Ho Ho Homicidal Maniac (Murder and Mistletoe #2)

Chapter 25

Blake

I’m grateful the housekeeper was there to help me deal with the fallout of Carl’s death, because the number of choices and formalities involved in organizing a funeral was way beyond anything I’m used to. It also helped that she didn’t harbor resentment toward my brother. If it was up to me, Carl would have been dumped in a hog pen and granted no headstone. But that wouldn't have been the best idea, considering he was murdered and that I was the first person there.

As much as I hated Carl for treating me like a pawn rather than family, he’s now dead, so it doesn’t matter what happens to his earthly remains. In the meantime, Nico has disappeared from my life, and I chose not to message him, since the last thing I want is to send the police on his trail. On the upside, this means I don’t need to feign sadness and let everyone interpret my mood as mourning. If that can even be called an upside.

Still, I tried to let him know I want to stay in touch and informed Nico about my loss . I didn’t tell him that I enjoyed our time together, nor that I'm grateful for the freedom he’s given me. He answered with perfectly normal condolences, which didn’t include any details that might give the cops the wrong—or right—idea.

There was a night when I wished to write to him about something unrelated to the case—the intense dreams I was having about him, but what would be the point? Nico is a serial killer, and while he does have a code I agree with, a switch inside his head could flip, causing him to turn against me. I find it difficult to imagine him hurting me, ever, but he does have an ease for violence most people don’t. Still, looking back, I see how patient he’s been with me, how he responded to my needs, and how he put my desires before his own.

But that’s not what I should focus on, because the guy is a murderer . Even if he were the perfect boyfriend, caring, kind, and selfless, do I want to get involved with someone who might end up tracked down and arrested? People would be asking me ‘how could you have not seen it?’ and I would have to make the most innocent face while holding Nico’s secrets close to my chest. Then, I’d spend the rest of my life visiting him in prison, or worse—

Does our state have the death penalty?

My hands start to shake as I reach for my phone, but it’s only a moment of weakness that I quickly overcome. I might not officially be a suspect, but as the person who’s gained most from Carl’s death, I can’t do anything that might make the cops doubt me. On my podcast, I’ve reported about way too many crimes where the perpetrator ended up being caught because of their internet history to make such a rookie mistake myself.

I snap out of my nervous thoughts when a hand reaches toward me.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” says a middle-aged man whom I’ve never seen in my life.

We’re in the same room where Carl hosted the strip show not that long ago, and I find it oddly fitting. Even Grandmom’s portrait seems to smile at me through the open door leading into the hallway. I never got to meet her, but I hope she’s proud of me.

I exchange a few meaningless lies about my brother being a kind-hearted guy who valued family above all else, and once the man leaves me alone, I sip my coffee and take in the room full of strangers. I do know a handful of Carl’s acquaintances and friends, but they’re few and far between in the stream of bodies in mourning garb flooding my— my —smoking room.

I feel unprepared for managing the vast amount of wealth our family has accumulated over the years, but I’m no longer a child and will get on with the program at the start of the new year. For now, I’ll pretend to mourn a brother whom I decided to bury in Aspen rather than close to where I live, just so I can always stay far away from his ashes.

The official explanation for this move is Carl’s love for mountains and snowboarding. I'm so full of shit I would make a fantastic PR executive. Maybe he and I shared a comparable talent for lying, because after hanging on to his fake love all my life, I found out that not only had Carl not informed the cops I was missing, but also offered time off to all the staff at my home, so no one questioned my absence.

Joke’s on him.

The burlesque dancer was someone he’d met that night, not a girlfriend, so we both commiserated about the masked stranger with dark hair (I made sure to say that several times to implant the fake memory) who might have been the one to hurt my brother. I played the perfectly innocent, inexperienced gay man who got charmed into following the lead of a handsome monster. But maybe that’s who I really am, since I’m protecting Nico even now.

The somber atmosphere, the parade of guests I don’t know, and the endless stream of bite-sized snacks on silver platters is getting all too much, so I walk out of the room and onto a balcony.

From my vantage point, the expanse of the snow covered-forest seems endless, and it reminds me of that week in Nico’s cabin. The conditions there were so far from what I was used to, but even though I had to use a crappy eco-shower, wash dishes, and sweep the floor, I felt I had everything I could ever want when Nico smiled at me. And when he held me at night, the sense of loneliness that accompanied me since my parents died was gone.

I was so… content with everything that the perspective of going back home later tonight and being greeted by empty rooms rather than Nico’s touch is borderline painful. But what’s the alternative? Willingly flying straight into the web of a guy who enjoys killing?

For a moment, I consider looking for love on dating apps, but how could that compare to the way Nico saved me from rape, torture, and murder, then slowly got under my skin with attention and enthusiasm? Maybe that’s what it feels like when a spider crawls into one’s ear at night? Yeah, no, bad comparison, ew .

Nico’s presence felt good, and when I stopped being fearful of him, I craved for him to consume me, until I belonged to him wholly, body and soul.

I shiver, imagining him watching me now from one of the trees close by, and I can’t even describe the sense of peace this gives me. It’s the relief I need during a party filled with strangers Carl never bothered to introduce me to.

“Hey, Blake…” Someone steps onto the balcony behind me, and I turn, all too aware of the journey my body would make if this guy were to push me off here.

But it’s only Mike… or Misha? I’ve been introduced to him in the past by Carl, but I don’t know much about him, other than the fact that he makes my gaydar buzz.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. Carl was such a great guy,” he says the most generic thing he can with a hurt expression on his handsome face.

He looks good in a black suit, I have to give him that, but it’s nothing when compared to the burgundy outfit Nico wore the night we parted. I’m still upset I didn’t get to suck him off while he stood over me, majestic and mysterious in the mask he was wearing. I should have lured him into it in that gas station bathroom.

“Yeah, he will be missed,” I say, responding with an equally cliché phrase and step away from the railing, just in case.

In case of what though? In case Misha/Mike (I’ll go with Misha) was my brother’s secret gay lover, in on the scheme to kill me?

“I’m here, if you ever need someone to talk to. I know you’re not a kid anymore, but everyone needs a shoulder to cry on sometimes. ”

More like, Misha needs a free place to crash in Aspen and doesn’t want to miss out on that just because Carl is gone.

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” I say, briefly glancing at the French door behind Misha as I rub my shoulders. “Starting to get chilly out here.”

I was hoping he’d get the hint, but my eyes go wider as he takes off his coat and, without asking, puts it over my shoulders. Which also means he ends up standing much closer to me than I’d expect, given how little we know each other.

Misha smiles. “There. I always really liked you, Blake. You know that, right? I just… didn’t think it was appropriate to let you know before.”

“Let me know what…?” I let my unfinished question hang in the air as the scent of his herby cologne surrounds me from all sides.

Misha places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it with a sense of familiarity that feels wrong on so many levels. Misha might be trying to woo me, and while there isn’t anything inherently wrong with that, guilt bites my insides, making me pull away. This is an uninvited touch. I don’t want his scent on me, and his hands anywhere near me, because his proximity makes me feel as though I’m cheating on Nico.

“I did hope we could take the plane back to Vermont together. Get to know each other. I imagine it must be hard to be alone now,” Misha says and rubs his thumb along the side of my hand, making anxiety simmer at the pit of my stomach.

Abort! Abort!

I step away, sliding out of the reach of his arms. Is this a normal way to act among gay guys, or is he eager to get together with the naive gay brother now that Carl isn’t in the picture? I barely know him, and if I wanted company, it would not be his.

Not dissuaded in the slightest, Misha sighs and glances toward the snow-capped mountains, no doubt thinking he makes a pretty melancholic picture. “Carl talked about you a lot. It really is a shame that we often only realize who and what’s really important when Death knocks on the door.”

My thoughts were already with Nico, but when Misha said that pretentious sentence, the missing puzzle pieces of my mind slotted into place, leaving me with a sense of purposeful contentment.

Maybe the sentiment Misha expressed wasn’t really so pretentious after all?

I do want company, but not Misha’s, nor any other handsome stranger’s. There’s already someone who’s burrowed deep in my chest and I can’t get him out of there no matter how desperately I try to convince myself he and I can’t work as a couple.

Because we did .

Nico has shown me more heart than any of the people who ought to care for me, and he’s been gentle, patient even, when I betrayed his trust. He might be a killer, but he is so much more: a vigilante, a gentleman, a Christmas enthusiast, and an artist.

As I offer Misha a smile to soften the blow of rejection, my heart blooms, beating for someone else.

“I’m talking to someone. Sorry,” I say, and hand him back the jacket. My thoughts are already back in Vermont, with the man I rejected despite deep down knowing it to be a mistake. Oh, I have been so blind!

Disappointment washes over Misha’s face, but at least he’s not getting pushy, I have to give him that .

“Sure, but just know you can hit me up anytime. I’ll leave you my card. There are some serious predators out there.”

“Definitely. Carl always made sure I was careful,” I say, walking past him on my way inside. He smells nice. He looks nice. He is polite. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’s clearly trying to get with me for the wrong reasons, I might just be interested in him. But while I'm technically single, my heart doesn’t feel that way, and as I step into the warmth of the smoking room, the longing for Nico’s arms around me feels like a lead blanket.

There hasn’t been a day, or even an hour when I didn’t randomly start thinking about him, and instead of relief, all I feel is an ever-growing emptiness, as if he’s left his knife inside me, and the wound refuses to close. There was such an endless void in his eyes when he told me he understood my choice, as if he wanted to say he was unlovable, when that’s so far from the truth.

I can’t run from my true feelings any longer.