Page 10 of Nicky (A Daddy for Christmas 2)

CHAPTER 10

Nicholas

Avoiding Markus was harder than I’d imagined. The Hollow wasn’t big enough to hide in, not with our overlapping schedules. Every shift at the senior living facility turned into a game of cat and mouse—except I wasn’t entirely sure who was chasing whom. I thought keeping my distance would quiet my mind, but even when Markus wasn’t around, his presence lingered.

It was there in the way Mrs. Powell, a seventy-seven-year-old resident, lit up when she recounted how “that nice new doctor” had taken extra time to explain her medications. It was there in the memory of his voice—steady and calm—when he told me to let go on Cedar Hill. And it was there in the faint scent of his aftershave clinging to the hoodie I couldn’t seem to take off, even though it made me feel ridiculous.

Why had I left his house so abruptly that morning? It wasn’t as simple as waking up before he did. It wasn’t even about the hoodie I couldn’t bring myself to return.

I’d felt too exposed, too seen.

Markus had looked at me like I mattered. Not because of some obligation, but just... because. It was unsettling, and terrifying, and exactly what I hadn’t realized I was craving. And that scared me more than I could admit.

The hoodie was a problem. It still smelled like him—a mix of pine and a spicy scent I couldn’t place. Every time I pulled it on, I felt wrapped in something I didn’t deserve. So I told myself I wasn’t avoiding him because I was afraid. I just needed space. Distance. A chance to clear my head.

But space was hard to come by.

Tuesday, I thought I’d managed it until I caught sight of him entering the senior home lobby. My heart jackknifed, and before I knew it, I was crouched behind the front desk, gripping a clipboard as if my life depended on it.

Terri peered over the counter, her lips twitching. “You okay down there, hon?”

“Fine!” I waved her off, my voice just a little too bright. “Dropped a pen.”

Markus’s voice drifted closer, low and casual as he exchanged pleasantries with Beverly. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out their words. The second his footsteps receded, I bolted for the side door, feeling Terri’s amused gaze burning into my back.

By Thursday, I was convinced the universe had it out for me.

I was wheeling Mr. Gaines, another resident, back to his room when I spotted Markus across the lounge. He was laughing at something Mrs. Thompson said, his smile doing things to my chest I didn’t want to analyze. I turned sharply, angling the wheelchair like a shield, praying he wouldn’t notice me.

“Nicholas?”

I froze, my stomach lurching.

Not Markus. Just Terri, clipboard in hand, her brows raised in a way that made me want to crawl under the floor. She followed my line of sight, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.

“Everything okay?”

“Perfect.” I forced a smile, gripping the handles of the wheelchair. “Mr. Gaines and I have places to be.”

By Friday, I was exhausted. Not from work, but from constantly looking over my shoulder, half hoping and half dreading I’d see him again.

I was dropping off paperwork in the admin office, thinking I’d managed an entire shift without a Markus sighting. I rounded the corner and froze. Markus was there, leaning casually against a doorframe, his sleeves rolled up, laughing with one of the nurses. She reached out to touch his arm, her laugh soft and melodic.

Jealousy twisted in my gut, sharp and unrelenting. It was stupid, irrational, and completely uncalled for, but it clawed at me anyway. I turned on my heel, heading for the back exit before he could notice me.

I told myself I was being ridiculous. I had no claim on Markus. No reason to care who he talked to or how he smiled at them.

But none of that stopped the ache in my chest or the heat prickling behind my eyes.

It wasn’t just that I missed him.

I missed how I’d felt when I was with him. Like maybe I didn’t have to hold everything together on my own. Like maybe, for one night, I could let someone else see me—the real me—and they wouldn’t run away.

Which, of course, was why I had to be the one to leave.

I’d spent the whole week doing everything short of installing a Markus-detection system, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about him. About how natural it had felt to sit in his living room, sipping hot chocolate like I belonged there. About the way his hands had brushed against mine when he tucked the blanket around me. About the way he’d seen me—really seen me—and hadn’t run in the other direction.

I shook my head, forcing the thoughts down. I didn’t need anything from Markus. I didn’t need him. Period. I’d learned a long time ago not to lean on anyone, not to expect someone to stay.

But knowing it didn’t stop me from wanting it.

The call from Kyle came just as I was about to give up on the day and crawl into bed. I’d spent the evening in my living room, the TV playing something I wasn’t watching, my mind looping back to Markus no matter how hard I tried to distract myself. His voice, his steady presence, his everything—it was maddening.

When my phone buzzed, I almost ignored it, but Kyle’s name flashing on the screen tugged me out of my haze.

He was my BFF from high school, along with the rest of the gang: Brianna, Faith, Wyatt and Parker. They’d left the state to attend college, and now they were all successful, living in different parts of the country, but every year they spent the holiday season at the Hollow. I usually hung out with them a couple of times when they were here since we were super busy at work this time of the year.

“Nick!” His voice came through loud and clear, full of energy and that easy charm that had always been his hallmark. “You’re not bailing on me tonight. Everyone’s at The Copper Kettle. You’re coming.”

“I don’t know, Kyle…”

“Don’t start. Get dressed. Put on something that doesn’t scream ‘responsible older brother’ and let’s go. You need this.”

He wasn’t wrong.

The Copper Kettle had always been a Juniper Hollow institution, and the name itself was part of the town’s quirky charm. According to local lore, the great-great-grandfather of the current owner of the pub, Mrs. Roberts, , , had been a prospector who had struck it rich during the Klondike Gold Rush—or at least that’s how the story went after a few rounds of whiskey. Supposedly, the only treasure he brought back was an old copper kettle, which had somehow become a family heirloom. That same kettle sat proudly behind the bar, dented and tarnished, its story exaggerated with each telling. And over the years, the Copper Kettle had become the only queer-friendly pub in our small town.

Inside, the typical Friday night crowd hadn’t reached its peak yet, but it was buzzing, a mix of locals and visitors home for the holidays. The air was thick with the smell of pine, spilled beer, roasted nuts, and the faint sweetness of spiked cider. Strings of fairy lights lined the bar, and sprigs of holly adorned every free surface—a perfect mix of festive and familiar. The laughter and chatter blended with the low hum of classic rock playing over the speakers.

Kyle spotted me as soon as I walked in, waving me over to a booth near the back where the gang was already assembled.

The greetings were boisterous. It had been a year since we’d seen each other. Brianna and Faith’s attention turned to their phones, probably looking at photos. They were already laughing about something, their voices rising above the music. Wyatt and Parker were at the bar to get our drinks. For a moment, I let myself relax. These were my people, my lifeline back to a time when life felt simpler.

Kyle nudged me. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t lie to me, Nicholas. You’ve been dodging my calls.”

I snorted, despite myself. “It’s nothing, Kyle. Just… busy with work.”

“Busy with work,” he mocked, leaning closer. “Or busy–”

Kyle didn’t finish because at that very moment Wyatt and Parker returned to the booth with drinks. Wyatt had his signature mischievous grin, while Parker balanced our drinks with the precision of a surgeon, his expression as calm and serious as if he were diffusing a bomb. Classic Parker.

“Alright, people,” Wyatt announced while Parker plunked the tray onto the table. “We’ve got the goods including an eggnog martini, a gingerbread Old Fashioned, and—wait for it—a peppermint hot chocolate spiked with Bailey’s for Mr. Holiday Cheer over here.” Wyatt did the honors and slid the last drink toward Kyle with a smirk.

Kyle held up the mug and sniffed it. “Okay, okay, I see you,” he said, grinning. “This is actually pretty thoughtful. Maybe there’s a heart in that sarcastic little chest of yours after all.”

Wyatt just laughed, taking his seat. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Parker slid into the seat next to Faith, cradling his own cranberry Moscow mule in its frosty copper mug. “I don’t know how you drink that syrupy mess,” he said, eyeing Wyatt’s candy cane margarita with theatrical disdain.

Wyatt raised the drink, red and white swirls catching the light. “This, my dear Parker, is holiday spirit in a glass. Don’t knock it till you try it.”

Brianna rolled her eyes but leaned in to snag a sip anyway. “Tastes like a candy cane threw up.” She shuddered but laughed, her golden hoop earrings catching the light.

I clutched my own gingerbread stout, the spicy warmth of cinnamon and nutmeg rising with the foam. It was my usual choice this time of year; something about the holiday vibe in the Copper Kettle made it feel right.

“All right, all right,” Brianna said, raising her glass of mulled wine. “Enough of this bickering. I think it’s time for a toast.”

We all groaned good-naturedly, but Wyatt raised his drink in solidarity. “Go on, Bri.”

Brianna ignored the ribbing, her hazel eyes bright with a combination of amusement and sincerity. “To us,” she began, looking around the table. “To showing up for each other, even if it’s just for one night out of the year. And to keeping this crazy, ridiculous friendship going no matter where we are.”

“Cheers to that,” Faith chimed in, clinking her glass against Brianna’s. “I’m impressed with us."

"Here’s to us being disasters in our personal lives, but absolute legends as a squad," I chimed in.

“And,” Brianna continued, her grin turning sly, “to finally finding love in the new year because, let’s face it, the lot of us are a disaster in that department.”

“Oh, come on,” Wyatt groaned. “Do we really need to bring up our collective lack of game right now?”

Kyle smirked over his mug. “Speak for yourself. I’ve got a very active dating life, thank you.”

“Active isn’t the same as successful,” Parker quipped, dodging the lime wedge Kyle flicked at him.

I laughed along with the group, the warmth of their banter a welcome distraction from the weight I’d been carrying. For a moment, it felt easy to be here, surrounded by the people who’d known me before life got so damn complicated.

It was a rare night when everything felt simple—just friends, drinks, and the comfort of old connections. Even if the ache for something—or someone—more still lingered in the back of my mind.

Before long, the dance floor was calling their names, and four headed off, leaving Kyle and me at the booth. The upbeat music and laughter of the crowd filled the space as I sipped my drink, watching them disappear into the sea of moving bodies.

Kyle didn’t waste any time. “You’re quiet tonight, Nicholas. You okay?”

I gave him a tight smile. “Yeah, just not in the mood to dance, I guess.”

He leaned across the table, eyes practically sparkling with mischief. “C’mon, you gotta at least try to have some fun tonight. Dance. Hook up with someone. I’m pretty sure you can find someone here to?—"

“Please,” I cut him off, laughing but rolling my eyes. “You’re worse than some of the residents at the home, you know that?”

Kyle tilted his head, momentarily confused, before his expression shifted into mock offense. “Me? No way.”

“Yes, you. I know all of you mean well, but none of you are subtle at all.” I shook my head. “Ughhh!”

Kyle’s grin widened. “Ooh, retirement community drama? This I have to hear.”

“It’s not drama.” I waved him off, leaning back against the booth. “Some of the residents, particularly Beverly and Mrs. Thompson, have this ridiculous idea that I’m…” I trailed off, my words faltering.

Kyle arched a brow, his grin stretching wider. “That you’re what?”

I sighed, staring into my drink. “That I’m into the new doctor. Markus Webber.”

He lit up like a Christmas tree. “They’re trying to set you up Parent Trap-style? Are you serious? Tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell!”

“Does Dr. Webber know about this?”

“Of course not.”

Kyle leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. “So… are you into him? I bet he’s hot.”

“No, I’m not into him,” I said quickly. Too quickly.

“Oh, but he’s hot, isn’t he?”

“He’s… alright.”

Kyle wasn’t buying it for a second. “Come on, Nicholas. Hot doctor. Small town. This is a romance novel waiting to happen.”

I groaned, letting my head fall into my hands. Somewhere in the distance, the DJ switched songs, and the bass thumped loud enough to vibrate through the table. A quick glance toward the dance floor confirmed Brianna and the others were still out there, laughing and spinning each other around like they didn’t have a care in the world.

Kyle tapped his fingers on the table, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “So, hypothetically speaking, if you were into him, what’s stopping you?”

“It’s not hypothetical. I’m not into him.”

“Uh-huh.” He propped his chin on his hand. “But if you were…”

Another song ended. The crowd erupted into cheers. My drink was half empty before I could respond, and Kyle hadn’t stopped looking at me like I was the juiciest piece of gossip he’d stumbled across in months.

“I hate you,” I muttered.

He laughed, clearly unaffected. “You love me. Now spill. Tell me about the hot doctor.”

“Did I just hear ‘hot doctor’?” Brianna’s voice cut through the conversation, catching me by surprise and making my heart leap into my throat.

She slipped into the booth, her cheeks flushed from dancing, and the others followed close behind, still buzzing with energy. Wyatt set a tray of sodas on the table and leaned in with a conspiratorial wink. “What’s this about a hot doctor?”

I groaned, sinking lower in my seat. “I never said he was hot.”

“Not denying it though,” Kyle muttered.

Wyatt grinned. “Oh, this just got interesting.”

Brianna clapped her hands together. “Alright, Nicholas. Start talking.”

I buried my face in my hands again, wishing the ground would swallow me whole.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I could say something,” Wyatt added, laughing when I glared at him. “He is hot… smoking hot. I saw him when I visited Grandpa a couple of days ago. Total DILF vibes.”

Faith choked on her drink, laughing so hard she nearly dropped her glass. “Wait, wait, wait. Are they trying to set you up with a Daddy ?”

Heat flushed my face as all five of them dissolved into laughter. “First of all, no. Second of all, ew. ”

Kyle slung an arm around my shoulders, grinning broadly. “Come on, Nicky. A Daddy might be exactly what you need. Someone to spoil you, keep you in line?—”

“I’m perfectly capable of keeping myself in line, thanks,” I snapped, shrugging him off. “I don’t need anyone hovering over me, telling me what to do.”

Brianna tilted her head, mock-serious. “But what if it’s less about telling you what to do and more about... taking care of you?”

I groaned again, louder this time. “You’re all insane. I like my independence, alright? I don’t need someone to ‘take care of me.’”

Faith winked. “You’d make an adorable boy, though.”

“Stop. Right now.” I drained the last of my stout, setting the empty glass on the table. “I am changing the subject before I have to hurt you all. Who’s coming to dance?”

“Running away from your feelings already?” Kyle teased, but I didn’t stick around to answer. I pushed through the crowd toward the dance floor, needing to lose myself in the music before their jokes burrowed too deep.

The beat throbbed, drowning out the buzz of conversation. I let the music carry me, swaying and moving until the tension in my chest began to ease. A few strangers tried to dance close, and I humored them for a while, but it felt hollow. Forced.

My friends would say I was overthinking, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that dancing with anyone else right now wasn’t what I wanted.

Who was I kidding? I knew exactly what—or who—I wanted. And it pissed me off.

By the time the night ended, my legs were sore, my shirt clung to my back, and I was more tangled up than when I arrived. All the noise and laughter had done nothing to quiet the storm in my head.

When I got home, the house felt too quiet. Too empty. The kind of silence that settled in my bones and refused to let go. I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling like it held some kind of answer.

But it didn’t.

All I could see was Markus. That sharp jawline, the faint stubble that framed his mouth, the way his smile made his eyes crinkle just enough to feel like he really saw you. My chest tightened as the image refused to leave.

With a frustrated groan, I shoved my hand under my waistband, like this was just another night and not one where my thoughts were betraying me. It didn’t mean anything, I told myself. Just a release, a way to blow off steam.

But it wasn’t just physical.

My fist moved in a rhythm that should’ve been mindless, automatic. Except it wasn’t. Every movement dragged me deeper into that picture behind my closed lids—Markus’s face, his hands, the way his voice wrapped around me like something solid.

My breath hitched, my body tensing as the heat built too fast to ignore. My toes curled, and my thighs shook as I chased that edge, every nerve in my body alive.

When it finally hit, it was like my whole body unraveled at once. My cock throbbed in my hand, release spilling over my fingers and onto my skin. For a few seconds, all I could hear was the sound of my breathing, loud and unsteady in the quiet room.

And then the ache came back. Not in my chest this time, but somewhere deeper.

I swore under my breath, reaching for tissues on my bedside table to clean myself up. My body might’ve been satisfied, but my mind was a mess. Markus wasn’t just under my skin—he was everywhere .

God, I was so screwed.