Christmas according to Liam

A novella, According to Liam, book 2

V.L. Locey

A V.L. Locey MM Hockey Romance Novella

Christmas According to Liam

A novella, According to Liam, book 2

Copyright © 2019 V.L. Locey

Edited by S. Locey

Cover Art by Meredith Russell

* * *

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Contents

Acknowledgments

Christmas according to Liam

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Afterword

Meet V.L. Locey

Other books by V.L. Locey

Acknowledgments

To my family who accepts me and all my foibles and quirks. Even the plastic banana in my holster.

To my alphas, betas, editors, and proofers who work incredibly hard to help me make my books the shiniest we can make them.

To Rachel who helps keep me on time, in line, and reasonably sane.

If you want to keep up with all the latest news about my upcoming M/M releases, sign up for my newsletter by visiting my website:

http://vlloceyauthor.com/

Chapter One

Michael

Oh my, what a day it had been. All my ho-ho-ho had gotten up to go-go-go.

“How will Santa know I’m at your house? I wrote my letter and put my house for gifts. How will he find me at your house?”

I looked up at Bryn, who was putting Liam’s suitcase into the backseat of my new Subaru Forester. It was hunter green, oh-so pretty, and had a black interior because I lugged a five-year old around all the time. Anything lighter than ebony seats and carpets was not happening. Which was why my husband’s Mercedes had taken an early retirement from boy transport. One episode of being hurled upon had been enough for him. His tan interior had been ultra-deep cleaned at the dealer’s and Bryn had managed to wrangle any kind of alternative transport when we went to pick up my nephew.

“Well,” I said, eyes pleading with Bryn to jump in. He merely smiled and shut the door. “Well, he’ll just know. Santa has magical kid radar.” Wow, that sounded super creepy.

Liam’s green eyes narrowed. “What kind of kid radar?”

“Magic kid radar.” I shut the back door, glowering at Bryn as he wiped some snow off his door handle. “Thanks for the assist there.”

“I had nothing.” He shrugged and lifted hands bound in leather gloves into the air.

“Pfft.” I flopped down behind the wheel, Bryn falling into the passenger seat. Liam, who was oozing upset, picked up the steady litany of questions and complaints he’d been throwing at us since we’d shown up to pick him up at school. My sister had called a mere two hours ago.

“Why didn’t Santa bring Mr. Pokémon a new heart?”

“It’s Polkman, buddy,” I gently corrected. “Santa’s only allowed to bring toys to kids, not body parts to grown-ups.”

“Did you know,” Bryn interjected after I gave him a poke in the thigh, “that only doctors can bring people new hearts. They put them into lunch boxes.”

I jabbed him harder. His dark eyes narrowed.

“Is there going to be a heart in my Captain America lunch box?” Liam asked with horror. I poked my hubby again just for good measure.

“No, of course not,” I hurried to smooth over the blunder. Bryn looked properly chastened as we crept along in late afternoon traffic. It was Christmas Eve afternoon and everyone seemed to be out doing last minute things. Kind of like us picking up my nephew from school so his mother and her boyfriend could fly to Maine to bury Adam’s grandfather, Miles Polkman. Mr. Polkman had suffered a major heart attack this morning and perished outside his home while filling up a peanut butter log for the birds. “That’s only for grown-up doctors.”

A moment passed.

“Why did old Mr. Poker Man die on Christmas time?”

Bryn’s lips flattened. Fat lot of help he was.

“I don’t think he chose to pass away during the holiday season. We don’t get to pick when we move over the bridge,” I replied, hitting the blinker to move into the left lane.

“The Bifrost Bridge? Is old Mr. Poker Man with Thor and Loki? I hope the big gold man lets him in so he can play hopscotch with Odin!”

The words to correct him were on the tip of my tongue but I swallowed them down. “Yep, Mr. Polkman is in Asgard with Thor and Odin and Heimdall.” Bryn’s dark eyebrows rose. I wagged a finger at the man. “They’re probably eating good Viking food and making merry with the elves.”

Bryn snickered softly as I pulled a sharp left that got us closer to our condo.

“Will we make cookies for Santa? Do you have tube cookies?”

“I own tube socks, does that count?” Bryn quickly tossed out. That made me giggle. Liam, not so much.

“No, not socks. Cookies! They got green trees inside them and come in tubes. You have to make tube cookies for Santa or he’ll be mad!”

“Jeez, Bryn, don’t you Nordic people know nothing about Santa?” I teased, the light snow that was falling was hitting the warm windshield and melting instantly. His handsome face puckered. I jabbed him in the thigh again, making his lips twitch. “Everyone knows about the tube cookies. We better stop at the supermarket so we can grab a few dozen.”

“Speaking of Nordic customs, Liam, did you know that Father Christmas was an old—”

“Where will Santa land on your apartment house? Will his reindeer fall off the roof? How will he find us with all them neighbor people you have? What if he brings me a big boy bike and he gives it to that mean lady with the asshole ankle biter?”

I blinked at the deluge of questions. Bryn grimaced. I glanced in the rear view at the blond boy in the back seat. Wisps of gold hair escaped the edges of his Pittsburgh Ravens knit cap.

“Okay, so, calling Mrs. Dawn’s poodle an asshole ankle biter isn’t nice. A-hole is a bad word, remember?”

“Uncle Bryn calls it that all the time,” Liam replied and tugged on a string from his now discarded mittens. The yarn he was playing with was at least two feet long. Was there anything left of the mitten?

“Uncle Bryn says a lot of things that little boys and Captain America would never repeat because he forgets big ears are nearby.”

“Uncle Bryn has a potty mouth,” Liam proclaimed. I nodded and Bryn blushed. God, it looked good on him. “Where will Santa land on the apartment roof?”

“Uncle Potty Mouth, why don’t you take that one?” I waved at him ala Vanna White gesturing at a vowel. My husband made a face, then launched into some scientific sounding mumbo-jumbo about reindeer being aerodynamic and able to land on any surface due to the winter traction on the bottom of their hooves. He was totally winging it, and doing a fantastic job, if I dared to say so. It had taken him some time, but he was learning how to be a great uncle. Aside from being a potty mouth, of course.

We made a quick stop at the Shopper Mart for tube cookies, milk, extra toilet paper, vanilla ice cream, and a two-liter bottle of root beer. Then, another fast dash to Primanti Brothers for dinner because who wanted to cook on Christmas Eve? Also, we loved the food there. We’d be doing a big meal tomorrow, so tonight, it was a couple of turkey and bacon sandwiches, some retro tots on the side, and a chicken tender meal for Liam.

After we had the grub, we headed to the elite apartment building that Bryn and I called home. After our marriage in June, we’d moved into one of the bigger condos, one that had more room for a growing family. Not that we’d talked seriously about a child of our own, yet, but Liam was here as often as we could get him. The small bachelor pad Bryn had lived in before just hadn’t worked for a married couple with sketchy expansion plans. This one on the top floor of the Silver Vue Apartments was reserved for the upper crust of Pittsburgh society, which we were. Well, Bryn was; I was still dorky Mike from Squirrel Hill who blogged and worked at Blue Bell Design, an up-and-coming website design company on Muriel Street, just off the 10th Street Bridge.

We’d settled in nicely here and set up the second bedroom for Liam. He cared little for the amenities of the building that overlooked the Steel City, but it had quickly grown on me. Aside from the stunning corner view of Pittsburgh, we were close to all kinds of downtown dining, entertainment, and museums. The ten minute walk to the Pittsburgh Gas & Energy Arena was something Bryn enjoyed, as it kept him in daily contact with the fans. He found that grounding, which it sure was. Ravens fans weren’t shy about letting him know if he’d played poorly the night before. The town was looking for a repeat of last season’s Cup win, and so far, the Ravens were playing like the finely-oiled machine they were.

“Will Mom be home from saying goodbye to Mr. Post Man when I wake up?” Liam asked over his tenders and fries. We’d climbed into our seats, elbowing up to the island in the middle of our kitchen, Liam fastened into his booster and my foot on the rung. The thought of him tipping backwards gave me nightmares, not unlike I’d had after visiting the proctologist for the first time.

“Polkman,” I gently corrected. “No, she’s not going to be able to say goodbye to Mr. Polkman that quickly. She’s really sad that she has to miss Christmas. She’ll be calling tonight so you can talk to her about how you’re feeling.” I ran a hand over his back to comfort him. Change in his routine did not generally sit well, and Mom leaving with Adam without warning? Well, that was just about too much for a little guy to take. So far, he’d been pretty brave, but I wagered the more tired he became, the closer to tears he’d get.

Dinner ended and Bryn tidied up the kitchen after the tube cookies had been baked while I got Liam bathed and into his Captain America pajamas. Cap was everywhere. His room was nothing but bulging biceps and chiseled abs, from bedding to drapes to the posters on the walls. Not that I’m complaining…

We’d just gotten situated in the living room with some root beer floats—our desserts—and Age of Ultron queued up to play—when my phone chirruped. Seeing it was my sister, I put my glass down on a coaster and hurried to answer her call. Liam sat beside me, the battered stuffed Captain America doll Bryn had bought him ages ago resting beside him. He’d stopped taking Cap to school, but he clung to the star-spangled Avenger when he was home, upset, or tired. Tonight, he was two out of three.

“It’s your mom,” I whispered as I put the phone to my ear. His big blue eyes lit up and he scurried to his knees. “You want to answer?”

“Yes, yes!” So I passed the phone to him. No need to show him how it worked. He was more adept at phones, tablets, and computers than Bryn was, no lie. You should see my husband try to cross post things on social media. “Mommy!”

I sat back, smiling and sipping on my float as the lad talked non-stop for ten minutes barely surfacing for air. When he had exhausted all his pent-up anxiety and questions, the phone was passed back to me. Bryn had pattered in by this time with a latte instead of a float. Wish I had his willpower. I glanced down at my tummy, sighed, and sucked up a bit more melted ice cream.

“Hey there, buttercup,” I said while Liam began to fidget. I nodded at Bryn to start the movie. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how it went. This was probably our four hundredth viewing. I could recite some of Tony Stark’s dialog verbatim. “How’s Adam?”

“Meh,” Kelly replied. “He and his grandfather were really close. It’s hit him hard; so unexpected, you know? Is Liam okay?”

“He’s fine. A little out of sorts and upset that you won’t be here to see what Santa brings him, but I think he sort-of maybe understands. The whole Frankie Fins thing might have helped.” Frankie Fins had been a goldfish that Bryn and I had bought for Liam at a nearby Petco during a moment of weakness. It was either the fish or a parakeet. Bryn was rather uptight about the condo being neat, so a bird was out, but the fish we could handle. Liam had bonded with that fish instantly. For a month, every time Liam had come over, he sang to Frankie Fins, told him secrets, and overfed the poor fish. Four weeks after we’d bought Frankie, I went into his room to check that the windows were closed during a thunderstorm, and there floated Frankie at the top of his bowl. The lad was heartbroken. We buried Frankie Fins over at my old place on Squirrel Hill because there was no yard here to speak of, only a small shared garden. We’d assumed the neighbors might not want a fish buried among the marigolds. Frankie Fins was the first time Liam had experienced death close up. It had taken lots of talking from all the adults in his life, but we were pretty sure he grasped the fundamentals of dying, or as much as he could, given his age.

“Mr. Pork Man is with Frankie,” Liam repeated to me and Bryn, then began talking about Winter Soldier and his metal arm.

“Good. He sounds okay. Was he freaked out when you showed up at school?” Kelly asked. She sounded tired.

“Not overly, just anxious. And maybe a little perturbed at Martin for dying during Christmas time.”

“Ugh, I feel terrible. I’m still not sure I did the right thing coming with Adam. He was such a mess when he got the call, and I felt like he needed me, but my son needs me to be there for Christmas and…Gah! I’m totally torn.”

“Kelly, baby, you did the right thing. Liam is fine here with us. We’ll do the big day, take lots of videos and pictures, and when you come home, we can have another day where Bryn and I give you the presents that Santa left here for you and Adam.”

“Uncle Bryn, why does Santa leave presents here for Mom and Adam? Why don’t he just leave them at our house?” Liam enquired. Bryn’s dark eyes flared. I pretended I’d not heard that sticky wicket of a query.

“Santa knows that grown-ups go to other places for Christmas parties, so he leaves gifts at different houses for that purpose,” Bryn answered. I gave him a wink over the top of Liam’s damp head.

“Oh, okay.” And back to the movie the boy went.

“Bryn is going to be great dad. Have you two…?” Kelly asked.

“Oh, no, not yet. It’s too soon. Someday. But now? No, no. Too soon.”

“Sure, yes, of course it is. I’m super tired. So, yeah, the viewing is, like, in ten minutes and then we’re burying him tomorrow. God, what a miserable way to spend Christmas. Poor Adam, and poor Grandma Polkman. Everyone in this family will always associate Christmas with burying Martin.”

“Well, perhaps they can try to focus on the happy memories they have of Martin,” I offered, lame as it was. Trite, too. Blech. “That was super mundane. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, and true. It’s hard to know what to say at a time like this.” There was a shuffle of the phone. “Okay, we’re about to start the viewing. The funeral parlor is packed with people and family I don’t know. Eep!”

“You’ll be fine. Just focus on Adam and Grandma Polkman. They’ll all love you. Now go. We’re off to watch Ultron get his tin backside handed to him. Talk to you early tomorrow.”

“Yes, call me as soon as you guys are up, I don’t care what time it is. Oh! Don’t forget to run to my place to get the presents that are hidden all over. Adam’s calling me. Bye. Love you guys.” The line went dead. Shit. The presents. I’d forgotten about them. I glanced at Liam and Bryn sitting snuggled up together, enjoying their chosen drinks. As soon as the movie was over or Liam had conked out, I’d make the gift run. That settled in my mind, I sat back to ogle Thor’s hammer. And his guns. Mostly his guns.

Liam made it through the entire movie. Bryn and I had nodded off a time or two, but not Liam.

“Okay, sport, time for bed,” I tapped my wristwatch. “Santa won’t come if kids are awake.” I stood, stretched, and offered him my hand. “We can read one chapter. No more than that.” Been there and played that game before. Fool me once and all that.

“We have get Santa his cookies and milk,” he informed me with a look that screamed “Doh, Uncle Mike.”

It’s amazing how long a kid can stretch out putting five cookies onto a plastic plate. It was like watching a sloth in slow-mo. The milk pouring also required at least five minutes, then he had to have a glass. Oy vey.

“Can you and Uncle Bryn read me a story together? With voices?” He turned the green puppy dog eyes on me, then on Bryn. Long story short, five minutes and a good toothbrushing later, Liam was in bed and Bryn and I were acting out Where the Wild Things Are. With his head on his pillow, his eyes finally closed. We read for another page or two, just to ensure he was really asleep and not faking, then we crept from his room, making sure the nightlight was on and the door closed before we scurried out to the living room.

Bryn grabbed me from behind as I rushed past, yanking me into his chest. I giggled and wriggled in his arms. His lips found my throat.

“Bryn, no, honey, not now. We have presents.” I slipped free, or he let me slip free, was more accurate. I turned to look at him. “I have to run to Kelly’s and gather up all the gifts she has hidden all over the house. And you have that big boy bike to assemble.”

His eyes rounded for a moment. “I forgot about the bike. I was hoping to get a Christmas Eve treat.” He waggled a brow. I picked up a tube cookie from Santa’s tray and handed it to him. “This is not exactly the treat I was hoping to get,” he deadpanned.

“I know, but we’re Santa this year. I’m off to find the goodies. You get that box out of the closet and get to work. I’ll be back before midnight. I hope!” I kissed his scruffy cheek, grabbed my keys and my coat, and off I went. I wasn’t the least bit worried about my new hubby. He was a smart man, college-educated, top-tier goalie for the Stanley Cup champions, and all-around snazzy guy. Surely, an intelligent man about town like Bryn Mettler could assemble a child’s bike without any problem whatsoever.

Chapter Two

Bryn

I was having problems.

That irked me because I prided myself on being a smart man. I spoke four languages—English, Swedish, German, and Welsh—and was in the process of trying to nail down Russian, so I could converse with some of my teammates in their native tongue. Also, I enjoyed hearing Russian being spoken. Such an aggressive, passionate language. So yes, languages and a college degree in Nordic Welfare from Halmstad University should certainly make me intelligent enough to put a damn bike together.

“Why are there no written words?” I asked the fat evergreen in the corner, then turned the meager assembly instructions around, thinking that perhaps if I read them from a different angle, they would make sense. “What is wrong with the written word? I cannot tell if this screw is 42 slash B because they all look the same!”

The only thing assembled so far was the handlebars. And those I had snapped together.

“Easy assembly my ass,” I muttered, tossing the instructions aside. “Stupid bike company only using illustrations.” I whispered several nasty words in German, added a few in Swedish, and then picked up the instructions so that I could wad them into a ball and throw them into the fireplace. I derived some pleasure watching them sit there by the fake fire. Pity Michael wouldn’t allow a real one until after the live tree was no longer in the house. Using the handlebars of the bike, I poke-checked the ball of paper under the faux logs and silly fake fire. “Who needs instructions? I rode a bike for years as a child. I’m not a simpleton.”

An hour later, I had to concede that I was, in fact, a simpleton. It was midnight, the bike was as it had tumbled out of the box, and my patience was being sharply tested. Not knowing what to do, but knowing I needed help fast, I did what any man would do in my situation. I called my father in Bamberg, the lovely city that he and my mother had retired to. My paternal grandmother lived there, as well, and they kept an eye on her. It would be just around six in Germany, and my father would surely be up and making coffee for my mother, who liked to sleep in.

“Guten morgen! Frohe weihnachten, Bryn.”

“Guten morgen. Frohe weihnachten, Papa.”

“You sound strained, son. Is everything okay?” Ah, my father knew me well.

“To be honest, Papa, I’ve been working on assembling a small child’s bike for over an hour now and have only the handlebars together. The instructions were useless so I pretended to burn them in fake fire logs that Michael insists we use.”

“Pretend burned?”

“Yes,” I softly chuckled at my own foolishness, then sat back, spine to couch, legs out in front of me. “Don’t ask. I was wondering if you recalled how to assemble a bicycle. Surely, you put together a few back in the day.”

Papa laughed. “Oh yes, a few and then some. You tended to crash into things such as trees, walls, and postal trucks with regularity. Let me grab a cup of coffee, then show me the instructions.”

“Danke, Papa.”

With Papa on a video call and a fresh latte, we had the big boy bike put together in under twenty minutes. It was a snappy thing. Dark green paint and a metallic silver seat with training wheels. There was a helmet somewhere that went it, and elbow pads. Were they here or over at Kelly’s? God only knew. I was growing sleepy and slow. A yawn snuck up on me, making my jaw pop, it was so deep.

“You should go to bed, son. Make sure you call when things have settled to speak to your mother and grandmother. We’re so sorry we couldn’t fly over for the holiday, but the darn gout has your grandmother down again and—”

“Papa, please, no need to apologize.” I rose from the floor, slowly, giving my spine a chance to realign. The cracking in my hips wasn’t a pleasant sound for a goalie to hear. “I wish we could come to you, but I only have three days for the holiday break. We’re on the road again on Wednesday.”

“I know. We’ll plan for you and Michael to come out during the summer. I think he would love seeing Germany, and your grandmother would be thrilled to see you again.”

I liked the sound of that a great deal. I’d perhaps book that trip as a first anniversary gift for my sexy new spouse. He’d be surprised, and delighted, I was sure. The other two trips we’d taken showed his love of travel and adventure. Our honeymoon in Honolulu was incredible. The sand and the surf, the sex, the biking and hiking, the sex. Yes, the more I thought of taking Michael to Europe, the more I liked it.

“We’ll have to see if we can work that out, Papa.” The front door opened and Michael stumbled in, arms full of gifts, his hair covered with cobwebs. “Ah, my husband is home with presents. We’ll call tomorrow. Love you. Goodbye, Papa.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Mettler!” Michael called, then dropped the boxes to the sofa. “There are more. I had to crawl around in the attic to find them. It’s like a scene from Arachnophobia up there.” He shuddered dramatically. “Oh hey, look at that bike! It’s perfect. You did a great job. Oh, shit, the elevator!” He ran out and I followed, just catching the door on the elevator before it shut. Inside was a small mountain of presents. I stared at them openly. Then I glanced at Michael. “I know, I know. I think everyone went a little overboard.”

“Yes, perhaps so.”

“Curse of the only child. You should be familiar with it.” He bumped my hip with his. In truth, I was quite familiar with the only child windfall every Christmas and birthday. “Let’s get them inside before someone rings for the elevator.” Pulling a chair from the small foyer to bar the door, we hustled in and out, carrying gifts, until they were all under the blinking tree. Then, we freed the elevator.

“We should put the bike somewhere he won’t find it,” Michael said, standing by the tree, tapping his chin as he contemplated.

I flopped down on the sofa. “Didn’t we just spend hours bringing the presents out of hiding so he could find them?” Another yawn rolled out of me. My sleepy eyes found the clock on the wall over the mantle. It was ten after one.

“Well, yes, but if he sees the bike, he won’t pay any attention to the others.”

“Come sit down with me. We’ll take the bike into our room when we turn in.” I sat up as he neared, slipping my arms around his waist, I tugged his sweater up a bit to bare his stomach. His fingers slid into my hair while I rubbed my cheek over his belly. “Mm, I do love your soft little belly. So sexy.”

“I love that you love it. My tube cookie adoration doesn’t have to be held in check,” he replied, his voice softening. His fingers moved through my hair, soft strokes that relaxed and enflamed me. I began nibbling his flesh, tonguing his navel, then tugging on the course hairs of his stomach with my teeth. His breathing grew faster, his grip on my hair tighter. “We should go to bed.”

“But I want my treat now.”

“Holy holly berries, Bryn,” he gasped but didn’t pull away. I burrowed my face into the front of his soft fleece pants. His dick was half-hard. I pressed my lips to the growing length of him, letting my mouth move up and down his cock. His body rocked forward and back gently, as if he were eager one moment then reluctant the next. I took hold of his ass cheeks and kissed up the underside of his prick. Tiny bits of fleece clung to my lips as I teased, nibbled, and rubbed my rough cheeks over his dick. “Bryn, if he wakes up…”

“We’ll hear the hinges squeak. I dislike the fuzzies on my tongue.” With that, I went in search of my treat. Hard and slick with precum, I pulled his cock free and swallowed him down to the root. A groan rumbled out of him. His hips flicked forward. I pulled off with a pop that made the man shiver, despite the warmth of the house. His bright green eyes met mine. With a smile, I slid his cockhead between my lips. His mouth formed a little O as he drew in a shaky breath. Knowing what the man liked, I worked him slow and easy, hand aiding my mouth, until he was a stroke from blowing apart. Sometimes, we liked to play with edging, but not tonight. I swirled my tongue over and around his swollen cockhead. Hand in my own pants while one lingered on his ass, I stroked myself faster while Michael coated my tongue and throat with cum. The taste of him propelled me over. Fingers coated with spunk I tugged and pulled, smearing the warm spend all over myself as I pumped my hips madly.

“Oh, oh, oh,” Michael gasped, his knees folding, his fingers gripping my hair in tight fists.

“That should be ‘ho-ho-ho’, no?” I asked, licking a few pearly drops from my lips as he tumbled away from me, falling to the sofa like a felled tree, dick hanging out. “Ugh, such a mess.” I pulled my hand out of my pants, kissed my husband’s bare ass cheek, and then went to the kitchen to wash my hands. When I returned to the living room—or FAO Schwartz—I caught Michael cramming cookies into his mouth. I cocked an eyebrow at him. At least he’d taken the time to tuck his dick back into his pants before he’d attacked Santa’s goodies.

“Someone had to eat them,” he told me, crumbs stuck to his lips. I chuckled and sat down next to him, pulling him close into my arms, then kissing him deeply. His mouth was sugar sweet, his body warm and supple, and his arms happy to encircle me. “Mm, almost as good as tube cookies,” he purred when the kiss ended.

“Almost?” I asked, bristling with fake indignation.

His smile was tranquil and playful. I kissed him a dozen times, had the last cookie on the dish, and then washed it down with a sip of room temperature milk.

“Ugh, warm milk is gross,” he gagged, while passing the glass back to me. I put it beside the now empty cookie dish, snuggled him close, and stared at the lights on the tree until they became blurry. Which didn’t take long. “We should go to bed.”

“Agreed.” I dropped a short peck to his hair, then stood, my back cracking as loudly as Michael’s knees when he rose. “I suspect it will be a short night.” Grabbing the big boy bike, I held out my free hand to Michael. He slid his fingers through mine and we shuffled down the hall, past where the boy with visions of sugar plums dancing in his head slept.

The bike was stashed in the closet until morning. We fell into bed. I vaguely recall my husband turning off the light on his side of the bed, but nothing else, until someone with a sticky finger was poking me in the cheek. I blinked awake, barely, and there stood Liam, stuffed Cap dangling from his left hand, his right pointer finger poised to jab me in the face again.

“Wake up, Uncle Bryn, I think Santa was here. My brain is picking up all kinds of presents,” Liam informed me.

“You have Christmas present sense?” I asked sluggishly, fearful to look at the clock beside me.

“Yeah, like spider sense, only I never got bited by a spider. Uncle Mike! My brain is tingling!” And with that, the poker ran around to jab Michael into consciousness. I dared to peek at the clock. It was ten minutes after four.

“Joyous noel,” I mumbled into my pillow.

Chapter Three

Michael

“Happy Christmas,” I yelled in my sister’s ear. Good thing Liam wasn’t listening beside me, or his ear would have been toasted. The profanity was warranted. It was quarter after four in the morning but she had told me to call no matter the time. So, here was the call. “Santa has been to our house and your son is crackling with excitement.”

“Dark…so dark…outside,” Kelly croaked. Adam asked something of her—it was garbled to my ear—but she replied with a mushed-up sentence that included the words “brother” and “jerk”, which made me snigger.

“Let me get the laptop fired up so you can witness the carnage.” She grumbled. “That’s my polite way of telling you both to get some clothes on.”

“Eww, gross. Stop thinking about us naked.”

“Stop being naked and making me think about it,” I countered. My baby sister said more bad words. “You’re not really festive, Kelly Nicole.” Liam pounded into the living room, his lower lip dangling out, a piece of dry toast in his hand. “Your mom is being a grump.”

“Why do we have to make coffee and toast before we open presents?!” Liam demanded to know. I reached out to flatten down the wild blond spriglets of hair standing at all angles. They refused to flatten, as I knew they would. “Because Uncle Bryn and I are old and need starting fluid. Eat your toast and go sip on some hot chocolate.”

“Why do you need started? Don’t you wake up started?” the child asked, his toast now mashed between his fingers.

“Nope, I don’t wake up started anymore. I used to when I was your age and had to walk a hundred miles to school, in the snow, with nothing on my feet.” Liam gaped at me. “I’m kidding. We rode the bus, just like you. I’m just old. Go help Uncle Bryn make more toast. Oh, your Mom is on the phone.”

“She’s old, too,” he sniped, slamming off to berate Bryn for being crotchety and unable to self-start, I assumed.

“I’m not old,” Kelly moaned into my ear.

“Of course not, pudding. Now, let me get the laptop ready. I’ll buzz you on Skype in a few. Go find your wrinkle cream and your support hose while I’m gone.”

“Asshole.”

I sniggered and hung up, the blinking and winking tree lights seeming a little less annoying now that I had pestered my sister.

Ten minutes passed quickly. For me. For Liam, they dragged on through the eons, his moans and whimpers of boredom making Bryn chuckle. The child had a future on the stage, dramatic roles only, please. Once we had a clear connection with Kelly and Adam—both were clothed and somewhat awake—we let the beast off his leash. Liam tore into the presents like a dog in a butcher shop. Paper was shredded, bows flung aside; it was bedlam. Anything that was clothing was instantly discarded. Bryn gave me a long look over his coffee when the boy threw a new Ravens jacket to the floor.

“Liam, perhaps you should say thank you to Uncle Bryn for that Ravens jacket,” I prompted the wild-eyed lad. His green eyes flew from the tiny box in his hand to Bryn. “Remember how we said some presents were from Santa, and some were from me and Uncle Bryn?”

“Thank you,” he said, then returned to freeing some toy cars from their wrappers.

I glanced at my hubby sitting beside me. “He likes it, he does, there’s just too much stimulus right now. And you know how boys are about clothes…”

“I always enjoyed getting new clothing.”

Well, of course he did, Dapper Dan that he was. “Ah, well, you’ve been a fashion plate from birth then. I never cared about clothes when I was young.”

“You still don’t,” he offered, giving me a sly look over his steaming mug.

I smiled. “No, you’re right. Clothes are to keep my backside warm. If they match or not doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” he teased, lowering his cup so I could kiss him and his sassy lips. We sat back and let the boy have his dues, his mother scolding him to no effect to slow down and read the tags. He’d slow down then, for a moment, his blond brows would beetle, and he’d slowly read the tag on the present resting on his lap. His gaze would flicker to the adult name on the tag, he would thank them, and then the present would be stripped of its coverings.

“It’s akin to watching Wolverine carve his way through a mob of mutant haters,” Bryn whispered. Liam heard that, and so we were treated to thirty minutes of the boy pretending to be Wolverine, snarling and growling and tossing out ‘Bubs’ until his mother called a halt to it. I snickered throughout most of the shenanigans. The boy was just being a child. Sure, manners are important, but you’re only five once. In another year or two, some big dummy kid at school would tell Liam about Santa not being real, and we’d forever lose this innocence. So, if the lad got carried away and shrieked in glee over something Santa had left, I could see no great harm in his behavior. Of course, I was the fun uncle who tended to dote. My head was packed full of great lines and tidbits for the blog, but those would keep until tomorrow. Today was for family.

While Liam worked through the mound of gifts that had his name on them, Bryn and I swapped a few of our own. A sweater and a silk scarf for him from a fancy little designer boutique he loved over on Ivy Street. Then, a tie from PT Designs, a chic store over on Penn Avenue that Bryn loved to browse through when he was online. Some slippers from Liam and a snazzy tweed flat cap from Kelly and Adam completed his big gifts. There were oodles of tiny stocking stuffers piled up on the table in front of him. He was beaming at me over that darn silk scarf, going on about how he could pair it with his black London Fog coat.

“You have good taste, Michael,” Bryn said, as Kelly and Liam were discussing how to make a hat out of the used bows. Adam, it seemed, had conked out, the lightweight. “Now, open mine, and the ones from St. Nick, of course.”

“Of course.” I adjusted my red velveteen Santa cap. As I had been handing out gifts, I got to wear the hat, and dove into my pile with as much gusto as Liam was tearing through his. Bryn gifted me a gold sweater with green glittery yarn knitted through it.

“The green will highlight your eyes,” he informed me. I kissed him in thanks. Then, I opened up a new day planner set complete with pens and highlighters. “Open the one with the silver paper.” He pointed to a present resting by my calf. I tore off the fancy red bow and handed it to Liam, who was now making a bow hat in-between his ripping and tearing. My mouth hit my chest when I unwrapped a gorgeous black leather attaché case with shoulder strap. “I had it specially made for you by Gorge, the man who runs that small leather artisan shop over in Upper Hill.”

I ran my fingers over the rich, buttery leather. “Gorge, who makes your belts and wallets? That Gorge?”

“Yes, that’s the man. You’re a professional now, working in an office building and meeting with clients. You cannot continue carrying your important papers in an Iron Man rucksack.”

“Iron Man is rich, too,” Liam interjected as he flew his new Quinjet over our heads. “And he’s got robot suits that shoot rockets. And he’s smart and billionaire thrillapiss.”

“Philanthropist,” I corrected gently.

“What’s a philatoepiss?” the lad asked as he made another high-speed lap around the circle.

“That means he’s generous to those who are less fortunate than he is, which is something to think about now that you’ve gotten a bunch of new toys. Perhaps when you get home, you could go through your toybox and give the toys you don’t play with anymore to children who aren’t as lucky as you.”

His green eyes darted to Bryn. My husband nodded in confirmation.

“I think Cap would do that with his toys,” Liam said.

“I’m sure he would,” I hurried to agree. The last time I had brooked donating his older toys, the boy had melted down like a candle on a hot griddle. Liam nodded, revved up the Quinjet and flew off into the next room, giving us a moment of peace and quiet. “Well, that was an unexpected reply. This is beautiful, Bryn, thank you so much.”

“You needed it to carry that new day planner and all those pens.” He patted my thigh softly.

“Oh, yes! And my lunch, and my laptop. It’s just mouthwatering.” I stoked the case like one would a beloved cat.

“Look inside,” he whispered, his hand giving my leg a squeeze. “No need to appear so suspicious, nothing inside will leap out or snap shut on your fingers.”

“What are you up to?” I asked warily, unzipping the case, then slipping my hand inside. The soft lining brushed over the backs of my fingers. My fingertips grazed an envelope and I lofted it out into the blinking glow of the tree lights. I threw an arched brow his way, then slid my finger under the flap. Having no clue what the paper folded so carefully said, I laid the envelope down and unfolded the handwritten note from my husband.

“I apologize for not having the actual blue folder from the travel agent that you so like to look at and touch, but the travel agent was only able to email me the itinerary.”

My eyes darted over the printout, then lifted to Bryn. “Germany? We’re doing Germany over the summer for our first anniversary?!”

He nodded, his dark eyes rich and warm like melted chocolate. “If you’re behind the idea. If you’d rather go somewhere else—”

I threw my arms around him and kissed him four hundred and seventeen times, all while gushing about Germany, his parents who I’d only met at our wedding, and schnitzel.

“What did Uncle Bryn get you Uncle Mike?” Liam asked as he clambered over the back of the sofa, fancy hero jet in one hand and a massive glass of chocolate milk in the other. The milk sloshed out of his glass, ran over his fingers, and speckled the sofa. Bryn’s brown eyes widened, but he didn’t speak harshly to the lad, as some neat-nicks would. He simply asked him to pass the glass to me until he was seated. Thank goodness for rug and upholstery cleaners. Kids and expensive furniture and carpeting didn’t tend to cohabitate well.

“Tickets to Germany,” I beamed. Liam scowled at us.

“You should not go there; Red Skull is hiding there. He’s a bad man!”

“I’m sure Red Skull has moved on. The people of Germany are lovely, as is the country. Remember, you met Bryn’s parents at our wedding?” The lad nodded. “And you liked them, right?”

“They gave me cookies and funny German money.”

“That’s right, they did. So I’m sure we’ll be perfectly fine in Germany.”

“I don’t like Red Skull. His soul isn’t special for Christmas Day like ours is because he’s got no good spirit in his heart. Cap says Red Skull is so bad that the only things Santa brings to him is a lump of coal and a sock with a thorn in it. Can I has my milk please?”

He held out his hands, so I carefully passed the glass back. Lord knows what the kitchen looked like after his drink prep. The milk was a touch on the dark, dark, dark, dark, dark brown side. Probably half the jug of chocolate syrup had been used.

“A sock with a thorn?” Bryn asked, sitting back to enjoy the story that was about to rush out of Liam.

“Yes, socks get thorns in them and they poke your feet. So, bad people gets coal because I don’t know why or what coal is, but they get that and a thorn sock or sometimes a dog turd.” He sipped loudly then sighed as if he’d been parched. “Jimmy Powers says his big brother got a dog turd in a box.”

“I highly doubt that, Liam,” Bryn chuckled as I hugged my attaché case and my itinerary for Germany close to my breast. Bryn spoiled me terribly. As he did Liam and Kelly. He was just a giving man. I loved him so damn much. “Perhaps it was a gag joke.”

“It would make me gag,” I tossed out, kissed my nephew’s wild hair, then forced myself to open the other presents I’d set aside for myself. Clothes, aftershave, a new picture of Liam—his first real school picture—and a box of Turtles to snack on.

Liam climbed over Bryn when he was done with his milk and pulled out another new toy. I rose from the couch, placed my trip announcement and my attaché aside, and gave Bryn a wink. That was the signal and so off my hubby went to fetch the bike. I gave the laptop a spin to find my sister sound asleep, her phone resting on her cheek. I had a lovely view of the inside of her nostril. I rang her a few times but only got a loud snorty cough in reply, so I opted to leave the call open and record the big moment. Liam had just asked me to open his new Legos when Bryn appeared in the doorway. I leaned forward, hands on my knees, and watched his face light up.

“It’s from Santa,” I managed to say, before the boy shrieked so loudly he probably woke the neighbors on the first floor. I prayed the walls were as thick as the building super boasted they were.

“It’s a bike! It’s a bike!” Liam shouted, dancing and pumping the air with his fist.

“What? What? What happened?” Kelly shouted, so I lifted the laptop and pointed the camera in the direction of the happy dance. Bryn placed the bike to the hardwood floor. Liam climbed on, his face split in half with a joyous grin.

“I want to ride it!” Liam began pedaling. Bryn grabbed the handlebars before he could take off.

“Big boy’s bikes are not ridden inside. They’re ridden outside,” Bryn reminded the boy. We’d had this discussion before, when he’d asked for a bike for Labor Day, Halloween, and Thanksgiving. “When you were little and had a little bike to scoot around on was different. Big bikes like this one, with training wheels, will mark up the floor and harm the furniture.” Bryn dropped down to look the boy right in his excited emerald eyes. “You understand, yes?”

“Yes, yes! Can we ride outside? Now!”

I glanced at my phone. “Buddy, it’s not six in the morning yet. It’s still dark out, and I think it might have snowed.” A slight upending of his life as he knew it took place, and he grew cranky. “Why don’t we eat and tidy up the living room? Then, we’ll see how much snow there is and if we can sweep the path in the community garden,” I offered to hopefully cut off the temper flare-up I was sensing.

That seemed to stall the impending upset, and so the Herculean clean-up of the living room began. I left Bryn to tidying up and I took the laptop into the kitchen to chat with Kelly while I stirred up some scrambled eggs with bacon bits. Liam had rolled his bike to the front door with great care and was now sitting on it pretending to be taking part in the Tour de France.

“I think he liked it,” I said as I tucked the Dell safely under the cupboard. I glanced at the screen and my sister was crying big old silent tears. “Hey, whoa, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I should be there with him when he gets his first big boy bike.” She wailed. Adam sat up beside her, popping up like a piece of toast in an overexuberant toaster. His hair was tangled, his face covered with pillow creases, and his eyes unfocused. He gave me a look of utter confusion.

“Not here for the first bike,” I told him.

“Shit, baby, no, don’t cry,” he said and Kelly rolled into him, sniffling and moaning about water weight and old people and bikes. I glanced around, unsure of what I should do. There was really nothing for me to do, and it looked like Adam had what I should be doing—comforting my baby sister—well in hand. How dare he be such a great sort? Didn’t he know patting her back when she was upset was my job?! Toe stepping good guy. Pfft.

“Why don’t I go feed Liam? Hey, call me when things are sunnier, okay?” I asked, got a nod from Adam and a gasping cough from my sister. I eased out of the video call, exhaled long and hard, and went off to find a frying pan. I might not be able to console my sister, but I could feed my guys.

Chapter Four

Bryn

It was cold. So damn cold. Despite all my years of calling Pittsburgh home, the brutal cold snaps that settled over the city from time to time still astounded me. Yet, despite the four degree thermometer reading and light wind, here we were, outside, cheeks red and eyes watering, to help Liam ride his bike. I’d volunteered to sweep the four or so inches of fluffy snow away from the walkways that circled our tiny garden area. It was a small but beautiful space just for the residents of our condominium to enjoy. During the summer, it was lovely. The trees were leafed out, the flowers in the beds blooming, the birds sang, the bees buzzed, and a man could rest on one of the wrought-iron benches with a book and a glass of lemonade. Today, there were no flowers, birds, bees, or glasses of lemonade. Any kind of liquid would have frozen within minutes. Yet, Liam and Michael seemed to be oblivious to the wind chill.

The boy was pedaling around the circular route. Michael was jogging along behind him, arms stretched out in front of him should the boy teeter over, shouting encouragements to his nephew. I doubted the bike would tumble over, given it had training wheels, but my husband was a worrier. I loved that about him. That, and his innate, nurturing heart. Resting under a maple tree that had long ago shed its leaves, broom in hand, I smiled at the moment. It stirred something profound in me, something that I’d shelved years ago. Sure, I’d dust it off from time to time, study it as one would a tome of ancient texts, and return it to its home to molder a bit longer. I was going to be thirty-four in a month. Perhaps it was time to give it some serious thought.

“Oh, my…sides…need air…fat uncle…dying,” Michael panted as he stumbled along in Liam’s wake. I chuckled at the man I loved and decided to give them another pass or two, then call it off. Liam’s cheeks were scarlet now and Michael was exhausted.

“Perhaps we should go back inside now?” I called as the twosome rode closer. “I can make some hot chocolate…”

Liam skidded to a wobbly halt a few feet from where I stood. Michael fumbled around the boy and fell into my arms.

“Thank you…thank you…thank you,” he huffed, his breath warm and moist on my neck. I hugged him close, kissed his icy nose, and then rounded the winded pair up and led them inside. The warmth of the foyer was lovely.

“After we make hot chocolate, we should build a snowperson,” Liam announced as we waited for the elevator. I handed the boy my handkerchief so he could wipe his runny nose.

“We can do that after lunch. Maybe it will warm up,” I offered and got a head bob from Michael, who was still huffing and puffing. “Perhaps we can dig through our old clothing for the snowman.”

“I want to make a snowperson who hasn’t picked his or her gender yet, Uncle Bryn, and send the picture to Peter. Peter is in my class and is transgender. He picked his name. Peter likes Thor best, even better than Captain America. We play on the monkey bars. Can we invite Peter over to play the new video games I got from Santa? Why is the elevator taking so long? Did you see me pedaling? My legs feel like kooky foam. Did you have bikes when you were little, Uncle Bryn? The elevator is here! Hot chocolate!”

Riding up with the jabber box, it struck me yet again how marvelous children are. They accept everyone openly and with trust. It’s only after adults begin to cram outdated ideas into their glorious loving minds do we witness the birth of hate and mistrust.

We got lucky after the hot chocolate and Liam dozed off watching a movie with Michael. The temperature climbed up to ten, and so, we called off making a snowperson, which made Liam sulky even after his nap. By the time dinnertime arrived, he’d forgotten his snit and dove into the ham, mashed potatoes, corn, and tube rolls because everything a five-year-old likes comes out of a tube or a box, it seems.

We played board games and video games, built a star ship out of Legos, called Kelly and Adam, and then finally carried the exhausted young man to his bedroom. While Michael helped with the bath, I loaded the dishwasher, wiped off the counters, and tidied up the living room. Dimming the lamps, I stood in the silence, watching the multi-colored lights on the tree blinking and grinning at the steady patter of dialog between Liam and Michael. I made my way down the hall, pausing in the open doorway of the bathroom, and smiled at my husband when he glanced back over his shoulder.

“He never gets all the shampoo rinsed out,” Michael explained as he dumped another plastic cup full of warm water over Liam’s head. The boy laughed and sputtered. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

“No, I’m just wondering which book we’re going to read tonight.”

“A Bear Called Paddington!” Liam exclaimed before dunking a plastic troll into the soapy water hugging his bare belly and back.

“Paddington Bear it is.” I slipped away from the bathroom and entered Liam’s room, giving the Marvel posters a quick glance. Cap was waiting on the twin bed, his stuffed arms and legs tossed out at odd angles. I pulled back the covers, tucked Cap in where Liam would rest, then went to the big bookshelf to locate the night’s read. The boy owned hundreds of books, gifts from myself and Michael, as we wanted to instill a love of reading, if at all possible. Liam’s own reading skills were coming along wonderfully. He’d picked up writing and reading quickly, but still liked to be read to at bedtime.

I sat at the foot of the bed, child’s book in hand, waiting and listening to the chitter-chat and splashing of water. Ten minutes later, Liam arrived, freshly scrubbed and in clean star-spangled pajamas. He dove into the bed, grabbed up his Cap doll, and wiggled into the covers. I wiggled around a bit, pulled the comforter up under his chin, and smiled down at the boy.

“Here I am! Just had to hang up the towel and run a quick mop,” Michael announced, hustling into the room. He sat down on the other side of the bed, by Liam’s feet, and as had become custom, Michael and I stretched out on either side of Liam. My ass hung off the side of the bed, and I had to constantly maintain my balance, but there we lay, just the same. Sometime right after the friendly bear from darkest Peru was discovered at Paddington Station, I fell asleep, head resting on my bicep.

I came awake shortly afterward when I moved to my side and nearly fell to the floor. With a jerk and a soft gasp, I rolled to my feet. Michael startled awake as well, chuckled, and slowly got to his feet.

“Long day for all of us,” I whispered, dimming the light beside the sleeping boy, then pressing a kiss to his blond hair. Michael nodded, kissed the lad goodnight, and we crept from the room on silent feet.

“I’d love a snack,” Michael announced as we got ready for bed. I pulled off my slacks and crawled under the covers in my briefs. Michael shimmied closer, his warm body cozying up to mine as we settled in. “If I asked really nicely would you go grab me a dinner roll with some marmalade?”

“Let me hear you ask nicely.”

“Pretty please with sugar and a blow job on top.”

I groaned at the pun. Hmm, I did enjoy his mouth on my cock. “I’ll get us both one, but I’d like to talk before we eat.” I tossed aside the covers and hurried to the kitchen. When I returned to our bedroom with two warm rolls slathered with butter and marmalade, Michael was sitting up in bed looking quite worried. “Your roll, my love.”

He took one of two plates from me, placed it on his lap, and then stared openly at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing is wrong. I just wish to talk about something.” I sat down, back to the pillows piled up by the headboard, and crossed my legs at the ankle. Balancing the roll on my thigh, I peeked to the right. Michael was still tense. “Please, no worries, it’s just that…well,” I picked at my roll, flicking a small crumb off to the plate. “Having Liam here for so long, and over the holiday, it has made me think that perhaps we should discuss having a child of our own more seriously.”

“I am…what?” He lowered his roll from his mouth to gape at me. “Okay, wow, this is serious.”

“Mm-hmm, it is.” I fingered my roll a bit, touching the sweet orange jam then licking it off my finger, trying to get my thoughts aligned. “I know that you’re obviously an incredible caretaker and lover of children. And I, too, like children, a great deal, more now that I’ve been spending so much time with Liam. This holiday has been…well, it’s been the most blessed and enjoyable Christmas I’ve ever had, and that’s due to you and Liam sharing it with me. I’d like to think on possibly having our own child more deeply. Would we adopt or use a surrogate? Would we wish to move before we have a child so we could have a proper yard? What kind of daycare would be the most suited to our unique needs? Oh, and schooling! Where would we send our son or daughter? There are numerous quality schools, both public and private here in Pittsburgh and—”

“Okay, just, wow. I love that you’re so excited about discussing this in depth, because you know I adore kids and would love to have a couple, but this is just so…unexpected. I thought you were happy with things as they are, just you and me being newlyweds.”

“I am, I am incredibly happy. I adore you. You’re my whole world, Michael.”

He gave me a sweet, loving little kiss. “And you wish to share our love with a child?”

“Yes, yes, exactly so. What do you think? Can we perhaps talk about it seriously as opposed to it being a misty, ‘sometime in the future’ thing? I’m not getting any younger, my love. I’d like to still possess the energy needed to keep up with a child when one comes our way.”

“Such a decrepit thing you are.” He patted my stomach. “Withered up old man with a rock hard six pack. Yes, I can see you’ve gone downhill fast.”

I grabbed the hand on my belly, sniggering softly, and lifted it to my lips. “Joke if you will, but I can clearly see the end of my career in five years or so. My hips and knees creak in the cold already.”

“You’ll play well past forty simply to show the world that you can,” he teased as I dropped kisses to his knuckles. His beautiful green eyes met mine. “If you’re sure you want to talk about it, then I’m all in for talking. But first we must eat our snacks and then we must make sweet orange-flavored love.”

“I love you,” I whispered, and released his hand so that I could feed him my dinner roll. His eyes widened at the gesture. He leaned in to take a bite. I yearned for him now, the soft love glowing in his eyes and the heat of his flesh sweeping over me as he always did.

A phone chirruped. Michael sighed dramatically, held up a finger, swallowed, and slipped out of the bed to locate his cell lying on his dresser. Frowning at the knowledge that the moment was gone, I nibbled at my roll, debating if I should indulge or not. I had skate in the morning, and as I’d already stuffed down an enormous meal with pie for dessert, perhaps I should let Michael have both the rolls and—

“No, no, it’s fine. No, I totally get it. A night at a nice little resort might save the holiday.” Michael dropped back into the bed, mouthing Kelly to me as he picked up his roll and took a bite. “It’s fine. No, go ahead and stop for the night. Why drive through after the funeral? How is his grandmother? Oh good, she sounds like a strong woman. Yes, mm-hmm, it is good that his parents live close-by. Okay, no, I’m serious, Liam is welcome here forever, you know that. What? Yep, it’ll be good training for Bryn is right.”

He winked at me, then waggled his brows as he stuffed what remained of the dinner roll into his mouth. My eyebrows flew up my forehead, getting a snort of amusement from my husband. “Okay, enjoy. Oh my God, Kelly, it’s fine. Grab a little cheer if you can. It’s fine. He’s in bed already. Yep, he was exhausted. Nope, we’re sitting here having a snack and talking about life. Bryn is thrilled to have the boy here. Yes, he is. Kelly, go and enjoy the ski lodge. I know it’s silly to stop for the night at a ski lodge when neither of you ski and it’s dark out, but hey, embrace the chance. Okay, right, yes, we will be. Have fun. Love you. Okay, bye.” He ended the call with a hearty exhalation. “She’s such a chatterbox. So, long story short, she and Adam have stopped at a ski resort for the night instead of driving through. That’s a smart thing to do.”

“I agree,” I said, then smiled when he disappeared under the covers. We were just about to start sampling other parts of each other’s bodies when his phone rang yet again. I groaned aloud and gave the man wedged between my legs a gentle nudge. He picked his head up, hot emerald eyes hooded, and shook his head while keeping the tip of my cock between his puffy lips. “Nope, no, I’m not picking that up.” I counted off the seconds in my head as the phone rang. Michael’s eyebrows knotted up in frustration and he whipped the sheet off his head. Grumbling, he snatched the phone from the nightstand and slapped it to his ear.

“Honestly, Kelly, it’s perfectly fine to—Oh, I’m so sorry.” He grimaced as if he’d just had a lemon in his mouth and not my dick. “No, it’s perfectly fine to call, Mrs. Rawlings. Yes, we know of Peter. Liam talks about him all the time. Did they? Well, I’m happy to know that Liam knows my phone number, as well as his mother’s.” Michael looked over his shoulder at me, silently begging me to forgive him. I closed my eyes, drew in a breath, and patiently waited. There was nothing wrong with delaying the gratification. Besides, Michael was a gregarious man who enjoyed chatting with people. He was a blessing to have along at the many social events I went to. When I wanted to clam up and retreat, Michael eased me back into being more outgoing. “Tomorrow? I think Liam would love it. A lunch time play date sounds marvelous. Oh, thank you. I enjoy the blog a great deal. Yes, I’m going to be adding some new content this weekend. You’re too kind. That would be fine. Thank you for calling, Liam will be ecstatic. Yep see you at noon tomorrow. Happy holidays.”

He hung up, a happy smile on his face. “So, I take it that was Peter’s mother?”

“Yes, it was. Wait, let me set this to ‘do not disturb’ before we get back to business.” He tapped at his phone, nodded once, then chucked the cell to the nightstand. I reached for him, easing him back down to the bed, rolling over him to steal a few kisses. “Mm, I love when you get all pushy caveman.”

“Do you now? Would you like me to tell you what we’re going to do next?”

“God, yes,” he panted, his cock leaking fluid as it rubbed against my hipbone.

“I’m going to bend you up like a soft pretzel then slide my cock deep inside you.”

The man melted like sweet milk chocolate on a high flame. His eyes ignited, his limbs went soft, and his mouth formed a perfect O that I claimed in another wet kiss. He was eager, folding his legs into a tight little knot, exposing his sweet ass to me. Quite aware that any time we could sneak was precious time, I wasted little of it in getting lubed up. With a minimal of fuss—his insistence, not mine—I worked some slick up into him then pushed into his heat. My toes curled as his body closed around me, welcoming me in, clinging to me as he groaned softly into the heel of his hand.

The house was still, silent, aside from the small groans of the bed as I rocked in and out of my husband’s ass. Oh, but he was making some delightful noises under me. Michael was a robust bottom, but with a child sleeping across the hall, his exuberance had to be curbed.

“Are you close?” I asked every few minutes, his stifled grunts, moans, and heated whimpers hard to read from under the hand that he had clamped over his mouth. Tight, slick flesh tightened round my cock, and I grabbed his cock at the base, stroking him in time with my thrusts. His eyes rolled upward. His ass grabbed me and he shot thick ropes of cum all over his beautiful soft belly and chest. With his spunk still warm on my fingers, I carried his spend to my mouth, licking each finger clean as I pounded my way to an orgasm that caused me to see spots. Michael grabbed my ass as I shuddered, fingers digging into my cheeks, and held me in place. Cock kicking, I filled him fully, easing out a moment later before we had a wet mess. I slid from the bed, found a dirty sock in the hamper, and eased it between his buttocks.

“Master has given Michael a sock,” he said in a terrible Dobby impersonation, wiping at the mess I’d left him. Chuckling at his foolishness, I bent over to grab a kiss. His fingers carded into my hair and he tugged me back to the bed. We made out languidly, hearts slowing, skin cooling. “Mm, I’m all sloopy.”

“Sloppy as well,” I murmured, wiggling free of his tempting arms to go wash up.

When I returned to the bedroom, he’d pulled on his sleeping pants and was resting under the covers, all signs of sin gone, as long as one didn’t nose around in the hamper too closely. He lifted the covers on my side, and after I stepped into some comfortable pajama bottoms, I slid under the blanket and sheet, his smell thick on the bedding and my skin.

Cradling him close for a moment, I pressed little flighty kisses to his hair and forehead. He sighed then yawned, drifting off in my arms just as I whispered ‘Happy Christmas, my love’ to him. He mumbled something about house elves and butterbeer in reply. I drifted off with a smile on my face.

Chapter Five

Michael

The next morning we managed to wake up before Liam. It was a Christmas miracle!

Obviously the holiday had exhausted the lad. I was kind of slow to rouse myself, given the fine round of loving that Bryn and I had enjoyed last night, but rise I did. Bryn had a morning skate at nine, and I wanted to work on an idea I had had for Life According to Liam while the star of the blog slept off his toy-induced hangover.

Bryn rapped gently on the bedroom door. I glanced up from my laptop balanced on my thighs, my face breaking into a smile as soon as I looked upon him. The man was so damn fine!

“You look nice,” I said, taking in the soft gray sweater and black jeans he wore to practice. While I loved him in the suits that the players were required to wear to games, Bryn Mettler in casual chic toasted my bagel. As did Bryn Mettler in fashionable underwear and—my all-time favorite—Bryn Mettler naked. “Off to the arena?”

“Yes, then I have a meeting with the head of my charity for brunch. Would you like me to pick up something for you and Liam for a late lunch?”

“Thank you, but we have that play date with Peter Rawlings today at noon. I’m assuming there will be food for the boys, and I can grab something quick on the way to the office.”

“Oh? I thought you had the rest of the week off?” He lounged on the doorframe. My heart went skip-skip-skip. What a sexy man in an equally sexy pose. I wondered if my friend, the gay hockey romance author, had ever heard of a genre dedicated to the doorframe lounge. If not there certainly should be one.

“I do. I just wanted to pick up some notes I forgot in the mad dash to leave work and pick up Liam.”

“Yes, of course. Why don’t I stop on the way home at Isabella’s on 6th Street and get us all something for dinner? We can have it warming in the oven when Kelly and Adam arrive. I’m sure they’re not going to want to cook.”

“That is a brilliant idea!” I adored the stuffed shells at Isabella’s. “Liam loves the food there as much as we do.”

“Can I have the food?” Liam asked, wiggling around Bryn and making a mad dash at the bed, his stuffed Captain America bouncing madly in his hand. “I’m so hungry I could eat this pillow!” he announced as I quickly closed my laptop and held it over my head. The boy pounced on my pillow and started gnawing on it, his snarls and growls quite fierce. Bryn padded over to take my laptop. I thanked him with a kiss, then rolled out of bed. Liam was on all fours, shaking the living shit out of my pillow like some sort of mad dog.

“Guess I better get him some food before he ingests the duvet next,” I tossed out.

“If I eats the doo-vet then I would fart feathers,” Liam giggled, then farted. “No feather farts!” He leapt from the bed and ran off yelling about feather farts and food for his hangry belly.

“Oh, what it must be like to wake up with that much energy,” I sighed as I snuck a fast hug in before Bryn left for the arena.

“Mm, yes, I recall those days of waking up refreshed and full of zest. Now, I’m tired when I wake up and it only goes downhill from there.”

I chuckled against his neck, then kissed his ear. “I can so relate. Right, so, off to work with you.” I swatted his backside. That made him jump a bit. “I have to feed the wild man of Borneo, then clean up the kitchen and get him to the Rawlings house at noon.”

“Have fun. I’ll see you around two.” He pressed his lips to mine and left me to my day. “Be good for your Uncle Michael, Liam. I’m going to bring dinner home tonight. What would you like from Isabella’s?” Bryn called as he walked through the condo.

“A burger meal with a boy toy!”

I snorted. Well, of course he did. What kid didn’t? “No, child, I said from Isabella’s, not McDonald’s. Would you like some baked rigatoni?” Bryn asked again.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! I love baked tonis!” Liam shrieked.

Bryn shushed him and the conversation quieted. I tidied the bed then went out to see what Liam wanted to eat, besides my pillow. Turned out toast with butter and jam was his preferred choice for breaking his fast, along with some milk in a star-spangled mug.

“Peter’s mother called last night,” I said, sitting across from the boy as he slurped loudly, then belched on command. “Nice one,” I chuckled. “Don’t do that in front of your mother. If she ever learns I taught you how to do that, she’ll whip me like an old rug.”

“Girls are silly,” he lamented, then shoved his toast into his mouth.

“Liam, small bites, please. And firstly, girls aren’t silly at all, they’re just less prone to laughing at noises that come out of bodies then boys are. So, about Peter’s mom calling. While I think it’s great that—no, don’t try to feed Cap any toast. Remember the last time?”

“His face was forever stained by the chocolate syrup,” he replied with great emotion. I nodded. He flicked a chunk of strawberry off Captain America’s felt face. Where the sticky gob went, I do not know.

“That’s right, so let’s try this again. While I think it’s great that you know my phone number as well as your own, you shouldn’t give it to people who Uncle Bryn or I don’t say you can share it with.”

“Why? Peter is my friend.”

I took a sip of coffee to infuse my sluggish brain with caffeine. “Well, yes, I know he is, and I’m sure his parents are lovely people, but there are people out there who might misuse our phone number.” He blinked big green eyes at me, his lips smeared with jam and melted butter. Right, he was confused. An explanation was required, one that worked for a nearly six year old. “Uncle Bryn is a famous man. Sometimes famous people have to keep things private, like Spider-Man has to protect his identity to keep his family safe. So we don’t give out our phone number to reporters or fans.”

“But Uncle Bryn says he loves the Ravens fans.”

“Yes, he does, but when he gets home he wants to have some privacy.”

“So he can kiss you and grab your butt in the bathroom when you two are shaving naked?”

I nearly coughed up a lung. Dear Lord. “Okay,” I sputtered and took a calming sip of coffee. “First off, Uncle Bryn and I do not shave naked.”

His blond head bobbed up and down. “Uh-huh, you do. I seen you last time I was here. Your butt was naked and he was grabbing it.”

Quick Mike, make it a good one! Think fast!

“Oh, well, that was just the way they ask someone to move aside in Germany. They give you a butt honk.”

“Why did you both have no clothes on? Can I ask my teacher to move with a butt honk?”

“No! No butt honks for anyone other than your future wife or husband. That’s a married people thing. Okay? Promise me you will not butt honk anyone.”

“Okay. Did Peter’s mom call to ask us over to play?”

“Yes, yes she did.” He squealed in joy. I exhaled in relief. With any luck, the naked shaving butt honk topic would never see the light of day again. Also, note to self: make sure to shower wearing underwear when Liam was here. Also, note two to self: find how the child spied on us in our master bath and plug up any spy holes with putty.

Thankfully, the conversation drifted from naked shaving—Oh My God—to other things that were less mortifying. And people ask me all the time about how I come up with blog posts. That there was a future post for sure, and while he was upstairs packing his Captain America backpack full of toys to take to Peter’s house, I scribbled some notes down on a Ravens notepad by the coffee maker. This would be a hilarious post, if I could figure out how to word it and save face. Maybe omitting the naked shaving part and just make it into a loving pat on a well-covered fanny. My cheeks were still warm. Kids, honestly.

With a full morning ahead, I bundled Liam up and got him settled into the back of the Forester, his cheeks red from the cold, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Once the bulging bag of toys was placed beside his car seat, I slid in behind the wheel and adjusted the phone mount on the dash. Liam smiled at the image of himself. The child was such a ham.

“Good morning Pittsburgh, and happy holidays!” I said then Liam shouted the same thing, making my right ear vibrate. “We here in the Mettler house hope you and yours had a wonderful time with your family or loved ones, be they blood or chosen family. We’re off to run a few errands on this bitter cold day after Christmas. First, we’re heading to—”

“I got a bike!” Liam yelled. “And new clothes, and a tie from Gramma and Grampy Mettler. They mailed the tie and a book all across the world from Germany! Uncle Bryn says they have good books there. And beer.”

I winked at the camera and eased away from the curb as Liam did what Liam does best. Talk and enchant people. He tended to run on at times, so while he was filling in the viewers on his holiday haul, I let my mind wander to the stops we had to make. First, there was the post office, then—

“…on his penis. Then another boy picked it off his penis. Then another boy felled over in the water. I didn’t know if there was a swamp bug on his penis but he fell over. Then they found a dead boy and—”

“Whoa! Whoa!” I braked at the upcoming red light, then grabbed the phone to pause the recording. Liam looked at me in bewilderment when I craned my head to look at him. “What in the name of gummy bears are you talking about?”

“The movie on Uncle Bryn’s phone,” the lad replied with wide-eyed innocence. “They had penis bugs then a train come and the boys were running on a bridge and one falled down and—and the train was hooting its horn at the boys.”

“Oh, okay, that was Stand by Me.” I sagged in relief. “How exactly did you open Uncle Bryn’s phone?”

“I made the square then an x on the dots,” he informed me as if I were a dolt. Right. Note number three to self: tell Bryn to change his security pattern.

“You shouldn’t use grown-up phones without permission.”

“But you was sleeping and Santa didn’t come yet so I founded the phone in the kitchen and watched movies under my covers. The train scared me.”

The thought of the boy prowling the house in the middle of the night freaked me out, but I didn’t show it. We’d have to station a guard dog outside his door or a silent alarm that only Tom Cruise could outmaneuver.

“Yeah, I bet it did, buddy. It scared me, too, but it wasn’t real, it was a movie. The boys are actors. They’re all fine. One grew up a little and served on the Enterprise.”

“What’s inner pies?”

And with that question, and the guy behind me laying on his horn, we took off again, recording our talk about Star Trek and all things Will Wheaton. Our errands took well over an hour, so we stopped at a tiny coffee shop for two cups of cocoa to kill time. Liam was on the cusp of over-stimulation and so, in retrospect, perhaps hot chocolate wasn’t the best choice. By the time we were cruising through Squirrel Hill, where my sister and Liam lived in my old house, the kid’s mouth was running nonstop. Releasing him from the car seat after we’d pulled up to a tidy little yellow house on the north side of the neighborhood was akin to throwing open the gates that released the Kraken.

The only good thing was that Peter seemed to be in the same whirling vortex mode, so the two kids made several laps around the house yelling to the heavens as I met Mrs. Rawlings, a petite thirty-something woman with big brown eyes and a warm smile.

“Welcome. I’m Mary and everyone in Squirrel Hill knows you. Please, Michael, come inside where it’s warm,” she said, after shaking my hand. The inside of the house was nice, nothing overly expensive, but quality furnishings and bright white walls with dark blue drapes that matched the threading on the sofa nicely. The two boys thundered through the house, the yelling now muted, and fell down in front of the TV to fire up a video game. “Let’s have some coffee while they play a game.”

“I’d love that, thanks.” I removed my coat and knit cap, shoved the cap into my coat pocket, and followed her into a smallish kitchen with shiny silver appliances and buttery yellow flooring. It gave the room a sunny glow, even though the sun outside was hidden behind snow clouds.

“I’m sorry for calling at the last minute, but Peter was insistent. My husband had a cow when he found out I rang Bryn Mettler’s house during his days off.” She gave me a guilty sort of smile as we settled at the island with mugs of French vanilla coffee. “He’s a big hockey fan; any sport really, as long as it’s a Pittsburgh team.”

“It was fine. Liam’s told us all about Peter and how he thinks that Thor is better than Captain America.”

Mary snickered. “Oh yes, Peter loves Thor. Did Liam mention that Peter is transgender?”

“He did, yes.”

“I’m so glad you accepted the invitation over. Peter…well, he’s been having trouble making friends since he announced that he wanted to be known as Peter and not Meghan. It’s been…” She paused to lean back and peek at the kids playing Lego Avengers. “It’s been a hard time for all of us. Peter’s paternal grandfather refuses to speak to us anymore, for giving into this ‘liberal pick your gender bullshit’.”

“I’m sorry for that.”

“Oh, well, Bruce and I knew it would hard for the older generations in our family. We never thought we’d see such phobic behavior from our neighbors and the other families at school. Peter made me call all the kids in his class for playdates. You were the only one who accepted.”

That news broke my heart. Even in a city as progressive as Pittsburgh, bigotry ran rife. I knew that firsthand.

“When Bryn and I got home from our honeymoon, we were stunned at the nasty notes and threats that awaited us on social media. Thankfully, the majority of the fans were happy for us, but there’s a small but vocal group that made sure their hatred was spewed all over our profiles.”

Mary sighed into her coffee. Peter and Liam laughed at something in the video game. I could hear Hulk smashing.

“It’s quite hard for transgender children. They’re shunned everywhere, bullied, called horrible names, and that’s all from adults. Is it any wonder that transgender teen suicide rates have skyrocketed? And that with homelessness among LGBT kids, trans children are up to forty percent more likely to be thrown out of their homes.”

“God, I didn’t realize the numbers were that high,” I whispered, peeking around Mary to watch the boys. Peter looked no different than half the other kids in Liam’s class. Short dark hair, apple cheeks, bright brown eyes, dressed in jeans and a Thor t-shirt. He was smiling and laughing, shouting in joy whenever Lego Loki fell to bits. It broke my heart to think on the rough road that lay ahead of Peter. At least he had loving, supportive parents.

“Oh yes, and it’s not gotten any better with the government now speaking out against trans people, barring them from the military and trying to legislate what bathroom a person…I am so sorry. I invite you over and then I dump all my worries on your shoulders. Please, let’s talk about something more uplifting. Tell me about your honeymoon. Where did you go?”

Seeing that she was upset with herself, although she had no reason to be, I let the heavy stuff go and we visited for over two hours. I’d found her to be a delightful woman who had taken up the battle for her son with a vigor that was to be admired. She and her husband, a postal worker who was back on the job, while she, a dental office worker, had two more days off, were vocal activists, it seemed.

Liam hated to leave, and got a little snippy about it when I called for him to come get his coat on. The pout lasted all the way home, and only lifted when Bryn arrived home around three with bags of food and a pack of NHL trading cards for Liam.

“How did the charity meeting go?” I asked, stealing a quick kiss, then taking the bags of food to the kitchen. Bryn followed me, then veered off to the coffee maker.

“It was fine. Things are looking good for the youth hockey summer program for next year,” he answered, reaching to lift a mug down from the cupboard. Mm, stretchy goalies. Yummy. I then began sliding the aluminum pans into the oven, which was set on low.

“Great. Those kids do love hockey. Have you ever thought of putting your name behind something for the LGBTQ youth community?”

He gazed over at me quickly as he poured some freshly brewed coffee into his favorite mug. It was one Liam had gotten for him that read “Best Uncle Ever” on the side.

“Does this have anything to do with your playdate with Peter?” He turned, leaned his ass against the counter, sipped his coffee, and stared at me over the steaming mug.

“Perhaps.” I closed the oven, padded over to stand beside him, and then relayed all the facts that I’d looked up since we’d been home about trans teens and homelessness. Bryn listened intently, focused on what I was saying, his head moving up and down, until I’d reached the end of my pitch. “There’s a real need for a trans teen shelter in this city. As the only out gay athlete in this city…”

“It falls to me to do what I can for the young ones in our community who are suffering. Yes, I agree. I’ll call the president of my charity and ask them to look into the details of such an undertaking.”

I wiggled in close and stole a kiss or twenty. “You’re such a good, good man. Oh, you need to change the security access on your phone.”

His eyebrows flew up his forehead just as the front door opened with a shout from my sister. Liam screamed in joy. Bryn and I hurried out into the living room. Kelly was hugging the stuffing out of her son, and Adam was just entering the condo, looking rather smiley.

“Welcome home,” I said as Liam was now running around with his new trading cards to show Adam the good ones. “How was the night at the ski lodge?”

“I wager not much skiing took place,” Bryn tossed out.

Adam blushed to the roots of his dark hair. Kelly ruffled her son’s hair, threw out a hip, and then settled her gaze on Bryn and I smirking like idiots at her.

“No, you’re right, not much skiing took place. But this happened.” She pulled off the thick purple mitten on her left hand to flash a diamond engagement ring at us. My mouth fell open. Kelly’s mimicked me, jaw slack, eyebrows at her hairline.

“Oh my god, you’re engaged!” I shouted before I burst into tears.

“We are!” Kelly shrieked, then joined me in crying.

Bryn and Adam did not cry, they simply shook hands. There was a good ten minutes of solid bouncing, clapping, and squealing until I had myself under control.

“Have you set a date?” I asked after hugging Adam and welcoming him to the family. Liam hung off his mother, sensing something big was happening but not sure exactly as to what his role in this whole wedding thing would be.

“June. You should be done playing hockey by then, right, Bryn?” Kelly asked, cuddling up with her son even though she was still in her coat and wearing one purple mitten.

“Possibly so. Late June, for sure,” he replied. “It all depends on how well we do from here on out. But yes, late June will see me freed from hockey.”

“Excellent. We’d love for you to be one of the groomsmen for Adam, and big brother, will you give me away?”

Tears welled up, yet again. “Yes, oh baby girl, of course I will!” I gathered her and Liam close and squeezed them hard yet again.

“Are you giving mommy to the Goodwill?” Liam asked, and we all laughed.

“Only if she turns into a bridezilla.”

That got me a swat on the arm from my sister.

“Come, let’s sit down and eat. I’ll open a bottle of wine and we’ll celebrate this wonderful news, and the joy this Christmas has brought us.” I hurried over to kiss my man on the cheek, then peeled my sister out of her coat and nudged everyone into the kitchen.

“If we give mommy away to the Goodwill for being a bride gorilla, can I get a toy from the big toy bin?” Liam asked among the chaos of chit-chat and food being placed on the table.

Bride Gorilla was the title of my next blog post. It beat out Butt Honks by a narrow margin.

The End

Afterword

Look for “Love According to Liam” coming June 8, 2020

A note from the author…

If you enjoyed Christmas According to Liam, I’d be incredibly grateful if you could leave a review on a major retailer site, BookBub, Goodreads, or on your personal social media platforms.

Reviews are the reason someone else might decide to give this book a try!

Deepest thanks,

*squishy hugs*

V.L.

Meet V.L. Locey

USA Today Bestselling Author V.L. Locey

Penning LGBT hockey romance that

skates into sinful pleasures.

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.

vllocey.com

feralfemale@frontiernet.net

If you want to keep up with all the latest news about her upcoming M/M releases, sign up for her newsletter by visiting her website:

http://vlloceyauthor.com/

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