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I've been doing a Christmas in July series for a few years now and always hope to feature holiday stories that I have recently re-read but once again, time had other plans. For my Christmas in July 2026 series, I'm featuring another 20 of my favorite Christmas-set LGBT reads. I say "Christmas set" because some may not really be holiday-centric but set, at least in part, during the holiday season and for me that is all it takes to be a Christmas read(and yes, I'm in the "Die Hard is a Christmas Movie" camp😉). If by chance, I've had opportunity in the past to re-read or re-listen, I've included the original and the most recent re-read review. As always, the purchase links are current as of posting but if they no longer work for a dozen different reasons, be sure to check out the author's website/social media sites for the latest links. There are genres of all kinds here, whether you are a holiday lover or perhaps you just want to read something set in cooler weather on a long hot summer night, either way there is something for everyone here.
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Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4
The gift that lights up the night sky
Working a Christmas Eve shift in a local café, Seven overhears a young boy’s wish that melts his heart.
The only thing Ben wants for Christmas is a spacesuit, so he can visit his mother who now lives amongst the stars in heaven. With Christmas Day only hours away, Seven’s determined that Ben’s wish comes true as he sets about making the spacesuit himself.
When Cooper, Ben’s uncle, finds the gift-wrapped box outside his house, he’s determined to track down the person who left it, and repay the wonderful, selfless act of generosity which has made Ben so happy on Christmas Day.
A Spaceman Came Travelling is a story that captures the true spirit of Christmas — giving selflessly, sharing joy, and wishing upon a star — and a heartwarming reminder that during the holiday season, a simple act of kindness can light up even the darkest of nights.
This story originally appeared in a charity anthology that is longer available. The story has been revised and expanded.
Original Review January 2024:
Such a delightfully fun and heartfelt story that is perfect for the holidays. I want to bundle little Ben up with his desire for a spacesuit so he can reach the stars to see his mom again, I swear my heart wept at that sentiment. Seven, a complete stranger wanting to help earned himself a giant Mama Bear Hug too.
I don't think I'll say too much more because I'm afraid once I start I won't be able to stop and this is a spoiler-free zone. What I will say is if I was the Grinch(which I'm not as Christmas is my favorite time of year😉), my heart would have grown 3 sizes after reading A Spaceman Came Traveling. A truly uplifting experience that will definitely fill you with the holiday spirit.
BTW: the little twist/reveal near the end? LOVED IT!!!!
RATING:
Summary:
Last Christmas, Francis had a promising acting career and a budding romance with Duncan. This Christmas, it seems he's lost it all.
When his mum persuades him to help her with the annual village production, he's drawn back into the wacky world of amateur pantomime. This year's production has all kind of new twists, the village players are eccentric although enthusiastic, and Francis isn't sure he ever saw himself as a director. And what his mother also didn't tell him was, he'd be working with Duncan by his side.
But if he can cope with charity shop costumes, squabbling characters, cross-dressing, and all the corny jokes, can he also believe in the show's magical triumph of Good over Bad, and win a second chance with Duncan? After all, in pantomime, everyone gets their wish granted in the end.
Original Review January 2024:
Clare London has done it again! Okay I say "again" because I just discovered He's Behind You! but it's actually from 2019(I think that's the year) but even being an "old" story, I reiterate "She's done it again!". There is just something deliciously fun about a London holiday short that brings my day up a notch. I always enjoy a well written second chance romance because sometimes it's not a case of two people not connecting or not having chemistry but wrong time/wrong place but when the time is right everything falls just as it should. This short is just one of those cases and watching Francis and Duncan having that opportunity again(with a little help from fate and mom of course) is lovely, fun, and smile-inducing.
Summary:
Once Upon a Holiday Story
One Bed, Two Best Friends.
Easton Beckett has always cherished the Christmas season, but this year, his parents are off to help his aunt in Wyoming, leaving him to celebrate alone. But his best friend, Weston Holt—his outgoing and popular opposite—has a surprise: tickets to an all-expense-paid Holiday Cruise he won through a local radio station.
Excitement builds as they leave for a week in the Caribbean, celebrating Christmas at sea and stopping in the Bahamas. Their adventure takes a turn, however, when they discover they’ve been assigned to the honeymoon suite. Easton is about to correct the misunderstanding when Weston convinces him to pretend they’re a couple.
As they navigate their week together, the tension between them grows palpable—each stolen glance and playful touch igniting a longing that neither dares to acknowledge. With only one bed and mounting emotions, both grapple with their feelings. As New Year’s Eve approaches, will they find the courage to admit their true feelings, or will fear keep them apart?
Once Upon A Holiday Vacation is part of a multi-author series, Once Upon A Holiday Story. Each book can be read as a standalone and in any order. What links these books together is The Hook's Book Nook Traveling Library, a library on wheels owned by two old ladies in love.
Original Review January 2025:
A truly delightful holiday read. Friends to lovers trope that hits you in all the feels of the season and romance. Easton and Weston(love the names BTW) have been buds forever and when Easton's family has to travel away for the holiday to help his aunt Weston steps in to bring cheer back to his friend's holiday.
The catch: playing a married couple on a holiday cruise. I want to scream "cute meet" but of course the guys have known each other far too long to be any kind of "meet" so lets go with "cute arrangement" course there is also part of me screaming "Danger, Will Robinson!" Because lets face it, this has the potential to be off the charts Hallmarky but could also completely flip to life-altering heartache. I think we all know which way it's going to go but I won't spoil the lads' journey getting from Point A to Point HEA😉.
Having read this while my mother was in hospital helped to bring a little holiday cheer to my soul at the time and for that I want to say a huge Thank You to Annabella Michaels. Since then my mom passed away so I don't think I'll be re-reading Once Upon a Holiday Vacation for awhile as it might bring back connected timeframe memories but the absolute joy I felt at the time of reading definitely has earned a spot in my re-reading shelf because you can't help but feel lighter and uplifted by Easton and Weston's story of discovering that sometimes the best thing is right in front of you.
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.
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.
The Accidental Christmas Omega by Ava Beringer
Summary:
Omega Holidays #1
A fire took everything…except my unborn child, due Christmas Day. When the alpha of my dreams temporarily takes me in, can I resist falling for him?
Hapless rookie FBI agent Shane Hawkins loves showing off his badge to impress to omegas. When he falls in love with a vulnerable omega on the news, he rushes to find a safe place for him. When a mix-up makes him responsible for Drew Darling and his unborn child, Shane has to become a stand-up alpha quick. Can he figure himself out before Drew and his baby leave forever?
Omega military widower Drew Darling’s house just burned down. Oh, and he’s eight months pregnant. With a baby due on Christmas day, he has no place to go and no one to turn to. FBI agent Shane Hawkins comes to his rescue, and Drew falls for him on day one. Shane’s irreverence grates on him, but there’s no denying Shane’s heart of gold, or the immediate animal attraction. Will Drew’s grief stop him from embracing a brand new love?
Can Shane sacrifice for a life of love? When the new year comes, will it be time for Drew- and his newborn- to go? Will the baby really arrive on Christmas day?
This book is about 37,000 words and has a HEA. 18+ readers only please! This book contains occasional strong language, MPREG/Omegaverse, and hot, spicy grownup stuff. The omegas are heating up and the alphas are very knotty boys.
Original Review December 2025:
This is only the second story in the author's Omega Holidays series I have had a chance to read and loved it just as much as the other, if not more actually. Perhaps it is just the Christmas element that put this above His Accidental Memorial Day Omega but I have loved them both.
As for Accidental Christmas Omega, this is a sweet and fun read, despite the heartache that puts Shane and Drew on the same journey. Drew, having lost almost everything is facing a lonely and long road ahead and Shane is a very brash, act before thinking things through FBI agent. When fate brings them together, the author provides a story of healing and discovery, with just the right blend of heart and romcom, making for a very enjoyable, emotional at times, entertaining read. Being Christmastime is just icing on the Christmas cookie that will put a smile on your face.
RATING:
A Spaceman Came Traveling by Barbara Elsborg
Stop looking at the clock.
Easy to say. Not easy to do. Seven was tired and he wanted to go home but he couldn’t.
“Seven! You’ve not cleaned that table properly!” Denise snapped.
Seven had cleaned the table properly. He’d sprayed the festive plastic covering, wiped cake off Santa’s beard and orange juice off his reindeer, then dried it so that it looked as good as new, but he picked up his equipment to do it again because it just wasn’t worth arguing with Denise or her sister Fiona.
Working at the café attached to the large garden centre wasn’t the job of Seven’s dreams, but that job was no longer attainable. He had to rethink his future and one thing he was certain about, was that working here didn’t make him happy. The thought of happiness made his chest ache.
“Do that one as well,” Fiona called.
Seven heard the two of them sniggering, but he did as he was told. Denise wanted him to protest so she could complain about him. He knew that because she’d done it twice with no good reason. Politely pointing out that she was mistaken had never worked. He already did far more work than her or Fiona. Seven had done nothing to make her not like him. She just didn’t. Nor did Fiona. It hurt not being liked, especially when he’d done nothing to deserve it.
He didn’t think it was because he was…not quite right, but it might have been. He wasn’t sure what other people really thought of him. Maybe it was because he was gay, though he didn’t think it was that either. If they wanted him to like them, they weren’t going the right way about it. There was no way they could know about the other thing and even if they did, complaining about him wouldn’t have been their response. Screaming might have been. That made him smile. Though if he was being honest, if he’d told them, they’d probably have rolled their eyes and laughed.
Seven’s heart jumped when two familiar figures walked into the café from the adjoining garden centre. This was the fifth time he’d seen them, but usually, they came in on Saturdays. Today was Friday. The boy was wrapped up well against the cold weather and Seven watched as his dad helped him out of his scarf, hat, gloves and coat. The man took off his own coat, hung it over the back of the chair and stuffed his hat in his pocket.
It wasn’t Seven’s imagination, was it, that the man had just shot him a little smile? Seven quickly looked the other way. The guy was gorgeous and every time he came in, Seven’s heart did something acrobatic which largely involved bouncing on his stomach until he felt slightly sick. The man had shiny dark hair, thick black eyelashes, bright blue eyes and the kindest smile. Seven had never had the chance to serve them because Fiona or Denise always managed to jump in first, but they were busy chattering behind the counter, probably plotting extra work for him, and hadn’t noticed the pair arrive. Seven grabbed two menus on the way to their table, only to be elbowed aside by a stampeding Fiona.
Ouch. He put the menus back. They always had the same thing anyway. Hot chocolates and a meringue snowman for the boy. As Seven returned the cleaning equipment to the cupboard, Denise tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey, you haven’t finished! Clean the legs of all the tables and chairs.”
Seven smiled purely because he sensed it annoyed her. A bit of a feeble thing to do, but better than revealing he was pissed off.
Fiona was flirting like mad with the man, but without any effect. The guy was polite, but even Seven could see he wanted her to go away. Once she’d taken the order there was no reason for her to hang around, whereas Seven had a good excuse to linger and began working on the chairs near the man’s table.
“You had a letter today,” the guy said to his son.
“Is it from Mummy?” “
No, sweetheart. It’s from Santa. Look, that’s your name on the envelope.”
“The stamp’s pretty.”
“It is. A snowy mountain. The Christmas stamps are lovely this year. I’ll find the others and show you.”
The boy ripped open the envelope, then handed over what was inside. “Read it for me, please.”
“Dear Ben. Thank you for your letter. I will do my best to bring the presents you asked for. I’m sorry I can’t bring your Mummy back. I would if I could, but Heaven is a long way away. Love Santa. And there are four kisses. See?”
A splinter pierced Seven’s heart. He rubbed half-heartedly at a paint mark on the table leg. A wife dead. A mother dead!
“If Mummy’s a long way away up in the stars, I could go and see her if I had a spacesuit.”
“Well…”
“Santa! Can you hear me?” Ben shouted.
“Shush,” his daddy whispered.
“No, I can’t shush. Santa has to hear me. Please bring me a spacesuit. I don’t care about the other things on my list. Just a spaceman’s outfit. Please, Santa!”
Seven’s throat closed up. He heard the guy quietly groan.
“Ben, it’s too late now. It’s Christmas Eve. Santa will have loaded everything on his sleigh. There won’t be room for anything else. That’s why you have to send your letter in early, and you didn’t ask for a spacesuit.”
That was good logic, but Seven had a feeling…
“It’s not too late,” the boy said. “Santa can do it. He can do anything. Then I can go and see Mummy. Pops and Nana said she was in the stars.”
Seven glanced up and happened to catch the guy’s eye. His wince said everything. There would be no spacesuit waiting under the tree tomorrow, and no time left now to drive anywhere to try and find one.
“Santa will do it,” Ben said. “I’d like a spacesuit with my name on it and… what’s the name of the place that sends rockets up?”
“NASA. The National Aeronautics and Space Administration.”
“And I need oxygen tanks and a helmet. And—”
“How about we go and see if we can find an ornament to put on the tree once we’ve finished our hot chocolate? If we happen to spot a spacesuit, I’ll buy it.”
Ben shook his head. “No need. Santa will bring one.”
Seven remembered the blind faith he’d had when he was a boy. Not for Santa, but it had been instilled into him that lying was wrong, so he’d believed everything he was told. Not always a good thing when he had brothers who liked to tease him. He stood up and made sure he walked past their table on his way back to the counter so he could peep at the address on the envelope because he had a plan. Ben c/o Cooper…Something or Other. So now he knew both their first names at least and had the address memorised.
He's Behind You! by Clare London
"Thank you, Errol," Mum called from our seats, smiling at the elderly harmonica player on the stage. "We'll be in touch!"
Errol hacked a cough and grinned, showing alternate teeth missing in the front. "I'll get me people to talk to y'r people, shall I, Rose?"
Mum giggled like a teenager.
"Why's he wearing a full Santa suit?" I hissed to her as Errol shuffled off stage.
"He likes it," she said blithely. "Keeps him warm."
Errol always played the music in the handover between scenes. I mean, always. Every year. No need for a casting session at all. But I'd learned over the years that the villagers enjoyed the auditions as much as the production. It was a treasured part of the show.
"Next!" Mum called.
"What show is this, actually?" I peered at the odd collection of roles listed on my script. "It looks like the basic cast from Cinderella, but you've got all sorts of other characters added in. I can see a horse here, a pirate, and is that an elf --?"
She waved a hand in front of my face, temporarily obscuring my view of the names. "Heavens, I hope you haven't brought more of those bourgeois ideas back with you from London! We're not working on one particular tale this year."
"We're not?"
"We thought things were getting a bit stale. I'm using characters from a couple of other shows. And, of course, it depends what costumes I can lay my hands on."
I blinked. The Christmas panto was always on the bizarre if well-loved side, but this was taking it to a new level. I wondered who the elusive "we" was she kept referring to.
"Hi Rose," called a slim teenaged girl from the stage.
"Hi Frank!" called her spitting image.
"Francis," I said automatically. No one called me Frank except for ... well, anyway, no one called me that. I peered between the girls. Yes, a genuine spitting image. And no, I still couldn't tell the difference between the Cartwright twins.
"What parts are you reading for?" I asked.
"The pirate!"
I glanced at Mum and mouthed "pirate, single?"
"They won't act apart from each other," she said happily. "So I said they could share. And then there's no problem with needing an understudy."
"He's behind you!" came a sudden growl.
I whirled around in my chair and nearly burned my nose on the tea urn Errol had wheeled dangerously close on a battered old hostess trolley.
"More tea, vicar?" Errol chuckled. "A cup for you, Rose? And Rose's assistant producer?" He chuckled again.
Yes, Errol had done the refreshments every year, too. I shifted my chair another foot away from the urn -- which was rumbling ominously like a Vesuvius wondering whether to erupt or settle back with passing indigestion to watch a boxset -- and accepted an "I love spreadsheets" mug of surprisingly good tea. Mum got "I love Rottweilers" though I wasn't aware anyone in the village had ever had one.
"Let's get on, shall we?" I said.
The casting continued in the same, wacky vein. Not just the usual, traditional cross-gender casting I'd grown to know and love in pantomime. But this year, it seemed everything was up for grabs. Marco, the cute young man who'd recently taken over the charity shop, lithe and graceful and with a selection of neck shawls in eye-watering-neon wools, was so desperate to play the Evil Stepmother he'd come dressed in a Margaret Thatcher-type skirt suit. Well, maybe he wore similar every day and I hadn't noticed. He certainly rocked it.
The Ugly Sisters were auditioned for by Arnold from the Post Office and his cousin Reg, who worked on a local stud farm. Both were in their mid-fifties, both strong, stocky, working men, both half-bald. They read a page of the script in booming voices, with four of Reg's children clapping wildly from the back of the hall. I couldn't help noticing that Marco now stood with them, sidled up beside the eldest boy, who was probably in his late twenties and built like a prop forward. The heated glances they were exchanging implied entertainment of a rather different kind.
On the stage, the Sisters were ad-libbing banter that would have to be strongly censored before appearing in a family show, and grinning like school kids every time there was mention of bosoms.
"They love RuPaul's show," Mum murmured as she added their names to the cast list. "But we'll have to manage their costume expectations downwards."
I smiled. I was enjoying this more than I'd thought. I turned around to fetch another cuppa, and found Miranda sitting behind us, knitting as always. The almost eighty-year-old grandmother to the twins, she still cycled everywhere around the village, ran a weekly spin class, and always had a packet of biscuits in her knitting bag. A widow, there was even a rumour she and Errol were having an affair. No reason to keep it quiet -- they were both single -- but I think they liked the illusion of illicitness. The wool she was using was a lurid orange. I wondered if she knitted Marco's shawls for him.
"Francis." She nodded at me, winked, then rummaged in her bag and found me a half-open pack of custard creams. I returned the wink in gratitude and settled back to my new job.
Once Upon a Holiday Vacation by Annabella Michaels
CHAPTER ONE
EASTON
The keys jangledin my frozen fingers as I unlocked the library door, my breath puffing out in little clouds. I hurried inside, grateful for the rush of warm air that greeted me along with the familiar scent of books and pine.
As I made my way through the stacks, straightening a few volumes here and there, my mind drifted to Weston. I wondered if he was awake yet, probably not given he’d worked a late shift at the fire station the night before. The thought of his bed head and sleepy blue eyes made my heart flutter.
“Get it together, Easton,” I chided myself softly. “He's your best friend, nothing more.”
But oh, how I wished it could be more. I imagined his strong arms around me, those full, kissable lips brushing mine under the mistletoe. The fantasy was so vivid I could almost feel the warmth of his body, smell his woodsy cologne.
With a sigh, I shook my head, dispelling the daydream. “Focus on work,” I muttered, moving to the circulation desk.
I busied myself with shelving returns, trying to lose myself in the familiar routine. But every book about love or friendship made me think of Weston, his laugh, his kindness, the way he always knew how to cheer me up.
I leaned against the shelf, letting my mind wander back to the day we met in kindergarten. It was the first day of school, and I was terrified, clutching my dinosaur lunchbox like a lifeline. That's when I saw him a whirlwind of blond hair and infectious laughter, running around the classroom like he owned the place.
“Hi! I'm Weston!” he'd declared, skidding to a stop in front of me. “Wanna be friends?”
I'd nodded shyly, and just like that, we were inseparable. East and West, as our teacher had jokingly called us when assigning seats. The nickname stuck, and so did our friendship.
As we grew, our differences became more apparent. I was the quiet bookworm, always with my nose in a novel, while he was the life of every party, excelling in sports and making friends effortlessly. But somehow, our bond only grew stronger.
He never let our different interests come between us. He'd drag me to football games, promising to take me to the bookstore afterward. And I'd coax him into movie marathons, bribing him with homemade cookies and the promise of choosing our next outdoor adventure.
The jingle of bells at the library entrance startled me from my brooding. I turned to see Laura bustling in, her cheeks rosy from the cold and her arms laden with a tray of steaming cups.
“Merry almost-Christmas, Easton!” she chirped, setting the tray on the circulation desk. “I come bearing liquid joy.”
I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. “You're a lifesaver, Laura. Thanks.”
She handed me a mug of cocoa, eyeing the boxes strewn all over the counter and stacked on the floor under the desk. “So, how many new decorations did you end up buying? I swear this place gets more festive every year.”
I felt a blush creeping up my neck. “Just a few,” I mumbled, taking a sip to hide my embarrassment.
Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Uh-huh. And I bet you were humming carols the whole time, weren't you?”
“I was not,” I protested weakly, knowing full well she was right.
She laughed, nudging my shoulder. “Face it, my friend. You're a Christmas elf trapped in a librarian's body.”
I chuckled. “Guilty as charged, I suppose.”
As we sipped our cocoa, my gaze drifted to the window. Soft, fluffy snowflakes had begun to fall, dancing on the breeze before settling on the ground. The sight filled me with a bittersweet longing.
“It's beautiful, isn't it?” I murmured, more to myself than Laura.
She followed my gaze and nodded. “It really is. Got any big plans for the holidays?”
My heart gave a little flutter at the thought. “Just the usual. Spending time with my parents and Weston.”
“Ah, Weston,” Laura said knowingly. “Your favorite part of the season, I bet.”
I ducked my head, focusing intently on the drink in my hand. “He's my best friend,” I said softly. “Of course I'm looking forward to seeing him.”
As she moved away to start her work, I found myself lost in thought again. The holidays with Weston were always magical—movie marathons, baking disasters, snowball fights. For a few precious days, I could pretend that the warmth in his eyes meant something more.
I sighed, watching the snowflakes swirl. This year would be no different, I told myself firmly. I'd cherish every moment with him, even if it wasn't quite the way I longed for. After all, wasn't that what Christmas was about? Being grateful for what you have?
Still, as I turned back to my work, I couldn't quite silence the tiny voice in my heart whispering, “What if?”
The warm aroma of roasting chicken and herbs filled the kitchen as I diced vegetables, stealing glances at Weston. He was stirring a pot of gravy, his brow furrowed in concentration. The sight made my heart skip a beat.
He looked up and grinned when he caught my stare. “Careful not to chop your finger along with those carrots,” he teased.
I felt a blush creep up my neck. “Just making sure you don't burn the gravy,” I quipped back, earning a playful eye roll.
Mom bustled in, patting both our shoulders. “What would I do without my two sous chefs?” she said fondly.
I watched as she fussed over Weston, showing him how to whisk the gravy just right and a familiar warmth spread through my chest. It wasn't just because of my feelings for my friend, but because of the beautiful bond my family had forged with him over the years.
I remembered the first time he had come over for dinner, back when we were in second grade. He'd been so quiet, his eyes wide as he took in our cozy kitchen, the laughter, the casual affection. It was such a stark contrast to his own home, where raised voices and the clinking of bottles were more common than family meals.
Weston’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Remember when we tried to make dinner that one Christmas?”
I groaned dramatically. “How could I forget? We nearly burned down the kitchen.”
“Hey, that was mostly your fault, bookworm.” He laughed. “You got distracted reading the cookbook.”
Our banter continued as we finished preparing the meal. It felt like home in a way that had nothing to do with the fact that I’d grown up there and everything to do with the people in it.
As we sat down to dinner, the familiar rhythm of conversation and laughter filled the air. Dad regaled us with tales from his latest project, while Mom shared gossip from her book club. Weston chimed in with stories from the firehouse, his eyes sparkling as he described a daring rescue.
I found myself watching him more than listening, mesmerized by the way his hands moved as he talked, the curve of his smile. When he caught my eye, I quickly looked away, focusing intently on my plate.
Mom cleared her throat. “Your father and I have some news,” she began, glancing at Dad.
I felt a flutter of nerves. “What kind of news?”
“Well,” Dad said, setting down his fork, “your Aunt Lily took a fall last week. She's broken her hip.” His brow furrowed with concern as he finished.
My heart sank. “Oh no, is she okay?”
Mom nodded. “She's out of the hospital now, but she needs some help while she recovers. So...” She paused, looking between Weston and me. “Your father and I have decided to spend Christmas in Wisconsin with her this year.”
“Oh,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment. Christmas had always been our special family time. The thought of spending it without them felt wrong somehow.
I caught my best friend’s stare across the table, seeing my own mix of emotions reflected there. Despite the pang in my chest, his presence was comforting. At least I'd still have him, I thought. Maybe this Christmas wouldn't be a total loss after all.
Weston's sea-blue eyes flickered with disappointment as they met mine, but in an instant, his expression shifted. A determined grin spread across his face, his silver lip piercing catching the light.
“Well, that's a bummer,” he said, his tone light despite the undercurrent of disappointment. “But hey, East, looks like we'll have to step up our game this year, huh? Maybe I can finally convince you to try that cliff diving Santa thing I've been talking about.”
I couldn't help but chuckle, grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood. “Nice try, West. My feet are staying firmly on the ground, thank you very much.”
Mom reached across the table, patting my hand. “We're so sorry, boys. We know how much you both look forward to our Christmas traditions.”
“It's not your fault, Mom,” I assured her, though my heart still felt heavy.
Dad nodded; his eyes warm. “We'll make it up to you when we get back. How about a big New Year's bash instead? We can invite the whole town if you want.”
Weston's eyes lit up at that. “Now you're talking! We could have a bonfire, maybe set up some of those extreme winter games I've been reading about...”
As he launched into an enthusiastic description of his plans, I found myself smiling despite my disappointment. Trust West to find the silver lining in any situation. Maybe this Christmas wouldn't be what we'd planned, but with him by my side, I had a feeling it might turn out to be memorable in its own way.
As we cleared the table after dinner, Weston bumped his shoulder against mine. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “We're gonna make this the best Christmas ever, just you and me. I promise.”
My heart skipped a beat at his words. “Yeah?” I asked, hating how hopeful I sounded.
“Absolutely.” He grinned, flicking some soap suds at me. “We'll start new traditions. Maybe I'll even let you read me one of those boring classics you love so much.”
I gasped in mock offense, splashing him back. “Boring? I'll have you know that A Christmas Carol is a timeless masterpiece!”
Weston laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always made my stomach flip. “Alright, alright. I'll give it a chance. But only if you promise to go sledding with me.”
I hesitated, thinking of the last time he'd convinced me to go sledding. We'd ended up in a snowbank, tangled together, his face inches from mine. The memory still made my cheeks flush.
“Deal,” I said finally, trying to ignore the way my heart raced at the thought.
As we finished the dishes, a comfortable silence fell between us. I couldn't help but steal glances at him, admiring the way the soft kitchen light played across his features.
He was strong and lean, his muscles rippling beneath his fitted Henley as he dried the last of the dishes. The fabric clung to his broad shoulders and tapered waist, hinting at the toned body I knew lay underneath. His blond hair was tousled, as always, falling across his forehead in a way that made my fingers itch to brush it back.
The light caught on his lip ring, drawing my attention to his full, perfectly shaped lips. I quickly averted my gaze, only to find myself captivated by his sea-blue eyes. They were like the ocean after a storm—deep, intense, and ever-changing. Long lashes framed those mesmerizing eyes, casting shadows on his high cheekbones.
As he reached up to put away a glass, the neck of his shirt shifted slightly, revealing a sliver of tanned skin and the edge of the tattoo I knew was inked over his heart. I knew every detail of that tattoo, a black compass with the E and W in red ink. He'd gotten it on his eighteenth birthday, dragging me along to the tattoo parlor. “East and West,” he'd said with a grin. “So I'll always find my way back to you.”
The memory made my chest ache with longing. If only he knew how much those words meant to me, how often I'd replayed them in my mind.
“Hey!” His voice broke through my reverie. “Where'd you go just now?”
I blinked, realizing I'd been staring. “Oh, um, nowhere,” I stammered, feeling heat creep up my neck. “Just thinking about Christmas, I guess.”
His expression softened, a warm smile tugging at his lips. “It's gonna be great, East. I promise,” he said, his voice low and sincere. He stepped closer, resting a hand on my shoulder. The warmth of his touch seeped through my sweater, making my skin tingle. “I know it's not what we planned,” he continued, “but maybe this is our chance to make some new memories. Just us.”
My heart raced at his words. “Just us.” The possibilities swirled in my mind, equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
“Yeah,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “That sounds... nice.”
He tilted his head, a devilish smirk lifting the corners of his mouth. “Nice? Come on, East. Do you trust me?”
I didn’t even have to think about my response. “Of course I do.”
“Good! Then leave all the planning to me. I promise this is going to be the best Christmas you’ve ever had.”
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 Accidental Christmas Omega by Ava Beringer
1
DREW
A sound; Plunk. A whisper; Drew. Wake up.
“Not yet. Five more minutes, you drill sergeant,” I groaned. A laugh. Come on, I wanna get some of those tamales at the farmer’s market and they sell out early.
“Not yet.” Plunk. Drew! “Five more minutes, then we’ll get your special tamales.” Plunk. Drew! Wake up. He grinned and shook me. “Drew! Wake up!”
I shot up in bed, expecting darkness, instead hell was waiting at my door.
My neighbor Helga was under my window, throwing rocks and screaming frantically. The air was thick with smoke, billowing all around.
“My house is on fire,” I said out loud, dumbly. “Help!” I yelled, but the roar of the flames, trying to break through my door, swallowed my voice.
“Don’t open a door when there’s fire on the other side,” Jimmy used to say in his serious, soldier-y way. “When it gets more oxygen it’ll really go up.”
“I got it, I got it,” I would tease. “I promise not to get cooked in a house fire. Thanks, baby. I’m keeping that promise. But if I couldn’t go out the door, how did I get out?
I cradled my belly, big and round with my husband Jimmy’s baby, thirty-seven weeks along. I have to save our baby.
“The balcony.” I leapt out of bed, tripping on the sheets wrapped around my legs, uncoordinated because of my size and precious cargo. I paused a moment, grabbing Jimmy’s working parka and slinging it around my shoulders as I ran. Some nights I liked to put it in his spot and pretend he was still with me; luckily, I did it tonight.
I burst out of the French doors onto our balcony. Its view was nothing special, just the cul-de-sac in our quiet, sleepy little neighborhood in the hills beyond the state park. There was pandemonium in the street as my neighbors screamed and fires raged all around. I truly had woken up in hell.
A late season wildfire. The park rangers usually did an excellent controlled burn; what could have possibly happened to cause this? I had to get down from this balcony. I was low enough that if I jumped I would live, but it wasn’t gonna be pretty.
I had a choice to make. The heat cooked my back and more smoke poured out of my room as everything my husband and I had worked for went up in smoke. The fire ate through my door and crept up behind me.
Helga and a couple of my other neighbors gathered beneath my balcony.
“Drew, you have to jump! We’ll catch you! Jump, we have to get out of here!” Fire engines screamed in the background. Help was on the way, but how far were they? Not close enough. The fire finally ate away at the door and smoke poured out of the windows on my lower level.
“The fire’s eating through the house!” Helga yelled, hands cupped around her mouth. “The walls aren’t gonna hold!” My baby. With a final rub of my belly, I lifted a leg over the railing, then the other one. I held myself out over the open air, my heroic neighbors waiting for me with their arms outstretched. Gripping the railing for dear life, I slid down into a crouch. The railing groaned and heated up; it was starting to warp and melt; I didn’t have much time. I let my feet dangle, then slid off, still holding on. I went too fast, the angle nearly wrenching my shoulders out of their sockets when my arms were extended. My neighbors gathered below me.
“Drew, let go!” Helga called. I let go and fell…it felt like forever, but I was caught by four pairs of waiting arms. My ankle hit the ground at a bad angle and I rolled it, but the pain didn’t register. A fire engine roared up my street, calling for us to evacuate. My car was in my garage, already gone up in flames. Firefighters burst out of their engines and red-painted SUVs.
“In the truck, let’s go!” The closest fireman roared. He didn’t need to tell me twice. He jumped down to help me into the cab, his hands strong but caring. Everyone loaded in, slamming the doors. It was a tight squeeze, but the truck immediately did a three-point turn and raced out of our cul-de-sac.
“Who’s missing?” The driver, a muscular alpha woman, demanded.
“My wife,” One omega man piped up.
“My son and my dog.” Another voice said.
The firewoman got on her com. “Echo, we’ve got at least three missing. Woman, man, dog. Stand by for addresses…”
“We’re taking everyone straight to the hospital.” The fireman said, with the kind of authoritative voice that put you at ease. “Don’t worry. You’re safe now. I’m Jamison and this is Kelly with Primrose Keep Fire and Rescue, and we’ll be taking good care of you.” He turned to me. “Sir, are you hurt?”
I blinked stupidly. “I, um…yes?”
“Kel, radio it in. Pregnant omega male incoming, priority…” He started talking again, but it was like I was walking down a tunnel and couldn’t hear him. “Sir? Sir?”
“I think he’s in shock, Jamie.” The sound was far away. All the voices faded. I turned my head to look behind me. The last thing I saw was the home I shared with my deceased husband being swallowed by raging red flames.
Everything went black.
A few hours later, I woke up in the hospital under a mountain of pain, hacking and coughing from my battered lungs. The white lights were too bright and the sterile smell irritated my nose. My ankle throbbed and my shoulders were killing me, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the black hole inside my gut.
Knock, knock. A woman’s head poked into my emergency bay. The curtain hissed as she pulled it back.
“Mr. Darling, I’m Dr. White. I’m glad to see you awake and alert.” I tried to speak, but my voice wouldn’t come. I could only stare at her face, haggard from the frenzied rush and lack of sleep.
She took a step inside. “You’ve got a sprained ankle, but it isn’t broken. You suffered mild smoke inhalation. Other than that, a few scrapes and bruises-”
I found my voice then. “My baby?” My throat was raw and sore from the smoke. She offered a soft smile.
“Initial signs say perfectly healthy.” I let out a long, whistling breath from my inflamed lungs and laid my head back on the bed. The most important thing was safe. My precious child, healthy and whole. “We called your emergency contact; your grandmother in Augusta, Georgia, correct? Do you have any relatives or friends you can spend the night with?”
“No.” All I had was Jimmy and he was gone. I lifted my arm. His coat was still on me, but it was torn, singed, and streaked with smoke.
I broke down and wept again, but this time with an audience.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Darling. Truly, I am.” She patted my hand, and in that moment her genuine sympathy made me angry, because what was I supposed to do with it? Was it going to fix my ruined life? “We’ll be able to discharge you soon. Survivors like yourself are generally being sent to the Omega Center, and if not there than to one of the center’s trusted host families. You’ll be safe and warm and get good food and adequate care for your baby. It’s a safe place to start to make sense of all this.” There is no sense to this, I wanted to say, but all I could do was cry harder. The doctor set a box of tissue down by my side and tucked a couple in my hand.
“Zach Morrey’s on his way. He runs the center and as my kids would say, he’s the chillest guy I’ve ever met. You’re in good hands with him, you’ll see.” After another couple of arm rubs, she took her leave, probably to take care of the next wretch who’d lost everything tonight.
The baby stretched out inside me, turning my belly into a funny oblong shape, more like an oval. I let myself smile and ran my hand over the little bulge that I took to be their hand.
“Not everything,” I whispered. “I have the most important thing.”
Knock, knock. I jerked my head up. There was a man in the doorway; an omega with a backwards PK Thorns snapback and blond hair that reached the nape of his neck, wearing a t-shirt with the collar cut out. He was broad-shouldered and had some muscle on him, and along with a relaxed half-grin, looked more like a guy I’d see on a skateboard riding along the beach.
“Mr. Darling?” I nodded and he took a slow step into the room. “I’d ask you how it’s going, but that’d be a pretty dumb question, huh, man?” I snorted a bitter laugh. “I’m Zach from the Omega Center. We’re gonna get you down there and get you some hot food and rest. How’s that sound?” He smiled like he didn’t have a care in the world, one of his front teeth slightly overlapping the other, and I wanted to escape into that world. He held a hand out for me and I took it. He treated me carefully and gently, and I wondered how many times he’d done something like this, and for how many years.
It was a short drive to the center as we were already downtown. Smoke smothered the city like a sinister brownish-gray blanket. The building was nothing special, just an older seventies-era elementary school that had been repurposed. It was the energy that hung over it that bothered me.
Inside, I was greeted by misery and grief.
“I didn’t know the fire took so many homes,” I whispered.
Zach nodded as he led me through the cafeteria. “Yeah. Too many families suffering tonight.” It was mostly omegas and tons of children, but a few alphas were sprinkled here and there, huddling with their families. So many empty eyes stared back at me as I checked out the scene.
“Can I get a hot plate out here, boss?” Zach called into the doorway, like he wasn’t the boss. Food. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten in ages. Zach chuckled. “Two plates.” Zach took the plates of what smelled like pasta from the cook and carried them for me.
“Why don’t we go straight to your room so you can have a little more quiet time?”
“That would be great, thank you.” The sadness, the weeping, and the boisterous kids were frying my nervous system after I’d already been traumatized. There was a massive Christmas tree, maybe twenty feet tall, in the corner of the cafeteria.
“Just put that up yesterday.”
“It’s nice.” It was a beacon of hope for me, a bright spot in all the gloom.
“Perfect timing, then. I’m gonna have you in a room with three other pregnant omegas. I apologize for having to squeeze you in like this.”
“I’m just happy to have food and a place to sleep. I can’t thank you enough, Zach.”
Zach shrugged, the half-smile on his face. “I’m just a guy who wants to help. I’m looking for host families and I’m prioritizing pregnant omegas and those with little babies. I’m hoping to get you someplace where you can be at ease real soon.” He stacked a plate on his wrist like a waiter, so he’d have a hand free, and opened a door into what probably used to be an office. There were four beds crammed inside. A pregnant woman was sleeping with her back to the door and the other two beds were empty, those omegas probably in the cafeteria. Zach set my plates down on a little side table and straightened up to leave, giving me a little smile.
I didn’t know why, but suddenly I was hugging Zach. He didn’t act surprised, just held me for a long time. I sniffled and a few tears fell, but I pulled myself together when the baby moved and the smell of lasagna and garlic bread called my name.
Zach left to go run other parts of the center and I inhaled both plates of food, trying to keep my lip-smacking and fork-scraping quiet.
Belly full, I laid down and rested a hand on my side. Grief, misery, shock, and terror for what the future held for me and my unborn child overtook me. I wept again, big, sopping tears that stained my clothes. My sore chest shook and an ugly whine snuck out of my mouth. “I have my baby. I have my baby,” I chanted. I curled up around my belly, determined to protect them from any harm that could befall them. “We’ll be alright. Me and you, we’ll be alright.”
I wrapped Jimmy’s coat around me tighter and cried myself to sleep.
Barbara Elsborg lives in Kent in the south of England. She always wanted to be a spy, but having confessed to everyone without them even resorting to torture, she decided it was not for her. Volcanology scorched her feet. A morbid fear of sharks put paid to marine biology. So instead, she spent several years successfully selling cyanide.
After dragging up two rotten, ungrateful children and frustrating her sexy, devoted, wonderful husband (who can now stop twisting her arm) she finally has time to conduct an affair with an electrifying plugged-in male, her laptop.
Her earlier books feature quirky heroines and bad boys, now she concentrates on the bad boys, and hopes her books are as much fun to read as they are to write.
Clare LondonClare London took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant.
She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter-three stage and plenty of other projects in mind… she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.
Clare loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her on all her social media.
Annabella MichaelsI am married to my high school sweetheart who let’s face it, is a saint for putting up with me all of these years. Together we have been blessed with two amazing children and one unbelievably cute German Shepherd. I am an obsessive reader who is a complete sucker for a good love story, but loves to feel a broad range of emotions throughout a book. I think real life is hard enough so my books offer twists and turns, but always with a happy ending.
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.
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.
Ava Beringer is a major-league nerd who started off writing fanfiction and fell in love with mpreg and omegaverse. She loves to heat up a slick omega and a knotty alpha. By day she’s a good thirty-something midwestern girl, but she has a dark side. Okay, not really. She’s as bubbly as champagne but she can be pretty darn cheeky when you get her going.
She’s a digital nomad who’s traveled to thirty-five countries and counting. If she’s lucky, a cat will adopt her along the way.
Pick up your FREE SHORT STORIES, hear about her new releases and misadventures here, and tell her about yours! ❤
Barbara Elsborg
EMAIL: bjelsborg@gmail.com
Clare London
EMAIL: clarelondon11@yahoo.co.uk
Annabella Michaels
A Spaceman Came Travelling by Barbara Elsborg
He's Behind You by Clare London
Once Upon a Holiday Vacation by Annabella Michaels
Neutral Zone by RJ Scott & VL Locey
