Page 129 of Don't Shoot Me Santa

The room was silent.

Wynter stepped down from the lectern, lit two candles. Then handed them to the families who had come to grieve. A woman from Luke’s old care home. A man Skye once called uncle. No blood. Just heart.

And from the pew, Aaron stood.

He walked forward, took the third candle on the table and lit it.

For them.

For himself.

And every name lost to darkness.

Kenny stood beside him, rubbing his hand along the small of Aaron’s back. He didn’t speak. There was nothing to say that could hold it all. Only this. Now. Christmas Eve, in a chapel smelling of pine and grief, lit by the names no one would forget.

Then Aaron lifted his gaze to meet Kenny’s, held it, and said, “Yes.”

Kenny furrowed his brow. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

chapter twenty-one

I Was Made For Loving You

Christmas Day vanished in that way theirs always did.

Quiet, late, and utterly undone by lust.

They didn’t crawl out of bed until sometime after three. Mostly because Kenny honoured Aaron’s Christmas wish of producing twelve orgasms for the twelve days of Christmas. And, Jesus, Aaron was wrecked. Wrecked and sore and soft and floating somewhere shy of ruined.

It had started with sleepy kisses and ended with Kenny coaxing,“…Come on, baby. You’ve got one more in you, I know you do.”And he did. Somehow. Kenny always knew what his body needed before his brain could keep up.

So yeah. Christmas didn’t really begin until Chaos gave up waiting and barked bloody murder at the bottom of the stairs, probably tired of hearing Aaron’s gasping moans echo through the floorboards like a haunted advent calendar.

Then Kenny stuffed something other than Aaron for a change. Namely the turkey, and shoved that in the oven while they wrapped up to take Chaos and Lucky to the beach. There, it was all frosted sand and salt-bitten air, and that silvered cold that didn’t quite sting, but bit sweet at the edges.Kenny wore gloves and carried one flask of grotesque coffee and another of minted hot chocolate. While Aaron limped along the sand path, bundled in Kenny’s oversized coat, scarf trailing like a half-hearted flag of surrender, every step making his thighs twitch with memory, and calves threaten to buckle entirely.

He winced as he stepped over a snow-covered log.

Kenny chuckled. “Only yourself to blame. You begged for that seventh one.” He stepped in closer, bumping his shoulder gently as Chaos and Lucky trotted ahead, blissfully unaware of the filth trailing behind now they’d each found their other half.

Aaron scoffed, his breath puffing white. “Begged? That was a muffled plea for help.”

“Funny. Sounded a lot like,‘please, please, don’t stop.’”

“I was delirious. High as a fucking kite.”

“Because I got you there.”

“Smug bastard.”

They walked a few more steps in silence, save for the crunch of sand and Chaos’s jingle tag clinking up ahead.

Then Aaron said, “Next year, I’m gettingyoutwelve orgasms.”

Kenny raised an eyebrow. “That a promise?”

Aaron smirked. “No. That’s a threat.”