Chapter 1

Christmas Day, 2023

“Kitten in the tree again!” Mike O’Neill yelled, dashing forward to rescue the bauble-covered pine adorned with what had to be three thousand lights, as it began its graceful arc toward the floor. He caught the top, but the angel went flying, probably for the first time in its existence. Which was weird, considering how many attempts the cat had made to get it to fly. Glass ornaments shattered on the floorboards, and there was tinsel everywhere.

It looked like an explosion in a Christmas factory.

“Where is he?” Mom hurried into the room.

“Never mind the damn cat—help me get this upright again. And watch your feet. You’ll get pieces of glass in your bunny slippers.” Those things were huge, their ears way too floppy, and she was forever tripping herself up on them.

There ought to be a law against people in their fifties wearing bunny slippers. It just wasn’t right.

Helena was next to arrive. “Aw, where is the poor little kitty? He must be so scared.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “The poor little kitty was supposed to be in the kitchen, in his basket. You know, after he did this four hours ago?” At this rate, by the time Christmas was over, Mom would have to buy a whole new set of baubles.

Mom coughed. “That didn’t work out so well. He managed to climb into the fridge. I caught him snacking on the slices of turkey.”

He grimaced. “Remind me not to make myself a turkey sandwich.”

“What the hell is going on around here?”

Dad had apparently woken up from his post-lunch doze.

“Everything’s under control,” Mike called out.

Well, it would be, once they found the furry little fiend.

“There he is!” Helena pointed toward the window, where the tabby kitten was attempting to climb the curtains, his tiny claws hooked into the fabric.

“My drapes!” Mom shrieked. “Grab that little bastard before he does any more damage.”

Mike guffawed. “Oh, so now it’s a little bastard? And whatever happened to ‘Watch your language when Daisy is around’?” He glanced at Helena. “Where is your daughter anyway?”

“Having a nap. She wore herself out.”

Mike wasn’t surprised. The toddler had finally joined the ranks of the upright, and had treated the first floor of the house as if it were her own personal racetrack. Not that Mike could blame her. Daisy had been a late developer. When she’d reached sixteen months and had shown no signs of wanting to get around without clinging to the furniture, Helena had been talking about consulting a specialist.

Mom had smiled and murmured something about newbie mothers.

The tree was standing once more, Mom was sweeping up the bits of glass, and Helena had managed to unhook the kitten’s claws from the curtains, and was holding him against her chest, crooning.

“Whose bright idea was it to give Daisy a kitten anyway?” he demanded.

Judging by Mom’s flushed face, he had his answer.

Dad walked into the living room. “Can I do anything to help?”

Mom gave him a sweet smile. “No, dear. You’re exhausted from carving the turkey. Go take another nap.”

Dad narrowed his gaze, then headed for the liquor cabinet. “Mike? Can I get you a drink?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a whiskey.” Mike retook his seat on the couch, scanning the floor for any sparkling debris Mom might have missed.

If Daisy gets a piece in her foot, Helena will probably rush her to the emergency room.

Mike gave himself a mental kick. His sister Helena and her husband Steve had been trying for three years to conceive. Of course she was overly protective and worried about the slightest thing. Daisy was adorable, when she wasn’t scooting around the place and grabbing everything in sight.

And speaking of Steve…

“What have you done with my brother-in-law? I haven’t seen him since lunch.” Mike grinned. “Is he having a nap too?”

“He’s in the front yard, working on a surprise for Daisy when she wakes up.”

He smiled. “You do know she’s not going to remember a snowman, don’t you? Steve is freezing his nuts off out there for nothing.”

Dad handed him a glass. “There’ll always be the photo of it. When did you get so cynical?”

“And you wonder why you’re still single,” Helena said with a smirk.

“Helena,” Mom said in a warning tone.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Mom. He’s twenty-eight. He hasn’t had a single boyfriend who’s lasted more than six months. He’s as good at building relationships as he is at—”

Mike scowled. “Don’t say it.” He’d gotten through two days of this visit without anyone mentioning the fact that his latest business venture had been an epic fail.

The latest in a long line.

Helena had the grace to blush.

“You’d ask if you needed help, wouldn’t you?” Mom’s voice was laced with concern.

He sighed. “I’m fine, okay?”

He wasn’t, not by a long shot, but the only person to know the real extent of his financial situation was Ashley, his sounding board, best friend, and confidante.

“I’ll go check on Daisy.” Helena left the room.

Mike regarded the tree, now looking a little bare in places. He smiled. “Uncle Nick would’ve laughed his ass off at this.”

And how long is it since I’ve thought about him?

Then he realized how quiet the room had become.

He glanced at his parents. “For God’s sake. I have no idea why you stopped talking about him or why he stopped coming here, but I sure didn’t have a problem with him. Am I not allowed to mention his name now?”

When Mike was fifteen, Uncle Nick had left Boston. He’d return for regular visits during the holidays, but the visits had stopped about seven years ago.

That was also the time when Mike’s parents stopped mentioning him.

Mike had a ton of uncles and aunts—Mom had been the middle kid of six, and Dad had three siblings—but Uncle Nick had always been his favorite. When his visits ceased, Mike had asked his parents for a phone number so he could get in touch, but they’d refused. Up until seven years ago, Mike received cards every birthday, and at Christmas, all of them sent to his parents’ house, and in every one there was the same message.

Love you, kid. And no, I’m not telling you where I am. Your dad would cut my balls off. You don’t need to send me a card. He’d pitch a fit if you did.

Once the cards stopped coming, with each year, Uncle Nick had slipped further from Mike’s mind. He’d had troubles of his own.

“Mike…” Dad’s voice was gentle, and that was enough to raise goose bumps on the back of Mike’s neck. “About your uncle…”

He stared at his father. “What’s happened?”

Dad rolled out a heavy sigh. “He died.”

Shock thrummed through him. “When was this? How did he die?”

“It was a heart attack, about three months ago.”

“And no one thought to tell me? Why the hell not?”

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” Dad remonstrated.

“Fat lot of good that does!” Rage surged through him. But he wasn’t sure what angered him most—that no one had told him or that he hadn’t even noticed.

“You should have said something,” he ground out.

“Mike—”

“No! You can’t just brush him away.” Anger gave way to calm. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, and honestly, I don’t give a crap. I really liked him. He was funny, loud, annoying, but he had the kindest heart of anyone in this family.” Mike stood. He headed into the hallway where he took his jacket from its hook, then returned to the living room and grabbed a hip flask from the bar setup.

“I need to go for a drive. I’ll be back later.”

“Mike,” his mom called out.

He wasn’t ready to listen right then. He stormed out of the house, got into his Jeep, and headed down the street toward the park. When he got there, he reached in his jacket for the flask. Bourbon wasn’t his first choice for alcohol, but it would do. There was only enough for a few sips, so he wouldn’t get drunk or even a little tipsy, but it warmed him from the inside out.

He stared out of the window at the lightly falling snow.

“Why am I so angry?” he asked the snowflake that had splatted against the windshield. “It’s been so long since we last talked, Uncle Nick. I haven’t seen you for seven years, haven’t heard from you in that long either. How could I forget you, the guy who gave me my first sip of beer? Who didn’t tell anyone when I took one of your porn mags? You were like a cooler, older big brother. And I…” He scrubbed a hand over his cheeks, wiping away the tears. “I fucking forgot about you. I was too busy with my own fucking life.”

He held up the flask. “To you, Uncle Nick.” Then he drained the rest of the contents.

He knew he should go home, but it was peaceful here. Quiet. He also knew his parents well enough to realize they wouldn’t tell him what had happened. It was nothing to do with Uncle Nick being gay, that he was sure of. His parents had been cool when Mike had come out. No, there was something else. But secrets seemed to be the stock-in-trade of the family. Hell, no one had told Uncle Jimmy that Little Jimmy wasn’t his kid until his wife was on her deathbed.

But Uncle Nick? He was always special. And Mike would miss the fuck out of him.