Christmas According to Liam Read online

  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, w
e 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.

  Li
am 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.