the calendar. I had zero regrets. Okay, very few regrets.
Loser or not, there was no avoiding this par-tay. I spun my roller chair around and foot-scooted myself into the cubicle aisle to join the circle of my illustrious colleagues.
Always You by RJ Scott
Chapter One
JAZZ
Standing across the street, I held the coffee cup close, its warmth providing a brief reprieve from the biting Chicago wind. The old building in Humboldt Park loomed ahead— a weary, weathered structure. Its brickwork was faded and chipped, with windows gleaming on the first floor, but above that, grimy and dark, the windowsills and surrounds needed repairs everywhere. Around the house, the neighborhood stretched out in a patchwork of neglect and survival. Graffiti-covered walls displayed various tags, while trash blew and collected on the snowy sidewalks.
Someone bumped into me, jolting me from my reverie. “Sorry,” I muttered, but the girl glanced back, her nose wrinkling in disdain, before she hurried away, disappearing into the flurry of thickening snow that swirled around streetlamps and piled up in dirty mounds. She might’ve been reacting to the way I looked— homeless, piles of rags, unwanted, and scary. Or maybe the way I smelled— given I hadn’t washed in days— not since leaving the hospital where the cops had dropped me off. My appearance must have been unsettling— hands cracked from the cold, hair unkempt, clothes a mismatched ensemble from some thrift shop clinging to my skinny body, a backpack with all I owned slung over my shoulder. She and other people— the ordinary people of this world— were why I didn’t stay inside the café. I knew no one would want to sit next to me, so I used loose change, ignored the comments, and hurried outside to take my position as a ghost, haunting the fringes of a world that had moved on without me.
Cars inched along the road, their tires crunching over the fresh layer of snow, and I watched them and their drivers, so worried they’d slip and knock their vehicles as if a few scratches mattered. What were they all doing out here, anyway? Didn’t they all have homes to go to, with people who cared about them?
I sipped the dark coffee, its bitterness awful compared to the sugar-laden or salty drinks I’d grown used to in the desert. That arid, endless expanse of sand and heat felt a world away. Here, the air was heavy with the smell of cold— that crisp, almost metallic scent that comes with snow. It mingled with distant whiffs of exhaust fumes and an urban winter's faint, underlying decay.
The desert was silent and had vast open spaces until it was torn apart by explosions and drenched in screams, but here, the city was a constant hum of life, even in its most rundown corners. The sound of distant traffic, the muffled conversations of passersby, the occasional siren in the distance— it was all so alien and tight and close— too much.
I took another sip— my hand shaking, the coffee scalding my tongue— and stared at the building that was supposed to be my refuge. Fear gripped me— not just of the four walls waiting to enclose me, but of what lay beyond them.
I wanted to return to the heat, friends, and having a reason and purpose every day. So, I should head south to Texas, the tip of Florida, the islands, or the ocean. It may not be the desert, but the heat in my bones would be enough to thaw me out, right?
But then, I wouldn’t be near Harper, and whatever my ex-wife, Ava, thought of me now, I deserved to be near my daughter. If only to check in on her from a distance.
She was in Chicago, living her normal teenage life.
I was in Chicago, trying to stay alive any way I knew how.
And maybe one day, I’d talk to her.
One day, when my head wasn’t so messed up and I didn’t smell like five-day-old garbage.
I drew in a lungful of icy air and stepped off the curb, intent on closing the distance between me and the building as the world seemed to slow down. A silver Toyota lost its battle with the slick, snow-covered street, fishtailing wildly. It skidded past me, missing me by mere inches. My heart didn’t race. No adrenaline-fueled shock coursed through me. Instead, there was an eerie calm, a detachment, and I heard music blaring although the car windows were closed. The driver, face twisted in frustration, shot me an angry gesture before steering the car back on track and disappearing around the next corner.
I stood on the road, the cold seeping through my worn shoes, watching the taillights fade into the distance. The lack of fear, the absence of reaction, was unsettling. Once, a moment like that would have sparked a surge of adrenaline, a rush of instincts perfected in far more dangerous situations. But now, there was nothing— just a hollow emptiness, a numbness that had become a constant companion since returning stateside.
“Hey, you’re in the middle of the road, man. You okay?” someone asked, snapping me out of the fugue state I had going on.
I waved a hand as if I were telling him it was okay, then, with one glance left and right, I crossed to the sidewalk and ended up outside the door of Guardian Hall, Private Residence. There was a discreet plate with a button to push, and I stared at it.
Guardian Hall?
I needed to press the buzzer.
I reached for it.
But I didn’t press it.
I couldn’t.
I stared some more, my feet unmoving, my backpack digging into my shoulders, the snow swirling harder around me.
Then, the door opened.
I couldn’t see into the shadows, and until the person stepped into the light, I wasn’t sure it would be him, but I recognized those dark eyes, that ruffled dark hair, and how he dressed was a throwback to twenty years ago. He looked older, wiser, maybe, but, like me he was only a few weeks from his thirty-eighth birthday, so he would never again be the boy I remembered. He was silent and watchful in the way he stared at me.
“Do you want to come in?” he said with a kind, understanding smile.
He didn’t sneer, wrinkle his nose, or judge me; instead, he invited me inside.
“Alex,” I murmured.
He grinned. “That’s me, for my sins.” Then, he held out a hand. “Alex Richardson, manager of Guardian Hall.”
“I know,” I said, and his smile faltered a little, and he seemed puzzled for a moment, probably imagining that I was familiar somehow.
“It’s okay to come in. We don’t ask for names or—”
“Jazz,” I blurted and coughed, remnants of the freaking viral shit that had landed me in the hospital.
He looked confused; then, his hand dropped, his eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. Was he still going to welcome me in after sending me away twenty years ago? Was this the moment he slammed the door in my face again after telling me I was nothing to him? After a moment’s pause, he reached for me, gripped my wet-through coat, and dragged me into the house, closing the door behind me, then setting me back so he could check me out.
He was lost for words.
And I didn’t have a single damn thing to say.
BL MaxwellBL Maxwell grew up in a small town listening to her grandfather spin tales about his childhood. Later she became an avid reader and after a certain vampire series she became obsessed with fanfiction. She soon discovered Slash fanfiction and later discovered the MM genre and was hooked.
Many years later, she decided to take the plunge and write down some of the stories that seem to run through her head late at night when she’s trying to sleep.
Many years later, she decided to take the plunge and write down some of the stories that seem to run through her head late at night when she’s trying to sleep.
Kallie is the pseudonym of a USA Today Bestselling Author who normally writes young adult fantasy and dabbles in paranormal romance. She loves animals of all kinds, so she loves reading and writing books with shifter themes. Her favorite time to write is late at night when her husband and kids are asleep and everything is quiet. During the day she can be found chasing her boys, baking, and talking to herself.
DJ JamisonDJ Jamison writes romances about everyday life and extraordinary love featuring a variety of queer characters, from gay to bisexual to asexual. DJ grew up in the Midwest in a working-class family, and those influences can be found in her writing through characters coping with real-life problems: money troubles, workplace drama, family conflicts and, of course, falling in love. DJ spent more than a decade in the newspaper industry before chasing her first dream to write fiction. She spent a lifetime reading before that and continues to avidly devour her fellow authors’ books each night. She lives in Kansas with her husband, two sons, one snake, and a sadistic cat named Birdie.
Having been, at various times and under different names, a minister’s daughter, a computer programmer, a game designer, the author of paranormal mysteries, a fan fiction writer, and organic farmer, Eli has been a m/m romance author since 2013. She has over 30 books published.
Eli has loved romance since her teens and she particular admires writers who can combine literary merit, genuine humor, melting hotness, and eye-dabbing sweetness into one story. She promises to strive to achieve most of that most of the time. She currently lives on a farm in Pennsylvania with her husband, bulldogs, cows, a cat, and lots of groundhogs.
In romance, Eli is best known for her Christmas stories because she’s a total Christmas sap. These include “Blame it on the Mistletoe”, “Unwrapping Hank” and “Merry Christmas, Mr. Miggles”. Her “Howl at the Moon” series of paranormal romances featuring the town of Mad Creek and its dog shifters has been popular with readers. And her series of Amish-themed romances, Men of Lancaster County, has won genre awards.
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.
BL Maxwell
Kallie Frost
DJ Jamison
Haunted Destiny by BL Maxwell
KOBO / WEBSITE / GOODREADS TBR
How to Lose an Omega in Twelve Days by Kallie Frost
Noel I Won't by DJ Jamison
The Curse Before Christmas by Eli Easton
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