by V. L. Locey
Life According to Liam
V.L. Locey
Contents
Acknowledgments
Life According to Liam
1. Mike
2. Bryn
3. Mike
4. Bryn
5. Mike
6. Bryn
7. Mike
8. Bryn
9. Mike
10. Bryn
11. Mike
12. Bryn
13. Mike
14. Bryn
15. Mike
16. Bryn
Epilogue
A note from the author…
Other books by V.L. Locey
Meet V.L. Locey
A V.L. Locey M/M Hockey Romance
Life According to Liam
Copyright © 2019 V.L. Locey
First E-book Publication:
Cover design by Meredith Russell
Edited by Kathy Krick / Sue Laybourn
All cover art and logo copyright © 2019 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.
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/
One
Mike
“Is it ready yet?”
I looked into eyes as green as a new leaf and opened the dryer for the fourth time in fifteen minutes. I stuck my hand into the wet, hot ball of clothes. My nephew Liam wiggled into my side to supervise. When I located the small black and green hockey jersey, I pulled it out of the wad of drying pants and shirts, held it to my cheek, and looked back into those anxious green eyes, eyes the same shade of green as my sister Kelly’s and mine.
“Sorry, buddy, but your Bryn Mettler jersey is still damp.” I had to tell the four-year-old. His eye roll was incredible as was his huff of aggravation. “I did tell you not to wear it before the game tonight in case it got dirty.”
“Can we make the dryer go hotter?”
“Not really.” I tossed the tiny wet jersey back into the dryer and shut the door. Liam stood staring at the dryer, willing it to dry his favorite Pittsburgh Ravens player’s sweater faster. I turned to go attend to trying to get the kitchen cleaned up after dinner. It had just been Liam and me tonight. Kelly was out on a date with some dubious looking character from work. I paused at the door to the laundry room and beckoned Liam to follow me. He came along but there was a real possibility he’d trip over his bottom lip. I ruffled up the already wild blond hair on his head as we entered the kitchen. “Why don’t you go play with Captain America while I get the dishwasher loaded?”
“Uncle Mike, the Ravens will lose if I don’t got my jersey.”
“You want to wear mine?” I tugged on the hem of my own Bryn Mettler jersey. We both loved Bryn, starting goalie for the Pittsburgh Ravens. I suspected my admiration for the sexy man in the Ravens net was probably slightly different than Liam’s was. There wasn’t a fan of pro hockey that did not have the hots for Bryn, be they male or female, straight or gay. Bryn was simply breathtaking and by the holy skates of Jacques Plante, could he tend goal. Liam poked me in the side. I jumped and giggled a little bit. “Sorry, I was daydreaming. So do you want to wear mine until yours is out of the dryer?”
His head bobbed up and down. Fearing a juice stain on my brand-new sweater, I, nonetheless, peeled it off and pulled it down over his head. The sleeves drug on the floor and the hem of the jersey puddled on his red sneakers. Liam grinned up at me then ran off, tripping every other step. I tied Kelly’s pink apron around my waist and loaded dirty pots and pans into the dishwasher bare-chested. Such was the life of a thirty-year-old gay man who shared his home with his twenty-year-old sister and her young son. Pink aprons and cleaning up with your nipples exposed. I wouldn’t change one thing about asking Kelly to move in with me when she discovered she was pregnant at fifteen, though, naked nips and all. My parents had flipped out, which, given how they acted when I came out at eighteen, was not a surprise. I had opened my little Squirrel Hill brick townhouse to her after the folks had made their disgust with her “situation” known.
Now it was we three Kneller’s against the world. Kelly worked at a senior care facility during the day as an aide, so I watched Liam. As an independent—and moderately successful—web designer, I worked from home, so I could arrange my schedule to suit Liam’s. I also did a bit of blogging, nothing daily or hugely popular, but “Life According to Liam” did boast over five thousand followers. It always amazed me how many people enjoyed hearing about the upside-down life of a single homosexual man helping to raise his precocious four-year-old nephew and his quirky younger sister. Kelly may balk when I say that but trust me, the girl needs someone to keep her on track. Take the joker she’s seeing a movie with tonight. That baboon is completely unacceptable as a date for my baby sister. I could see the lust in his beady eyes when he picked her up an hour ago. The punk was trying far too hard to be hipster cool if you ask me. What kind of straight man wears skinny jeans?
“Lowlife dirty pervert,” I grumbled under my breath as I wiped up the kitchen counter with a wet sponge. “He’s probably pawing her right now…the bastard.”
“Uncle Mike, Captain America says it’s time to watch your land gauge.”
I grimaced and then slowly turned to look down on Liam, wearing a stern look, cradling his stuffed Captain America doll.
“I’m sorry, Cap,” I said to the battered superhero. “I’ll try to do better.”
“It’s okay. Your tongue is just bad,” Liam informed me then ran off with Cap to right a wrong somewhere else in the house.
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and hurried to finish. The dryer buzzed just as I was turning off the overhead light in the kitchen.
“My jersey is dry!” Liam bellowed and raced around me. Where poor Captain America went was a mystery for the moment.
“Inside voice,” I reminded the tornado as it blew past me. A couple of minutes later, Liam, Cap, and I sat on my sectional in warm shirts. Well, Cap wasn’t in a warm shirt, but I’m sure the fires of righteousness that burn in his chiseled chest keep him warm. “Speaking of chiseled chests,” I mumbled as the Ravens pregame show hit the air with a stunning image of Bryn Mettler taking part in a photoshoot for swimwear. “What a great looking man,” I sighed wistfully while folding underwear emblazoned with PAW Patrol characters. He was tall, dark, and handsome. His brown hair and dark brown eyes made me stupid as did the perfectly groomed dark stubble that always lingered artfully on his firm jaw.
“Uncle Mike, are you going to date with Bryn Mettler?” Liam asked. My gaze flew from the TV screen to my nephew.
“Why would you ask that?” I enquired of the lad. He rolled to his back and stuck his little red sneakers into the air.
“Mommy said before she dated with Aaron tonight that he was handsome.” Liam stared at me as the pregame show slid into an interview with the Ravens defensive coach. “You likes handsome boys, so is you and Bryn Mettler going to be dated?”
I couldn’t keep the soft chuckle from escaping. There we had
this week’s blog post. My nephew was a comedic gold mine. Liam’s fine golden eyebrows tangled as I battled to get myself under control.
“I wish Bryn Mettler would ask me out on a date,” I said to the boy. He reached up to touch the tips of his toes, a feat that made my hamstrings scream just looking at it and chewed on my answer like a glob of taffy. Kelly and I had always been open about my being gay. We wanted Liam to grow up in an accepting household. He already knew that men could date and marry other men and that if he liked boys instead of, or in addition to, girls, that was perfectly normal.
“Does Bryn like boys too?” Liam asked as he picked at his sneakers.
“Yes he does, I’m just not sure he likes boys who look like me.”
He took that at face value and then launched into a story about Hulk eating peanut butter cookies. I shook my head, smiling all the while, and returned to folding toddler clothing and watching the Ravens and that sinfully sexy Bryn Mettler roll over their competition. Liam had dropped off after the second period and was now slumbering peacefully with Captain America, who, earlier, had somehow gotten himself wedged into the tray of the Blu-ray player in my office. When asked how this had happened to Cap, Liam told me, straight-faced, that Iron Man did it. Now you can see how I keep “Life According to Liam” rolling along.
I was watching the Ravens post-game show while working on a blog post for next week when Kelly came in around midnight. She looked a great deal like her son, only with lovely feminine features. Her build was like our mother’s, both women possessing delicate, fine-boned beauty. She tossed her small purse on the table by the front door and gave me a look. I winced.
“So Hipster Aaron was a dud?” I asked as my fingers stilled on the laptop keyboard.
“Huge dud,” she replied then flopped down beside me on the couch. “Why can’t I find a man like you?” Her blonde head fell to my shoulder.
“You want to date a nerdy gay man?”
“At this point, yes, I would love to date a nerdy gay man. At least we’d have good conversation not laced with bravado and sexual innuendo.”
I patted her curls and closed my laptop. The post about dating Bryn Mettler could wait until tomorrow.
“I knew he was all wrong for you when I saw his skinny jeans,” I told her. She cuddled into my side.
“They were horrible, weren’t they?” Kelly giggled. “Oh well, nothing ventured nothing gained as Aunt Penny says. So, when are you going to venture?”
“When someone capable of sweeping me off my feet calls me,” I replied by rote. Kelly always nudged me about my lack of dates. I always gave her grief about her overabundance of dates. “Oh, and Captain America suffered a grievous injury tonight.”
She sat up and looked at me with humor in her green eyes. “Do I want to know?”
“Probably not, what with your delicate constitution and all,” I said and got a slug to the arm in reply. “I did get the mangled limb reattached so he should be ready to fight evil-doers come morning. The amount of cotton batting he lost was horrendous. It was touch and go for a little while.”
“You’re such a nerd. I love you. Thanks for watching Liam tonight.” She pressed a kiss to my scruffy cheek and then pushed to her feet. “I’m exhausted. See you in the morning.”
“I love you too. Goodnight,” I called as the tiny young woman wearing a sweater and jeans slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor. Once I heard her bedroom door close, I locked the front door, checked the back door, and turned out the lights. Now I could rest easy.
Two
Bryn
Life has this funny way of throwing you off your edge when you least expect it. When I had sat down at this table with my fellow teammates and their dates or wives, I had not expected to discover him. Finding “him” was the farthest thing from my mind. This time of year, hockey was number one and always front and center. I enjoyed a few things greatly, aside from tending goal in the pros, of course. On that list of enjoyable things off the ice was attending galas at new clubs or museums, joining in on charity events, and spending a rare night off with friends. There was also the pleasure of taking a man out but during the season, my dating fell off dramatically. Not that I spent every night during the off-season chasing dick, but when the Ravens were playing, going out to look for Mr. Right slid down the priority list from number one to somewhere around number fifty-two which was cleaning under my refrigerator.
Actually, now that I was thirty-two my nights spent roaming the gay clubs here in Pittsburgh were rare. There had to be a better way to meet a man whom you wanted to spend time with than grinding against sweaty strangers hoping for a hook-up. Once I had hit thirty, my tastes had subtly changed. Now I just wanted to find the right man. One with a good sense of humor, wanted a family and children, was patient and kind, and so hot that looking at him would make my eyeballs sweat. I know…it’s a tall order to fill, but I’m willing to wait for him.
So far, that elusive man has escaped me. Given the fact that I’m playing eighty plus games during the regular season—and playoff games if we make it that far—and the fact that my life is hockey from September when training camp starts to possibly early June when the Cup finals are completed it does not make finding Sir Perfect any easier.
My teammates seated around me laughed, pulling me back from my musings about my dream man. Brent Prott, our captain, and his wife had invited a small group of Ravens to their place for dinner. It was a great group, filled with wonderful couples and friends. Misty, Brent’s wife, tapped my foot with hers under the table. My gaze raced from the breadbasket, which sat empty among the dirty plates, to Mrs. Prott.
“You look so lonely,” Misty said then gave the other women at the table a sad look. Before I could speak up, Brent leaped in to save me.
“Bryn is not lonely, okay?” He looked at everyone seated at the Prott’s dining room table. The men all nodded. The women rolled their eyes. I wanted to slither out of my seat to hide under the table. “He’s a good-looking gay dude playing the field while he’s still somewhat young and passably handsome.”
“Thanks.” I chuckled into my glass of white wine.
“You’re welcome,” Brent replied then leveled a look at Misty. “Do not try setting him up with your gay cousin Alistair again.”
“If you’d just give Alistair a try—” She looked at me with big, blue pleading eyes. Brent began mouthing off about what a loser Misty’s cousin was. She argued back that Alistair was not a loser…he was just suffering from a lack of self-confidence because of his overactive sweat glands and his severe acne scars.
“I saw this really cute guy on a blog the other day,” Ashley spoke up loudly. All eyes at the table went to the cute black girl that Dave Custer, one of the Ravens forwards, had been dating for several months. “My sister watches him all the time. I mean, he writes the funniest posts and sometimes puts up videos starring him and his nephew. They’re so adorable.”
“How do you know this man is gay?” I asked as she began typing on her phone.
“This blog post from two weeks ago titled ‘Dating Bryn Mettler? I wish!’ was my first clue,” Ashley replied. “Also, he’s quite open about it.” My eyebrows flew up my brow, but I recovered quickly, nodded and then coolly sipped some wine. My situation was a little different from the blog man’s. I wasn’t closeted obviously since my close friends and team knew I was gay as did the press corps and the rest of the world, I just didn’t go on blogs and blather about it. Being a gay athlete made things different, and sadly, as far as we have come in terms of gay rights, there are still plenty of bigots out there. I dated discreetly but not secretly. “His name is Mike Kneller; the K is silent. Let me find one of his vlogs. Those are hilarious,” she said. Brent and Dave both started to tell her to stop but she was on a mission. I gave the men a smile that said, “let the woman play matchmaker” and then leaned over the table when Ashley smiled triumphantly a moment later. She held her phone out so I could see the screen. What I saw was one hands
ome brown-haired man and a tow-headed toddler in a car. Both had startlingly green eyes.
“Okay, Pittsburgh, are you ready to Sing Along with Liam?” the man asked as he fiddled with a cell phone mounted on the dash. The boy in the back seat wiggled around with excitement while strapped into his car seat. “Liam, are you ready?” Michael—because he was too pretty to be just a Mike—glanced up into his rearview. My God, those eyes of his were incredible. As was his mouth, his bottom lip especially.
“I’m ready, Uncle Mike!” Liam shouted. Everyone at the table, including me, laughed at the boy’s exuberance.
“Okay, here we go.” Michael, the good-looking man with those amazing green eyes, pulled away from the curb and into traffic. Liam clapped wildly and then the Beatles “Help” started playing. The boy in the jacket and Ravens knitted cap began belting out the song. His uncle, who I couldn’t stop watching, was driving and making some of the best faces I had ever seen. It was obvious the man loved his nephew. It radiated out of him. He was comical at times, wincing when Liam screeched or pulling a hilarious face after being chastised for “being a song piggy” by the lad in the backseat when Michael had dared to sing.
By the time the short song had concluded, every adult at the table was smiling or laughing. I was smitten, and not by the singing boy, although he was damn cute. Nope, it was Uncle Mike who had captured my attention. There was something about the set of his mouth and the way he smiled and those sparkling emerald eyes. Oh, and how at ease he was around a young child. He had some compelling attributes.