Summary:
Harrisburg Railers #7
Tennant Rowe has it all, a boyfriend he adores, a loving family, and a career on the rise. He’s sure of his place in the world, and the future can only get brighter. Then one night, in a flash of skates and sticks, life changes forever. Getting back on the ice is Ten’s priority, and experts tell him that it’s just a matter of time.
Jared watches his lover fall in more ways than one, and when tragedy strikes, even the strongest of relationships are tested. Ten is strong, but Jared has to be stronger to help the man who holds his heart. Only, he has to admit that maybe it isn’t just him who can make Ten whole again.
Jared and Ten’s love is forever, but the rocky path to the romantic Christmas Jared had planned may be hard to travel.
Jared watches his lover fall in more ways than one, and when tragedy strikes, even the strongest of relationships are tested. Ten is strong, but Jared has to be stronger to help the man who holds his heart. Only, he has to admit that maybe it isn’t just him who can make Ten whole again.
Jared and Ten’s love is forever, but the rocky path to the romantic Christmas Jared had planned may be hard to travel.
Original Review November 2018:
When Tennant Rowe finds himself injured with a long road ahead to recovery and regaining his life on the ice, it is going to take everything he has to get there, including patience. Jared Madsen watches the man he loves battle towards recovery and he realizes that time and patience is needed from everyone but does he have strength to standby and let Ten do this while everyone turns to him for answers without breaking himself? Can the romantic Christmas Jared has in mind help heal both mens' minds?
Who doesn't love a holiday novella in one of their favorite series? When I heard that RJ Scott & VL Locey was going to do a Christmas novella in the Harrisburg Railers I knew it would be a winner, how can it not with them at the helm? Which means I went in with high expectations and that isn't always a good thing when it comes to art and entertainment, you don't want to start something expecting a certain level and then if it doesn't match your anticipation then suddenly you feel disappointed or let down either in the artists or yourself. WELL! I need not have worried because there wasn't an ounce of disappointment or let down in sight! Nope, Neutral Zone is all good in all ways, a definite win-win.
I won't reveal anything about the fight Ten has to come back or what put him in that position to begin with for those who are reading my review and haven't yet read Goal Line(Harrisburg Railers #6) or Ryker, the first in the authors' spin-off series, Owatonna U. I will say that Ten is still the tenacious and spirited young man we first met in Changing Lines and Jared is still the coach who loves him. They may find themselves on a path that neither saw coming but at the heart it hasn't changed them, its just made certain things a bit more clear.
One thing I do want to mention on a personal note, as someone who was at my mom's bedside everyday when she was in the hospital for the better part of 8 months back in 2007, the frustrations and inner turmoil that both Ten and Jared deal with are written pretty spot on and done so with respect that can often be overlooked or over-dramatized in fiction and for that I want to say a huge "Thank You" to RJ Scott and VL Locey.
We get to see many of the series favorites pop up here and there and in doing so if you haven't already guessed by this point you will now, the Railers are more than just a team they are a family. The fact that this is a Christmas novella only heightens the love. So much goodness from beginning to end. For those who have not read Harrisburg Railers from book one, I highly recommend starting from the beginning. Will you enjoy Neutral Zone if you just start with this holiday tale? Of course. Will you be lost? Probably not. Will you be missing huge entertaining chunks? Definitely. For the most part each entry is a "separate" tale because they are different pairings but as I said, the Railers are a family not just a team so the series is connected by more than just playing for the same hockey team.
When Tennant Rowe finds himself injured with a long road ahead to recovery and regaining his life on the ice, it is going to take everything he has to get there, including patience. Jared Madsen watches the man he loves battle towards recovery and he realizes that time and patience is needed from everyone but does he have strength to standby and let Ten do this while everyone turns to him for answers without breaking himself? Can the romantic Christmas Jared has in mind help heal both mens' minds?
Who doesn't love a holiday novella in one of their favorite series? When I heard that RJ Scott & VL Locey was going to do a Christmas novella in the Harrisburg Railers I knew it would be a winner, how can it not with them at the helm? Which means I went in with high expectations and that isn't always a good thing when it comes to art and entertainment, you don't want to start something expecting a certain level and then if it doesn't match your anticipation then suddenly you feel disappointed or let down either in the artists or yourself. WELL! I need not have worried because there wasn't an ounce of disappointment or let down in sight! Nope, Neutral Zone is all good in all ways, a definite win-win.
I won't reveal anything about the fight Ten has to come back or what put him in that position to begin with for those who are reading my review and haven't yet read Goal Line(Harrisburg Railers #6) or Ryker, the first in the authors' spin-off series, Owatonna U. I will say that Ten is still the tenacious and spirited young man we first met in Changing Lines and Jared is still the coach who loves him. They may find themselves on a path that neither saw coming but at the heart it hasn't changed them, its just made certain things a bit more clear.
One thing I do want to mention on a personal note, as someone who was at my mom's bedside everyday when she was in the hospital for the better part of 8 months back in 2007, the frustrations and inner turmoil that both Ten and Jared deal with are written pretty spot on and done so with respect that can often be overlooked or over-dramatized in fiction and for that I want to say a huge "Thank You" to RJ Scott and VL Locey.
We get to see many of the series favorites pop up here and there and in doing so if you haven't already guessed by this point you will now, the Railers are more than just a team they are a family. The fact that this is a Christmas novella only heightens the love. So much goodness from beginning to end. For those who have not read Harrisburg Railers from book one, I highly recommend starting from the beginning. Will you enjoy Neutral Zone if you just start with this holiday tale? Of course. Will you be lost? Probably not. Will you be missing huge entertaining chunks? Definitely. For the most part each entry is a "separate" tale because they are different pairings but as I said, the Railers are a family not just a team so the series is connected by more than just playing for the same hockey team.
RATING:
The Alphas Santa-Kissed Omega by Lorelei M Hart
Summary:
Alpha Kissed #4
Nothing is simple when you’re dating a single father.
I told myself after my alpha passed away that I might not ever find another. I would raise my son Dane the best I knew how and, when, years later, our family and friends were still acting as if I should mourn forever, I decided to move from The Netherlands to start over in the United States. My little guy deserved a bright future where he wasn’t constantly being asked if he missed a dad he didn’t even remember.
I didn’t do it with the intent of finding another alpha. After all, most omegas were lucky to find one to fall in love with, and I’d had mine. But when I saw Link, I knew he was mine. My true mate.
The moment Gustav walked into the room, and I took in his scent, my heart knew he was mine and there would never be another for me. It was perfect. Except his son disliked me on sight. Now I have no idea how to move on with my mate when someone so important to him disapproves. But I’m not going to give up. I’ve found not only my omega, but my family, my future. One I hope we can all share.
The Alpha’s Santa-Kissed Omega is a MM, Mpreg, non-shifter holiday romance with a strong, kind alpha, an intelligent loving omega, an adorable little boy who isn’t sure about his new situation, and a baby on the way.
Original Review January 2025:
I want to take a second to thank the author for the Netherlands connection, my great grandfather came to America with his parents and siblings in 1910 and I really found the holiday traditions interesting. I also found Link trying to connect with Gustav's son, Dane, through the traditions a lovely little touch.
I won't say too much so as not to spoil anything. I know some don't like an insta-love romance, they don't find them believable but I can attest to the fact that they are very real as my grandparents were just that: insta-love that lasted 48 years until my grandfather passed. Of course when dealing with fated mates tropes, why wouldn't insta-love be involved? Long as the author writes it well it's one of my favorite tropes and Lorelei M Hart definitely writes it well.
When children are involved in the story it can be hard to do them justice, to get the balance right between sugary sweet and obnoxious brat. Dane is a well balanced little boy who is sweet as can be except when it comes to the new man in his daddy's life. The author does a wonderful job when it comes to that balance as well as both Gustav and Link's responses to his moments of defiance. You just want to wrap all three up in huge Mama Bear Hugs to let them know how well they are all handling everything and to let them know it's okay for time to be given to getting all the emotional pieces to fit.
This is only the second story in the author's Alpha Kissed series but I know it won't be my last, a true holiday gem.
The Stroke of Midnight by Jordan Castillo Price
Summary:
PsyCop #3.1
Jacob Marks has noticed that crimes are committed whether or not he happens to have a social engagement on the agenda. Date another PsyCop, and the likelihood of having a successful night out are cut in half.
Of course Jacob feels sorry for the poor sap in the Fifth Precinct who's been shot. But did he have to go and get himself offed on New Year's Eve?
Complimentary copy on JCP Books website no longer available. Now included in PsyCop Briefs: Volume 1.
Original Review January 2024:
A lovely little short focusing more on Jacob but as his mind always drifts to Vic, his presence is always there. If you've been reading Jordan Castillo Price's PsyCop series then you have to give this one a go. Jacob is his own man of course but this little short shows how he's just not complete or completely happy without Vic. Gotta admit I loved that the author included how us here in the midwest don't get much of an actual Midnight ball drop anymore. If you tune in at midnight, they use to play it on TV so each timezone got to see it at midnight but it hasn't been that way for years now and when the clock strikes 12 and the new year begins for us poor suckers in the middle of the country, we get to see Time Square nearly empty and the street cleaners beginning. Just kind of nice to have that pointed out through Jacob's inner musings.
Summary:
Texas #9
Texas #9
Can Connor show River a real family Christmas?
When Connor finds River on the roof of the campus admin building, he doesn’t know what to do. His friend is drunk and shouting into a snowstorm, a bottle of vodka in his hand. The easy part is getting River down; the hard part is insisting River comes home with Connor for Christmas.
River doesn’t have a family or any place outside of college that he calls home. Not that it matters to him; he’s happy being alone for Christmas in his budget motel, watching reruns of Elf. Only, Connor keeps telling wildly improbable stories of the perfect family celebrations at his parents’ ranch in Texas, and it’s wearing River down. He didn’t ask to be kidnapped. He didn’t want to fall in love with the entire Campbell-Hayes family. But he does.
From one Christmas to the next. This is Connor’s year to rescue River, and himself, for them both to mess things up, make things right, fall in lust, and finally, for Connor to show the man he loves what being part of a family can mean.
When Connor finds River on the roof of the campus admin building, he doesn’t know what to do. His friend is drunk and shouting into a snowstorm, a bottle of vodka in his hand. The easy part is getting River down; the hard part is insisting River comes home with Connor for Christmas.
River doesn’t have a family or any place outside of college that he calls home. Not that it matters to him; he’s happy being alone for Christmas in his budget motel, watching reruns of Elf. Only, Connor keeps telling wildly improbable stories of the perfect family celebrations at his parents’ ranch in Texas, and it’s wearing River down. He didn’t ask to be kidnapped. He didn’t want to fall in love with the entire Campbell-Hayes family. But he does.
From one Christmas to the next. This is Connor’s year to rescue River, and himself, for them both to mess things up, make things right, fall in lust, and finally, for Connor to show the man he loves what being part of a family can mean.
Finding River drunk on the roof was the last thing Connor expected to see as he was preparing to head home to the Double D for the Christmas holiday but once he sees him in that state he can't just leave him. River doesn't want to spend the holiday with Connor's happy family but once he arrives in Texas will he open himself up to the welcoming environment of the Campbell-Hayes family and let the man in or will he return to Denver as soon as he can? Will Connor be able to show River that love is possible and that he's not just a charity case?
It's a new Texas story!!!! YAY!!!! EEEP!!!! HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!!!! and a thousand other catchphrases that express pure joy! Okay, I got that out now on to the story. 😉😉
When I heard we were going to be visiting the Double D again, my first thought: Jack and Riley! Yes, they are here as are many in the Double D universe and that alone makes this a winner. But Home for Christmas is so much more. The old familiars are there, the land, the horses, but this is Connor's journey. What is it about the Texas series that makes them so amazing? Is it the land, the Double D, the characters, the horses? It is all that put together and so much more than words can say. As a farmer's daughter I can attest to how the land has a way of giving a person(in this case River) a chance to relax, to just stop and breathe. As with so many in this series, River needs more than relaxing but being able to breathe, to take stock, to see what makes Connor Connor, also gives River a chance to see who is looking back at him in the mirror. Basically, the Double D may not be what River wants but at that point in his life, its what he needs and whether you believe in fate or not sometimes life knows exactly where we should be to keep our journey going.
Connor was always the quiet twin but he has definitely found his voice, and speaking as someone who has one of those talkative types in the house it can be frustrating, but there is just something about Connor that even though there are times you know River wants to stuff a huge Christmas bow in his mouth you also know that he finds it endearing. And just like Connor does, there are times you want to wrap River up in bubblewrap just to protect him from the world but also from himself. That's not to say River is a danger to himself physically but emotionally perhaps and you can't help but want to give him a never-ending bear hug. RJ Scott has always had a way of making her characters, who should by all appearances be angsty and over-the-top, real and ones that you could meet pumping gas or buying stamps, Connor and River are no different.
Home for Christmas may be Connor and River's journey of holidays, friendship, discovery, and love it is also the perfect addition to the Texas series. Seeing the Double D again is never a bad thing and getting a glimpse of the Campbell-Hayes family as they grow and age is a true holiday treat. For those asking "can I read Home without having read the others?" my answer is "Probably." My personal opinion however, is to read the series in order but as this is Connor and River's story it can be read without prior knowledge of the others but I personally feel the "little moments" just flow better knowing the family(and ranch)'s history.
Audiobook Review November 2019:
Home for Christmas was a delightful treat last Christmas and it was the perfect way to kick off my holiday entertaining season this year. Not a lot I can add to the original review, as I said last year it is always a treat to visit the Double D and a look at the next generation is not only a treat but just pure joy. River's moments with Max were minor in the scheme of things but personally I found them to be endearing but also very telling to River's nature, his ability to let his mind "settle down" in a way he really hadn't upto that point shows that perhaps he's not as "broken" as he thinks he is. As I originally said last year, sometimes the land just has a way of letting a person breathe which then let's a person open themselves up to the people and possibilities around them. As for Sean Crisden's narration? There's really no surprise here that he brings life to the story in a way that makes you feel like you are watching the story play out right in front of you. Brilliant addition to my holiday library.
Home for Christmas was a delightful treat last Christmas and it was the perfect way to kick off my holiday entertaining season this year. Not a lot I can add to the original review, as I said last year it is always a treat to visit the Double D and a look at the next generation is not only a treat but just pure joy. River's moments with Max were minor in the scheme of things but personally I found them to be endearing but also very telling to River's nature, his ability to let his mind "settle down" in a way he really hadn't upto that point shows that perhaps he's not as "broken" as he thinks he is. As I originally said last year, sometimes the land just has a way of letting a person breathe which then let's a person open themselves up to the people and possibilities around them. As for Sean Crisden's narration? There's really no surprise here that he brings life to the story in a way that makes you feel like you are watching the story play out right in front of you. Brilliant addition to my holiday library.
RATING:
Snowed Inn
An avalanche, a quaint Christmas inn, and an assignment to sit on an international thief until the cops can arrive. What could go wrong?
Felix can’t believe his luck when a perfect stranger offers him the use of a pre-paid cabin at a mountain inn. He’d planned to ignore Christmas this year, working through the holidays in his job as a nurse in a Denver maternity ward. After all, Christmas won’t be the same without his beloved mother, who recently passed. But the inn, decked out like a Hallmark movie set, is the perfect place to soothe his heart, rekindle his Christmas cheer, and maybe even find romance? When a gorgeous ex-Marine befriends him and sticks by his side through a whole day of Christmas activities, Felix thinks he’s found true love.
Riggs’s plans for a ski vacation are buried when an avalanche blocks off the mountain inn where he’s staying from the rest of the world. A midnight phone call enlists Rigg’s help watching a guy on the FBI’s Most Wanted list who is supposed to be staying at the inn. The FBI and the police can’t get through until the avalanche is cleared. Riggs steps up to do his duty one more time. But the man who is supposed to be The Falcon, an international thief, has one hell of a Clark Kent type alter ego, because he seems like the sweetest man Riggs has ever met. The more time they spend together, the more attracted Riggs becomes to him, and the more determined he is to make The Falcon reveal his true colors.
Will love prevail? Or will the law?
A Changeling Christmas is a mistaken identity, snowed in together, rom-com romance with all the Christmas feels.
Original Review December Book of the Month 2022:
Sometimes things are just too good to be true and that might just be what Felix is facing when a stranger offers him the use of his cabin. What makes it too good to be true is something you have to find out on your own but it's the perfect setup for Felix and Riggs, another stranger Felix meets who is determined to stay by Felix' side.
Secrets of different levels are embedded in layers throughout the story and when the men are faced to confront said secrets is it too late to find happiness? Perhaps. Are they too much for the pair to overcome or is it just a perfectly setup holiday tale by the Queen of Christmas? You know my answer to that one: you have to read for yourself to discover that part of of this holiday tale.
There is probably a little more mystery element in A Changeling Christmas compared to the other entries in the Snowed Inn series, although there are a couple I haven't read yet. Is mystery an overwhelming factor? No. Does it make the romance more drama-centric? Perhaps. Does the holiday spirit get lost in said drama and mystery? Not at all! Some might think it unplausible that Felix would blindly follow the stranger's wishes but there comes a time when we all just need a break from life and this is Felix's chance for a short break. Course, if he only knew what following the stranger's wishes would lead to he may have taken another option but then he may never have met Riggs. So once again fate seems to know exactly what it's doing😉
A Changeling Christmas is not a story to be missed. Eli Easton has once again brought the holiday magic to life that entertains from beginning to end.
One last series note: Snowed Inn is a multi-author series of standalones with the only real follow thru being the avalanche that traps the main characters at The Retreat. The entries can be read in any order although if I'm completely honest I'm glad I read RJ Scott's Stop the Wedding first simply because there are the occasional wedding(or non-wedding) comments, none of which really effect or play a role in any of the other entries but I was glad I knew what they meant having read Wedding first. But that's more a personal preference of mine than an actually need to know scenario. I still have a couple of entries to read but so far they are all topnotch.
Neutral Zone by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Ten
Karma. It’s a real bitch. Just ask anyone.
I’d left my man and my team behind in Harrisburg and flown to—get this—fucking Tucson, Arizona, to begin treatment for my traumatic head injury.
The same city the Raptors played in.
I could open the blinds in my room here in the Draper Neurological Rehabilitation and Performance Center and see the glistening mirrored sides of the Santa Catalina Arena. Funny shit right there. Four blocks over, the Raptors were on the ice for morning skate, and I was here, trying to get my brain healed enough so I could maybe play my game again someday.
Shit, right now I’d be happy to be able to speak or read normally.
“Ho, ho, ho,” I growled, closing the drapes, then pulling my sunglasses off and tossing them to the bed. Living behind sunglasses and blinds sucked. Headaches sucked. Slurred speech sucked. Seeing the pity in the eyes of my boyfriend and family and teammates sucked. Christmas with sand and cactus sucked. I wanted to cry. I wanted to be back home with Mads, decorating our tree and shaking my presents. I wanted to be shopping for gifts for my boyfriend, my mother and father, for my brothers, and for Stan and Adler and all the Railers. I wanted things to be the way they had been before that night. Tears threatened, but I held them in. Crying only made my head hurt worse.
So, I padded out of my room and made my way to breakfast and the first of several rounds of rehab I’d be facing today. I’d been here one day and had come to realize that my brain was now as well-known with the neurologists here as my face was back in Harrisburg. This was the place for athletes to come when they were battling CTE-related brain issues. Most of the men here were older, retired players, lots of football players. I mean lots of them. I’d met three other hockey players so far, all retired, all fighting to keep a step ahead of the disease taking over their brains. Sometimes, late at night, when I was lying in bed, I’d get scared for myself and all the other guys on my team. I worried about Mads. God knows how many concussions he’d had when he was playing. Add that to his heart shit and… well, I worried about stuff now. Lots more stuff than I had before the night my head met the ice, sans helmet.
The facility held a hundred and fifty people, and not all of us were athletes. Lots of patients had come here after car accidents or other catastrophic injuries. There were head injuries and spinal cord injuries being healed. The staff seemed nice, confident in their ability to nurse me back to my old self or as close as we could get. The halls were bright and airy, the food excellent, and the medical staff top-notch. And yes, it was expensive and elite and the cream of the crop. Which was why Mads had stubbornly pushed me into coming here after my initial rehab had been completed. Two weeks at the facility, a couple of weeks back home for the holidays, then back for another four weeks. Then maybe we’d talk about hockey.
“Hey, you’re Tennant Rowe, right?”
I skidded to a halt outside one of a dozen sun-rooms. As though people in Arizona didn’t get enough sun just stepping outside? They needed to make rooms for sun? A tall, burly black man about my age ran at me, hand out. I smiled up at him, trying to pull some information about him from my cloudy memory banks.
“I’m Declan Fidler, cornerback for the Temple Owls.”
“Ah, cool, hey man.” We shook hands. God, he was cute. Short hair and a flashy smile, big wide shoulders and inkwork all over his arms. “Sorry to see you here though, dude.”
“Yeah, I know that.” He ran a hand over his hair. “First game of the season too.”
“That sucks,” I said, then released his hand. “I was on my way to the dining hall.”
“I could eat if you want some company.”
“Totally. Be nice to have someone to talk to who’s under forty.”
“I feel that.”
He joined me on the walk to the dining hall, which looked nothing like the hospital cafeteria I’d been expecting when I first saw it yesterday. This place was upmarket. Round tables with cloth covers, thick royal-blue carpeting, windows that ran floor to ceiling, flowering plants in the corners, and a wait staff.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this place,” I murmured as I followed Declan to a table by the windows.
“I feel the same way,” he said as we took our seats. “I mean, I grew up wealthy, my father’s the chief justice of the Pennsylvania Supreme Court, and I was still blown away.”
“That’s impressive. Did he…?” My brain went totally blank, and I scrambled to find the proper word. “Push. Yeah, did he push to get you in here?” I winced at the slip.
Fuck this shit. Really. Push? How fucking hard it is to recall a word like push?
An older woman in a tidy uniform filled our water glasses, then asked if she could have our room numbers. All the meals here were prepared by nutritionists with an eye to the patients’—athletes in my case—unique needs.
“Big-time. He was adamant about me coming here after the initial rehab. Said that this place would do things to counter the damage that no regular rehab could do. You here for CRT?”
“I uhm…” and that skip again. Fuck. “Dude, sorry, I’m like…” I tapped my temple.
He reached over the table to take my hand. “Ten, man, do not sweat it. You should have seen me when I got here. Barely able to string four words together. Sometimes I still trip up, just like that. But it’s all good. We’re tough motherfuckers. We’ll train our brains.”
“Yeah, train the brains. Cool.”
He gave my hand a squeeze and then released it. “So CRT?”
Our food was served, my platter loaded with scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, a bowl of oatmeal, and chocolate milk. My meds also sat on my tray. Declan’s food was similar, as were the meds in tiny cups lined up for him.
“Cognitive rehab therapy,” he said before shaking out his napkin and laying it over his lap. I did the same and tossed down the pills. I had no idea what they were pumping into me, and I truly didn’t care. As long as they got me back on the ice, they could be dumping Soylent green into my body via the milk. Man, that old movie rocked. What I wouldn’t give to be curled up on the couch with Mads watching it again. “Speech, occupation, and physical therapy. You don’t have any big physical issues, do you?”
“Some weakness on the left side, my arm, but it’s getting better. I hardly drop anything now.”
“That’s good. Once the swelling goes down, things tend to get better.” He took a bite from a slice of whole wheat toast. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here eating with you. Cup winner, LGBT crusader. Thanks for doing that, coming out, being proud and gay. I know how hard that is. My family and team have been amazing about my being queer.”
“Excellent. Glad they’re… fuck, I just. Give me a sec. Yeah, uhm, glad it’s good for you. I’m sorry. Sometimes I can go, like, whole days and barely fuck up, and then I’ll hit this patch where my brain glitches out and… shit. Fuck. Okay, I’m going to shut up for a minute and let my neurons… fire or something.”
“It’s fine. I understand.” And he did. I could see it in his eyes. He totally got it because he was living it too.
I wished everyone else in my life could get it as Declan did. We ate in amiable silence, not that heavy, cloaking pity blanket of quietude that my family draped over me every time I fumbled.
Therapy followed that pleasant breakfast, hours of it. Doctors and nurses, therapists, reading and tests and poking and prodding. Weights and treadmills and medicine balls. Shoving tiny pegs into tinier holes, pet therapy which was actually cool because who didn’t love a dog kiss? Speech therapy was last, and I tanked at it. Totally blew it to shit with my inability to recall one simple phrase. It made me so mad I flipped the table, sending papers and pencils flying. Then, because I had no clue where that outburst had come from, I felt even shittier.
“Tennant, it’s okay,” the woman, who was some fancy kind of advanced speech therapist, said as we picked up the mess I’d made. “Temper flare-ups are common. It’s frustrating not to be able to express yourself. We see that frequently in stroke victims.”
“That was uncool. Just so uncool. I didn’t… it wasn’t… shit.” I dropped to my ass, hands full of work sheets that looked as if a four-year-old had scribbled them down, buried my face in the papers, and wept.
Julie. Yes! That was her name. Julie sat down beside me, rubbed my back, and told me all kinds of reassuring things.
“I’m kind of done for the day,” I told her, and she let me go. I walked the halls, feeling discouraged and sickened with myself. Once I got back to my room, I called home, needing to hear Jared’s voice. As soon as he picked up, I kind of began babbling. A lot of it wasn’t sensible, and it was garbled because I’d have to stop, think, and then restart. But through all of that, Jared listened and never interrupted. When I was done, I fell back onto the bed, exhausted, battling a headache, and sick to death of myself and my stupid brain.
“Sounds like a rough first day,” Jared said. I rolled to my side, tucking my knees up, my gaze on that shiny arena where the Raptors were playing hockey right now. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come out? I can get a hotel room.”
“No, you need to work. The team needs you.”
“You need me as well, Tennant.”
“No, I got this. You can’t do this for me, Mads. Neither can Ryker or Brady or Jamie or my mother. It’s just…” I exhaled through pursed lips. “It’s so much harder than I thought it would be. I mean, I knew it would be hard but fuck sake, I couldn’t recall simple words. How will I ever be able to play if I can’t…” I stopped and calmed myself down. “I hate that this happened. I hate Aarni so much for doing this to me, Jared. I never thought I could ever hate anyone.”
“I know, babe. I wish you’d reconsider and let me come out there.”
He sounded as sick at heart as I was. And truthfully, in that moment, I was close to telling him to fly out. I so needed his arms around me.
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.” He drew in a shaky breath. “Do you want me to come out? Just say the word.”
I sat up slowly to avoid a head-rush and the pain that went along with those. “No, I’m good.” I pushed to my feet and went to the window. The sun was setting now, the mirrored sides of the Santa Catalina Arena glowing scarlet and pink. “I’m a tough camper. My Mom said that to me the first time I went to hockey camp.”
“Yeah? How old were you? Five months old or so?”
That made me chuckle. “Nah man, I was like six. And this camp was in Buffalo. I wanted to go so bad. I mean, I can be kind of stubborn when I want something.”
“I’m well aware of that fact,” he replied. Was he sitting down or pacing? Probably pacing because he was tension-riddled over me. “You were persistent about us.”
“Damn right I was. I knew we’d be good.” I touched the pane of glass as a smile of remembrance played on my lips. “I went to that camp, and as soon as my folks dropped me off, I wanted to come home. But Mom wouldn’t let me. She said I had to be a tough camper and that once the homesickness wore off, I’d be glad I stayed.”
“Were you?”
“Yeah, I loved it. Scored my first goal against Tommy Wayfarer. He got mad and cried.” The lights of Tucson began to flicker to life. Someone walked by my door humming Santa Claus is Coming to Town. “I’ll be okay. I just have to score my first goal here.”
“You will.”
“Yeah, I will. So, tell me about morning skate. How did the lines look?”
We talked about the Railers and about Ryker and Declan, my new therapy buddy. We talked about old movies and new songs. We talked for hours. Darkness had blanketed the city when I dozed off on him. I woke up a second later, phone still to my ear, my boyfriend chuckling.
“Wow, you snored yourself awake,” Mads said, then groaned, rising to his feet I assumed.
“Shit, yeah, I fell asleep.” A yawn rolled out of me. I flopped to my side on the bed, my sight on the desert sky over Tucson.
“I need to turn in too,” he said around a yawn.
“Yeah, you’re a couple of hours ahead of us. I’ll call you tomorrow at the same time. I love you, Mads.”
“I love you too, Ten. And your mother was right; you are a tough camper. You’ll begin to see improvement, I know you. You won’t stop until you do.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“Wiseass.”
“I miss our goodnight kisses.” My eyes were so heavy I could barely keep them open.
“You’ll get plenty when you get home.”
“Mm, loving sounds good.”
“Yes, it does. Get some rest. Heal. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Night,” I mumbled, ended the call, and then fell into an exhausted but fitful sleep. The bed was too hard, too narrow, and far too lacking in Jared Madsen’s big, broad body.
The Alpha Santa-Kissed Omega by Lorelei M Hart
Chapter One
Gustav Van Dijk
“Papa, I’m scared.”
The words made my heavy heart even more laden. I glanced in the rearview mirror to see my not-quite five-year old in his booster seat, looking out the window. His little cheeks were pale, and his eyelids fluttered, a sure sign he was about to cry. Dane, named after my omega who died giving birth to him, was not responding as well as I’d hoped to our move to the United States.
With the holidays coming soon, I’d decided to wait until January to enroll him in kindergarten, and my own schedule with my new company would be light until then. However, I did need to work online a few hours each afternoon and couldn’t do that easily with a fretful preschooler. Also, my son might adjust better if he made some friends. But I’d seen no other children playing near our rental house, so how?
We’d been strolling down Main Street the day before when we came upon a window covered in gift wrap and a big bow. Dane’s mood lifted and he bounced, asking, “Papa, is that a present?”
A chuckle preceded a pair of men emerging from the store, arms around one another’s waists. “It is indeed, little man,” said one of them. “A surprise present for the town, to be revealed next Saturday. I’m Liam by the way and this is my candy shop, Sugar.” He shook my hand then waved toward the other man. “And this is Edison, my mate.”
“Nice to meet you both,” I replied. “I am Gustav, Gus for short, and this is my son, Dane. So a surprise, huh?”
“We like to do a special window for each holiday, make it really special.”
The other man, Edison, rolled his eyes. “My mate has a flair for the dramatic, but he does run the very best candy store in town.”
“Edison!” protested Liam. “It’s the only candy store in town.”
His mate poked him in the ribs. “It’s the best in the country, but you already know that, and I refuse to contribute to your ego.” A twinkle in his eye offset his words. “Would it be all right to give your son a little something from the store?”
Dane’s smile stretched his chubby cheeks. Since it was the first sign of his happy self I’d seen in weeks, I nodded. “I guess so, if he promises to eat all his broccoli at dinner.”
“Papa, I love the little trees,” Dane protested. “Maybe you should make me eat lima beans instead.” He squinted his eyes and stuck out his tongue. “They’re yucky.”
Liam reached behind him into the store. “I think your son is quite the honest fellow.” He drew out a Santa Claus sucker, dark chocolate with a red suit and white beard. “Here you go!”
“It’s like Sinterklaas.” Dane closed his little fist around the stick and beamed at his new friend. “Thank you, candy-store man.”
“That’s Mr. Liam,” I chided softly.
“Thank you, Mr. Liam,” he echoed. “I promise to eat my broccoli—even if it’s lima beans.”
“You’re welcome,” the man said. “Now, I don’t offer this often, but would you like just the teensiest peek at our window?”
“Or even a bigger one!” Dane thrust out his chest.
Edison tilted his head. “I don’t know, Liam. Do you think he can keep a secret?”
“I can, I can!” my son shouted. “I never even told Daddy I broke his cup.”
A brief silence stretched before the two men burst into laughter.
“Dane!” I chided. “We’ll have to talk about that later. But I think you’ve made your point.
“Okay, little man.” Liam led him into the store and stopped right inside. He tugged back a red velvet curtain and let Dane duck his head under for a few seconds before saying, “Okay, that’s it.”
Dane backed out and straightened, his cheeks flushed, mouth in an O. “I won’t tell anybody! Not even my papa.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Liam beat me to it. “I think we all agree you shouldn’t have secrets from your papa, so you can tell him, but only in very private, okay? We don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
Dane’s head bobbed. “Okay, Mr. Liam. And thank you for the candy and the secret.”
“Do I detect an accent?” Liam asked. “You aren’t from Holland, are you?” Although nearly everyone learned English in school back home, we by no means sounded like we were born in the USA.
“Exactly right. We just arrived last week.”
“Staying long?”
I flicked a glance at my son, who was busy ripping the plastic off his Santa sucker. “Permanently, if all goes well. I accepted a job here.”
“What do you do?”
“Computer coding.”
“Wow. And why did you choose to come here? I’m sure with your skills you can work almost anywhere.”
I hesitated, and he blushed. “What an ass. It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s fine.” I didn’t mind answering. Dane had failed at plastic removal, and Edison was now assisting, so I took a step away and the other alpha followed. I lowered my voice. “I was widowed a couple of years ago, and I wanted a change of scenery. Dane barely remembers his other dad, but everywhere we went, people brought him up and it wasn’t good for either of us. So...when this opportunity came along, I decided to give it a shot.”
“Have any friends here in town?” he asked, without the sympathetic tone I’d learned to hate.
“No, not yet.”
“You do now.” He gave me a pat on the arm. “Come by and visit anytime.”
“That means a lot.”
“That’s okay. We have a family ourselves, three and growing. We’ll have to do a playdate.”
“That would be wonderful. Hey, since you are also a dad...do you know of a good babysitter? I need someone for a few hours in the afternoons.”
“Better than that.” He called to his omega, “Edison, do you have any openings at My Brother, My Sister for the afternoon program?”
He did. And Dane had been wildly excited for the past two days, but nerves had gotten hold of him once he was actually on the way.
I braced myself for what was to come.
The Stroke of Midnight by Jordan Castillo Price
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Famous last words, I know. But originally we would’ve had four hands to carry the six-pack of microbrew and the sub platter. Then we got a call (okay, Vic got a call). There was a body, and he had to go… which left me by myself trying to figure out how to ring the doorbell. I could’ve knocked on it with my foot, but I really wasn’t in the mood to hear SWAT team jokes for the rest of the night. I really wasn’t in the mood to be there at all anymore, but it seemed better than sitting alone in that minuscule apartment with a platter full of subs.
I managed to connect my elbow with the doorbell, and pretty soon a silhouette filled the frosted glass window. I hoped it was Manny. That surprised me. Keith might have been the one I’d known forever, but Manny had an easygoing way about him that Keith had never managed. Sure, Keith tried, or maybe he just tried to fake it, but all those bitchy remarks he made and then later claimed to be “just kidding” about, all the backhanded compliments and derisive eye-rolls— they added up. The front door opened. Keith. “Oh, here, let me get that.” He wrangled the platter through the door, then did a sudden stop as I mounted the single stair so he could peer over my shoulder. “Where’s this Victor person we’ve been hearing so little about? Parking the car?”
“He got called in. You’ll have to make do with me.”
He shooed me in out of the cold and bumped the door shut with his hip. “And what have we here? Alcohol and nitrates? Very decadent. And just in time— there’s been some grumbling about the gazpacho.” Civil enough. Maybe he was turning over a new leaf. A pleasant new leaf. He leaned over the platter and kissed me on the cheek, then headed for the dining room.
Whatever snow had landed on my leather jacket beaded up into water droplets in the heat of the foyer, and I shook them out before I tucked my coat into the closet. If Vic were there, I would have mentioned how nice it would be to actually have a coat closet. If he were there.
Home for Christmas by RJ Scott
Chapter 1
Connor skidded to a stop.
The cold December wind whipped around his face, ice and snow knifing into his skin, and at first, he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.
Maybe he should have stopped, called 911, shouted for help, but it could’ve been too late, so he’d acted on instinct alone. He’d taken the four flights of stairs at a run, reaching the roof and throwing the door open. His lungs burned from the freezing air and his voice had gone. What now?
Why was River on the roof in nothing but jeans and a T-shirt, clearly drunk? Why was he standing on the ledge, his feet spread, his arms wide, and a bottle of vodka in his hand?
When the girl from his floor told him she’d seen River go up to the roof, he thought she’d meant something else. He often went up there to read or watch life go by. But not in a snow storm.
He didn’t expect to see River standing on the ledge in the snow.
Don’t scare him. He’ll stumble and fall. He might jump.
A gust of air slapped Connor. River swayed to the left but righted himself with the casual grace of a gymnast. River wouldn’t fall by accident. Hell, Connor had seen him balance on one hand on a diving board, perfectly still, before falling gracefully and accurately with spins and pikes into the water below. He’d never seen River falter.
“River?” Connor asked, only an inch from grabbing River’s shirt and holding him tight. He saw River tense, but he didn’t wobble in surprise or slip and fall to the ground.
“I canbalance. Look at me.” River sounded so damn proud of himself.
Connor took a small step forward, finally being able to hold River’s shirt, hoping to hell that would be enough to stop River from falling.
“Come down, buddy.”
River lifted the bottle over his head, sloshing alcohol over his hair, his tongue flicking out to catch any that ran over his face.
“Fuck,” he shouted.
Connor tugged at him, not knowing what else to do. “Come back,” he said, loud enough that River actually looked at him.
“Leave me alone,” he said.
“I’m not leaving you on the roof,” Connor snapped and got a better hold of River, hooking a finger into his belt. River wasn’t a big guy, a diver’s body, no more than five ten and a buck sixty soaking wet, but if he fell, would Connor be able to hold him long enough to save him?
River pulled against Connor’s grip, and for a second the world stopped turning as Connor had to use his entire body weight to keep him upright. Something about the action must have scared River. He cursed and rocked backward, but he still wouldn’t come down.
“Come down,” Connor pleaded. “You’re scaring me.”
“You think you gotta save me? Huh?” River threw his arms wide again, more alcohol sloshing over the top of the bottle. “I don’t need saving.”
“I want you to come down.” Connor tried for calm. What was he doing? He should have called the cops immediately when he spotted River. Or firefighters, negotiators? Or whoever the hell should’ve been here. He’d seen things like this on the television, the mediator knowing all the right things to say and do, standing by River and connecting him to his family or childhood or his faith. All Connor knew was that he needed to pull River down, use the only thing he had going for him; the fact that he was bigger and stronger.
“I like it up here!” River explained with another wide gesture. He wobbled a little but righted himself immediately.
“Come down, Riv.”
“Saint Connor tries to save everyone,” River shouted, ending with a hysterical laugh. He was clearly losing control of himself, and even if Connor did have the words to talk him down, he thought maybe he’d just yank River back onto the concrete roof of the building and worry about injuries later.
But River wasn’t finished. “Even if they don’t need saving!”
“River!”
“Who the hell cares if I can balance, huh?”
“I care,” Connor shouted back. This was so out of character.
“Yeah, right, telling me what Christmas and family is like for you, making me see it in my head, and then leaving me here alone.”
“River, please.” Connor tugged him, but River wouldn’t move back.
“Leaving me here, alone, because that’s all anyone ever does. They fuck off, leave me, and what happens when college is over, huh? What happens when I lose that?” He lifted one clenched fist to the sky. “Fuck you!”
Connor had never heard River curse like this, and he was done with holding on to him. So evaluating where they would end up if they fell backward and not caring how much it hurt, he yanked, hard. River tumbled with him, arms flailing and the vodka bottle slipping from his grasp and falling into the tub of snow-covered plants on the roof patio. The two of them fell onto the roof, Connor using his body to cushion River’s descent, getting his arms full of an icy cold man, the breath forced from his lungs when they hit the ground.
Connor enveloped him in his arms and locked his hands in place, fighting a frozen, wet, drunk River. He wouldn’t get free. Connor had his pappa’s height, a rancher’s build, and he was a solid anchor in the wind and snow. There was no point in River fighting, and somehow he must have realized he couldn’t get free and went still in Connor’s arms.
All Connor could think was that he’d wanted River back in his arms for a long time now, but he’d expected soft lighting and mood music, not driving winds and snow.
“What the hell are you doing?” Connor demanded.
“Let me the fuck go.”
“Jesus, are you trying to kill yourself?”
River attempted to wriggle free. Connor’s grip didn’t falter in his hold. With his arms securely around River, he shuffled them back so they were protected by the low wall. He wanted to get them back inside, but he wasn’t ready to let River go yet, and the door was at least ten feet away. What if River wriggled free and ran for the ledge? The idea of River on the ground, twisted in death, blood… Connor didn’t want to think about it. He opened his coat, one-handed, and then pulled River closer, trying to get as much of the material to go over him, attempting to keep them both warm. River’s skin was like ice. How long had he been standing up there?
“What were you doing?” he demanded, but River didn’t reply, only burrowed deeper into Connor’s hold. This was stupid. He needed to get them off the roof, or he needed help. His phone was in the car. The campus was emptying for Christmas. It was ten a.m., snowing. What the hell was he going to do now?
“I have no one,” River muttered, then laughed and buried his face deeper.
“What do you mean? Talk to me, River.”
“No.”
“We need to get inside.”
How the hell do I get River inside?
He imagined struggling with River’s weight, trying to get him down four flights of stairs and across to his room. Maybe if he could just get him to the car, with its heated seats and the warm air blower and the coffee in a flask that Connor had made for the start of his journey back to Dallas. Then he could call someone, the cops or a doctor? That seemed like a plan, a focus. He scrambled to his feet, bringing River with him, and stumbled inside. As soon as the door shut, warmth hit them, prickling at his exposed skin, and he moved toward the radiator, still gripping River’s belt. He let go of him long enough to remove his jacket and place it around the shivering man’s shoulders.
River buried himself in the coat, and Connor went into disaster assessment mode. He’d seen hypothermia back home at the D, and it wasn’t pretty. He remembered his pappa saying there were signs to look for, and when Jack spoke, Connor always listened. He pulled up the facts he could remember. Did River have hypothermia? His teeth weren’t chattering, and he wasn’t talking at all, so it wasn’t obvious if he was slurring. Then, even if he did talk and his speech was slurry, how could Connor tell how much vodka he’d drunk? Connor tried to remember the symptoms. The college hospital wasn’t far away. He could drive there, and they would help.
Why the hell did I leave my phone in the damned car?
“It’s okay. I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You can go,” River said dully. He wriggled closer to the radiator.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“But you are,” River murmured. “You kissed me, you got me off, and now you’re leaving today.” Then he hid his face in his hands. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Wait. Was this about what happened at the thanksgiving party?
Is this my fault?
Connor didn’t usually drink that much, but he’d had one beer too many at the party, to the point where he had all the courage he needed to wait for River to come out of the bathroom.
“Can I kiss you?” he’d asked, and River had stared at him, stone-cold sober and narrow-eyed.
But then, holy shit, River had pushed him back into the nearest bedroom, shut the door, and the kiss had turned into something more, hands tangled in hair, the two of them kissing and rutting against each other until they were coming in their jeans. Really unromantic. Nothing more than getting off, and River had left before Connor could even get his breath back. Not the best of outcomes. Then River had ignored him. Not returning texts, no more study sessions in the library, and he’d even missed the last lecture of the semester.
All of that told Connor on thing: River wasn’t interested in anything more with him. But that didn’t mean they weren’t still friends. They sat in silence for a few minutes, River’s face still buried in his hands, and he was clearly crying.
What the hell should I do now?
Connor skidded to a stop.
The cold December wind whipped around his face, ice and snow knifing into his skin, and at first, he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.
Maybe he should have stopped, called 911, shouted for help, but it could’ve been too late, so he’d acted on instinct alone. He’d taken the four flights of stairs at a run, reaching the roof and throwing the door open. His lungs burned from the freezing air and his voice had gone. What now?
Why was River on the roof in nothing but jeans and a T-shirt, clearly drunk? Why was he standing on the ledge, his feet spread, his arms wide, and a bottle of vodka in his hand?
When the girl from his floor told him she’d seen River go up to the roof, he thought she’d meant something else. He often went up there to read or watch life go by. But not in a snow storm.
He didn’t expect to see River standing on the ledge in the snow.
Don’t scare him. He’ll stumble and fall. He might jump.
A gust of air slapped Connor. River swayed to the left but righted himself with the casual grace of a gymnast. River wouldn’t fall by accident. Hell, Connor had seen him balance on one hand on a diving board, perfectly still, before falling gracefully and accurately with spins and pikes into the water below. He’d never seen River falter.
“River?” Connor asked, only an inch from grabbing River’s shirt and holding him tight. He saw River tense, but he didn’t wobble in surprise or slip and fall to the ground.
“I canbalance. Look at me.” River sounded so damn proud of himself.
Connor took a small step forward, finally being able to hold River’s shirt, hoping to hell that would be enough to stop River from falling.
“Come down, buddy.”
River lifted the bottle over his head, sloshing alcohol over his hair, his tongue flicking out to catch any that ran over his face.
“Fuck,” he shouted.
Connor tugged at him, not knowing what else to do. “Come back,” he said, loud enough that River actually looked at him.
“Leave me alone,” he said.
“I’m not leaving you on the roof,” Connor snapped and got a better hold of River, hooking a finger into his belt. River wasn’t a big guy, a diver’s body, no more than five ten and a buck sixty soaking wet, but if he fell, would Connor be able to hold him long enough to save him?
River pulled against Connor’s grip, and for a second the world stopped turning as Connor had to use his entire body weight to keep him upright. Something about the action must have scared River. He cursed and rocked backward, but he still wouldn’t come down.
“Come down,” Connor pleaded. “You’re scaring me.”
“You think you gotta save me? Huh?” River threw his arms wide again, more alcohol sloshing over the top of the bottle. “I don’t need saving.”
“I want you to come down.” Connor tried for calm. What was he doing? He should have called the cops immediately when he spotted River. Or firefighters, negotiators? Or whoever the hell should’ve been here. He’d seen things like this on the television, the mediator knowing all the right things to say and do, standing by River and connecting him to his family or childhood or his faith. All Connor knew was that he needed to pull River down, use the only thing he had going for him; the fact that he was bigger and stronger.
“I like it up here!” River explained with another wide gesture. He wobbled a little but righted himself immediately.
“Come down, Riv.”
“Saint Connor tries to save everyone,” River shouted, ending with a hysterical laugh. He was clearly losing control of himself, and even if Connor did have the words to talk him down, he thought maybe he’d just yank River back onto the concrete roof of the building and worry about injuries later.
But River wasn’t finished. “Even if they don’t need saving!”
“River!”
“Who the hell cares if I can balance, huh?”
“I care,” Connor shouted back. This was so out of character.
“Yeah, right, telling me what Christmas and family is like for you, making me see it in my head, and then leaving me here alone.”
“River, please.” Connor tugged him, but River wouldn’t move back.
Connor had never heard River curse like this, and he was done with holding on to him. So evaluating where they would end up if they fell backward and not caring how much it hurt, he yanked, hard. River tumbled with him, arms flailing and the vodka bottle slipping from his grasp and falling into the tub of snow-covered plants on the roof patio. The two of them fell onto the roof, Connor using his body to cushion River’s descent, getting his arms full of an icy cold man, the breath forced from his lungs when they hit the ground.
Connor enveloped him in his arms and locked his hands in place, fighting a frozen, wet, drunk River. He wouldn’t get free. Connor had his pappa’s height, a rancher’s build, and he was a solid anchor in the wind and snow. There was no point in River fighting, and somehow he must have realized he couldn’t get free and went still in Connor’s arms.
All Connor could think was that he’d wanted River back in his arms for a long time now, but he’d expected soft lighting and mood music, not driving winds and snow.
“What the hell are you doing?” Connor demanded.
“Let me the fuck go.”
“Jesus, are you trying to kill yourself?”
River attempted to wriggle free. Connor’s grip didn’t falter in his hold. With his arms securely around River, he shuffled them back so they were protected by the low wall. He wanted to get them back inside, but he wasn’t ready to let River go yet, and the door was at least ten feet away. What if River wriggled free and ran for the ledge? The idea of River on the ground, twisted in death, blood… Connor didn’t want to think about it. He opened his coat, one-handed, and then pulled River closer, trying to get as much of the material to go over him, attempting to keep them both warm. River’s skin was like ice. How long had he been standing up there?
“What were you doing?” he demanded, but River didn’t reply, only burrowed deeper into Connor’s hold. This was stupid. He needed to get them off the roof, or he needed help. His phone was in the car. The campus was emptying for Christmas. It was ten a.m., snowing. What the hell was he going to do now?
“I have no one,” River muttered, then laughed and buried his face deeper.
“What do you mean? Talk to me, River.”
“No.”
“We need to get inside.”
How the hell do I get River inside?
He imagined struggling with River’s weight, trying to get him down four flights of stairs and across to his room. Maybe if he could just get him to the car, with its heated seats and the warm air blower and the coffee in a flask that Connor had made for the start of his journey back to Dallas. Then he could call someone, the cops or a doctor? That seemed like a plan, a focus. He scrambled to his feet, bringing River with him, and stumbled inside. As soon as the door shut, warmth hit them, prickling at his exposed skin, and he moved toward the radiator, still gripping River’s belt. He let go of him long enough to remove his jacket and place it around the shivering man’s shoulders.
River buried himself in the coat, and Connor went into disaster assessment mode. He’d seen hypothermia back home at the D, and it wasn’t pretty. He remembered his pappa saying there were signs to look for, and when Jack spoke, Connor always listened. He pulled up the facts he could remember. Did River have hypothermia? His teeth weren’t chattering, and he wasn’t talking at all, so it wasn’t obvious if he was slurring. Then, even if he did talk and his speech was slurry, how could Connor tell how much vodka he’d drunk? Connor tried to remember the symptoms. The college hospital wasn’t far away. He could drive there, and they would help.
Why the hell did I leave my phone in the damned car?
“It’s okay. I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You can go,” River said dully. He wriggled closer to the radiator.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“But you are,” River murmured. “You kissed me, you got me off, and now you’re leaving today.” Then he hid his face in his hands. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Wait. Was this about what happened at the thanksgiving party?
Is this my fault?
Connor didn’t usually drink that much, but he’d had one beer too many at the party, to the point where he had all the courage he needed to wait for River to come out of the bathroom.
“Can I kiss you?” he’d asked, and River had stared at him, stone-cold sober and narrow-eyed.
But then, holy shit, River had pushed him back into the nearest bedroom, shut the door, and the kiss had turned into something more, hands tangled in hair, the two of them kissing and rutting against each other until they were coming in their jeans. Really unromantic. Nothing more than getting off, and River had left before Connor could even get his breath back. Not the best of outcomes. Then River had ignored him. Not returning texts, no more study sessions in the library, and he’d even missed the last lecture of the semester.
All of that told Connor on thing: River wasn’t interested in anything more with him. But that didn’t mean they weren’t still friends. They sat in silence for a few minutes, River’s face still buried in his hands, and he was clearly crying.
What the hell should I do now?
A Changeling Christmas by Eli Easton
CHAPTER 1
Felix
Epic disaster: thy name is Felix Bordeaux.
My cheeks burned with humiliation, and disappointment churned in my gut. In fact, there was a whole host of miserable emotions littered around my feet like invisible crumpled-up Post-it notes. Maybe in a discount-bin shade of puke green.
I picked at the moist label on my beer bottle. The colored Christmas lights strung up over the bar danced along the brown glass and my hands. "I know what you'd say, Mom," I whispered. "It will happen when it's supposed to. But how can it ever happen when I'm a veritable black hole in any social setting? Horizon of Doom. That's me."
"Did you say something?"
I looked up to see a good-looking man standing near me at the bar. He was probably waiting to order a drink. I cringed. "Huh? No. I wasn't talking to you. Sorry."
I looked back at my beer bottle, turning it around and around. I'd had enough rejection for one night. I wasn't going to engage with anyone. Maybe ever! Yes, that was the only acceptable solution. I was never going to engage with anyone ever again. Except for my patients. But definitely not men. Or, at least, not men like that. No spank you. That was my Christmas promise to myself. Even if it only made me feel more miserable.
I waited for the guy standing at the bar to leave. But he didn't. I could still see him in my peripheral vision. Heck, I could feel him. He had an intense aura. I snuck another look. He was staring at me. Crap.
"I'd like to buy you a drink. Come sit at my table with me," he said.
"Me?" I looked around to make sure he was, in fact, talking to me.
"You." His voice was firm, and he didn't crack a smile. He had an air of authority like he was used to being obeyed. He turned and stalked away.
I hesitated. What did he want? He hadn't been eyeballing me that way. At least, I didn't think so. If this was a pickup, he needed to work on his game. Then again, tonight I'd sent the first two guys at Speed Dating fleeing for their lives before I'd slunk away in shame myself, so who was I to judge?
It was curiosity more than anything that made me pick up my beer bottle and follow him.
He took a seat at a small table for two. Awkwardly—because that's how I roll—I sat in the other chair. He proceeded to study me some more. I held my beer bottle and looked around to avoid his gaze.
The Retreat’s tavern was a warm space with rustic beams, dark wood tables and chairs, a pool table, and a big TV currently displaying a fireplace with holiday music. Christmas lights were strung everywhere, and there was a Christmas tree in the corner, all decked out with red bulbs and paper beer coaster ornaments. The place was nearly empty, but then, the speed-dating event was still going on. The one where I'd crashed and burned.
I snuck a look at the guy. Tallish, probably my height of six foot. Fit body. Dark hair worn to his shoulders and layered in an immaculate haircut. Piercing dark eyes. Huh. We looked sort of alike. Or, rather, he looked like me if I were a thousand times cooler and had my shit together so tightly it could have been Shapeweared.
I swallowed. "What?"
"I'm Alastor. And you are?" He finally cracked a smile. Maybe it was my imagination, but it was a little like seeing a shark smile.
"Um. Felix. Felix Bordeaux."
"Are you staying at the hotel, Felix?"
I shook my head. "I wish. No, I just drove up for the speed-dating thing, you know?"
"Isn't that going on right now?"
I felt heat on my cheeks again. "I, uh, left early."
He stared at me.
"It wasn't for me. I'm not good at meeting people." Understatement of the year. "I should have known better? I guess?" I huffed a bitter laugh. "In fact, the second guy I sat down with told me I needed a class in conversational skills." God, I could still see the sneer on his face. "The saddest thing is, he wasn't wrong. Only my friend, Dawn, she insisted I do it? She made me, actually. I had to drive up for the speed dating or she wouldn't let me take her shift on Christmas. So."
Alastor gave a slow blink. "She wouldn't let you take her shift on Christmas?"
I nodded. "I'm a nurse. I decided to work this year on Christmas Day so others could have it off. Like Dawn. This is my first Christmas since my mom died, see. And it couldn't really be Christmas without her. I figured I might as well work. Make up for all the years someone worked so I could have the holiday off. Not that there's been that many. I only graduated from nursing school a couple of years ago. But, hey, pay it forward. Right?"
I chuckled, but his face was utterly expressionless. I mentally kicked myself. I'd done it again. Mentioned my mom in the first sixty seconds. I was pretty sure that's where I'd lost the two guys I'd sat with in speed dating tonight. When would I learn?
I sighed. "Never mind. Thanks for the, um…." Oh, right. He hadn't actually bought me a drink. I stood up.
"Wait." Alastor grabbed my wrist. He managed to tug me back down into my seat while signaling for a waiter.
The waiter appeared out of thin air. "An Elijah Craig for my friend, Felix, here. Neat." He turned to me. "It's the best bourbon money can buy in Colorado."
"Oh. Uh. Thanks, but I have to drive home tonight. And I'm kind of a lightweight."
The waiter ignored me. "Right away, sir," he said to Alastor with the sort of deference I'd never received in my life. He scurried away.
"About that…." Alastor gave me another of those shark-y smiles. "I have a cabin here for three more nights, and it turns out I need to leave. Immediately." A flash of anger crossed his face. He downed his own glass in one long swig. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like "Lennox will pay for this."
"I'm sorry to hear that?" I said sympathetically, though I wondered where this was going.
Those dark eyes focused back on me. "The cabin's prepaid and nonrefundable. It's yours if you want it. Otherwise, it'll be wasted. Say yes, Felix. A wise man once told me—when opportunity crosses your path, grab it with both hands and hang on for the ride."
"I… really?"
"Yea, really," he said dryly.
I was about to say Oh, I couldn't, but I stopped myself. I'd driven up in time to have dinner here tonight, so I'd taken a little tour of the hotel and grounds. I'd been envious of the guests. How wonderful it would be to stay in a place like this for the holiday season. The Retreat was a gorgeous mountain lodge, and it was chock full of Christmas cheer with lush decorations and evergreen boughs against a backdrop of rustic buildings, stunning mountain views, and the snow…. It was like a movie set. How I'd wished I had the money, and the heart, to stay.
This was the first time I'd felt a hint of Christmas spirit all year. I'd ignored the approaching holiday because Mom was gone, and the thought of having it without her was too painful to bear. But being at the Retreat for a few days? That would be a dream. I counted in my head. It was the 22nd. I could stay three nights and drive back to Denver early to work the Christmas shift on the 25th. I wasn't scheduled until then.
It was as if it was fate—or a Christmas gift. I felt a swamping wave of gratitude. Is this your doing, Mom? Gosh, you're the best.
"I don't have the money to stay here," I said carefully. "So if you'd want to be reimbursed—"
"Free, Felix," Alastor said firmly. The waiter arrived with a dark drink in a short tumbler, just like the one Alastor had downed.
"Drink." Alastor pushed the glass toward me.
I hesitated. "I shouldn't."
"You won't need to drive tonight. Come on. Down the hatch, and then we'll go look at the cabin."
"I didn't bring anything with me."
Alastor gave me a judge-y look. "Opportunity is knocking, Felix. You drove here for a speed-dating event, so you took one chance tonight. Take this one. Drink."
He was so persuasive. I picked up the glass and sipped it. Gosh, it was strong. But there was a smooth heat to it that was nice. I started to put the glass down, but Alastor touched my hand and guided the glass back to my lips.
I drank, eyes on him. Was he coming on to me after all? Did he expect a quickie before he left? In exchange for the room? I'd come up here to meet a man, but this one looked too much like me to spark any desire. It was a little squicky, in fact. I didn't want to have sex with myself. I mean, I do have sex with myself. A lot. But I don't stare at myself in the mirror while doing it.
I finished the drink, and when I had control of my burning throat again, I blurted, "I'm not a narcissist!"
Alastor stood up and raised one eyebrow. "Good to know. I suppose one of us shouldn't be. Come on, Felix. Let's go."
My head spun as we left the hotel. I wasn't kidding when I'd said I was a lightweight. One beer, and I was super mellow. Two, and I'd be asleep within the hour. The bourbon, on top of the half beer I'd drunk, left me feeling like I was submerged in a warm pool of honey, and I couldn't stop smiling. If this cabin didn't work out, I'd be spending the night in my car.
The cold night air revived me a little as we walked out of the back of the hotel and crossed a service road. The cabins were clustered together among tall pine trees and oozed glamping charm. Their lights shone as if fairies danced with lanterns in the snow. Daw!
"They're so pretty," I said, my voice slurring a little.
Alastor grunted. "Mine is called Towering Redwood."
I snorted. "Is that a cabin or a medical condition? If it lasts for more than four hours, there's a number you could call." Gosh, I cracked myself up.
Alastor sighed. "This one."
He walked up to one of the cabins. And, yes, Towering Redwood was the name listed on a plaque at the door. Alastor unlocked it and switched on the light inside.
Dang, it was so cozy and charming and wonderful. Mom would love this so much. It looked like one of those Sundance catalogs. The main room had raw log walls and wooden beams. A comfy-looking sofa in gray with red plaid pillows and a sheepskin throw sat in the middle of the space. There was a bear rug in front of a fireplace—hopefully not made from real bear—and a horned chandelier. A narrow Christmas tree decorated with tiny white lights, white balls, and buffalo plaid ribbons added the perfect holiday touch. The kitchenette had pine cabinets and black appliances including —ohh!—a fancy coffee maker.
"The bedroom's this way." Alastor walked down a hallway.
I followed and peeked into a good-sized bedroom with a queen bed, red plaid flannel comforter and sheets, two rustic wood lamps, and a flat-screen TV on the log wall. White lights were strung around the log bedposts and made the whole room so romantic and homey.
"There's a full bath with shower and tub. Wine and snacks are in the kitchen. Oh, and there's a complimentary breakfast buffet at the lodge. Just show the room key." Alastor grabbed a black backpack from the closet and tossed it on the bed.
"Uh… Are you sure about this? I can really stay here for three nights?"
Alastor spun to me and grabbed my face with both hands. I gave an undignified little cry. His intelligent dark brown eyes stared into mine. Wow. We were exactly the same height. He looked annoyed. "Listen to me, Felix. Are you listening?"
"Mm? Your breath smells like cinnamon rolls. Is that the bourbon? Does my breath smell like cinnamon rolls?"
"Felix. I'm in a hurry. Got it?"
His tone was stern, so I nodded mutely.
"This cabin is yours, all expenses paid, for three nights. I only ask one thing in return. Are you listening?"
"Sure." I tried to smile, but he was smooshing my face.
"If anyone asks, you're me, Alastor Jeddard. Repeat it."
I frowned. "I don't lie. Mom always said lying was way more trouble in the long run."
Alastor's jaw ticked like he was grinding his teeth. "It's not lying. It's just… the place where I reserved it, it was a, uh, a special price and nontransferable. So if the hotel staff, or security, or anyone else asks, just say my name."
I still didn't like the sound of it. "But if they find out I'm not you, will I get in trouble? Will I have to pay? I can't afford this."
His jaw clenched again. "No, they don't actually care, Felix. They're just ticking a box. It's purely procedural. Say my name, and you'll be fine." He smiled and his tone softened. "It would be a favor to me. After all, the value of this cabin is over eight hundred dollars. You'd like to do me a favor just like I'm doing you one. Wouldn't you?"
"You should do nice things for other people whenever you have the chance. Put goodness out there, and it'll return to you. That was my mom's philosophy." Dang. Now I was serial quoting Mom. It had to be the bourbon.
Alastor blinked and nodded, his smile tightening ever so slightly. "Yes. That's right. Smart lady."
"She was."
"And you look like the sort of man who could use a vacation from being himself."
I frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, grab life, Felix. Escape from the same-old-same-old. Live a fantasy for a few days. Be me. What's the harm in that?"
What was the harm in that? Wasn't I just thinking what a disaster I was? Maybe I did need a break from myself. And being Alastor… it wasn't possible I could ever be that sure of myself, but it might be fun to pretend.
"So we have a deal, don't we, Felix?"
I thought about how nice this cabin was. And all the activities I'd get to participate in. And how it would actually make this year feel like Christmas after all. And maybe I'd meet a guy, if I was here for three nights. And what if Mom, now an angel in heaven, had nudged this opportunity my way. Who was I to refuse?
"Deal," I said.
Alastor let go of my face and gave a little sigh of relief. "Good. Now I have to go. Enjoy the cabin and don't forget our agreement."
Alastor grabbed his backpack from the bed. I watched him stuff things into it—mobile phone, a wallet, a small laptop, a few things from the bathroom. He bypassed the open closet, which was full of nice clothes. I followed him out to the main room where he put on a sleek black ski jacket that probably cost more than I made in a month. He attached a fancy pair of black leather dress boots to the bungee cords on his backpack and put on a different black pair of shiny ski boots.
He straightened up. "Well, that's it."
"What about your clothes?"
"I'm only taking the necessities. Do what you like with the rest."
Wow. That didn't sound right. "I can ship your things to you if you give me an address."
His eyes flashed something dangerous. "No! No address. That is, I'm not sure where I'm going next. Keep the stuff, toss it, or leave it here. I don't care."
He opened the door, letting in a cold blast of air. I followed him onto the porch where he grabbed the skis next to the door, carried them to a patch of snow in front of the cabin, and dropped them.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"What does it look like?"
"You're skiing? Now? At night?"
"There's a full moon. It's perfect skiing conditions."
He was right. The moon was full in the sky and the night was clear and cold. "Yeah, but… I thought you were leaving."
"So I am. Goodbye, Felix. And good luck."
He did some fancy maneuver where he planted one ski and one pole, turned, and he was off like a shot, looking like he'd been born on skis. Like he was the Aquaman of snow.
Was there a superhero who was, like, the master of snow? Snowman? No, that didn't sound right. There was no snow superhero. Missed opportunity there.
I watched as Alastor jumped a snowless patch of trail, swooshed between two cabins, and was gone.
"Thank you! And… make good choices!" I called after him, waving even though he couldn't see me.
Dang, he was skiing out? Guess that's why he couldn't take his luggage. What a weird thing to do. Why hadn't he just called an Uber if he didn't have a car?
Maybe he was a skiing fiend. Maybe there was a beautiful course between here and Chester Lake, the nearest town, and he just wanted to get in one more ski before going back to work. People could be passionate about that sort of thing.
I sighed. Why couldn't I be all cool and sporty like that? Devil-may-care? Sophisticated?
I laughed. "In my dreams. Huh, Mom?"
Still smiling, I went back into the cabin.
Writing 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.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
Lorelei M HartLorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming. Friends for years, the duo decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).
Jordan Castillo PriceAuthor and artist Jordan Castillo Price writes paranormal sci-fi thrillers colored by her time in the Midwest, from inner city Chicago, to various cities across southern Wisconsin. She’s recently settled in a 1910 Cape Cod near Lake Michigan with tons of character and a plethora of bizarre spiders. Her influences include Ouija boards, Return of the Living Dead, “light as a feather, stiff as a board,” girls with tattoos and boys in eyeliner.
Jordan is best known as the author of the PsyCop series, an unfolding tale of paranormal mystery and suspense starring Victor Bayne, a gay medium who’s plagued by ghostly visitations. And her quirky, sweet, magical series The ABCs of Spellcraft is sure to make you smile.
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 Scott
Lorelei M Hart
Jordan Castillo Price
Neutral Zone by RJ Scott & VL Locey
The Stroke of Midnight by Jordan Castillo Price
👀Amazon US/UK & Bookbub PsyCop Briefs: Volume 1👀
Home for Christmas by RJ Scott
A Changeling Christmas by Eli Easton
