I bit my tongue. I could imagine that house. Cold, empty, falling apart at the seams. He’d go home from the mall, climbinto bed, spend all night trying not to think about what was missing.
“Anyone looking out for you? Friends, family?” I leaned in, not giving him room to dodge.
He hesitated. “No, sir. My mom…she passed. Just me now.”
“Your job before?” I could hear it—the way his voice always went brittle when I brought up anything about him.
“Twenty-two years at Thomas and Mason.” He tried to laugh, but it came out sharp. “Started as an intern, ended as a project manager. They called it restructuring, but I was the only one that got let go.”
“What sort of projects?” I asked, intrigued.
He smiled, and for the first time, the light came back into those deep brown eyes. “Christmas.”
I blinked. “Christmas?”
He nodded, his enthusiasm completely changing his face. “Santa’s grotto was the largest project Thomas and Mason undertook every year. We had people visiting from everywhere all over the US. During the pandemic we even had an online timetable booked solid right from Halloween and up to Christmas Eve. He sipped more cocoa, his gaze dropping. “Mr. Mason said it likely saved the store that year.”
And that was how they’d rewarded him.
“What about you, sir? Are you a fan of the festive season?”
I shrugged. I hadn’t had time for Christmas. I’d spent nearly a decade cleaning up other people’s messes just to prove I belonged. But at least I’d had a seat at the table. He’d been thrown out and left to rot. His gaze stayed on me like he was expecting an answer. “I don’t have time really. My sister generally drags me to things or volunteers me, like taking Max to see Santa. He’s obsessed.” But then he didn’t associate the holidays with disappointment. With hoping just once his parentsmight nurse their Christmas hangover downstairs to watch him open presents they’d neither chosen nor wrapped.
“My mom adored the holidays,” he said wistfully.
“Must have been a hell of a transition,” I said. “Losing both, that close together. I’m sorry that happened.”
I saw the effort it took to keep his face straight. “She was sick on and off for two years and we thought she was clear but it came back. Cancer. I thought I could keep working, but…” He shrugged. “It was her or the job. I chose her, but I’d never missed a day before that.”
I pushed, a little. “What about your old Dom, Jason?” I watched, careful. I remembered Jason Kilroy, although I hadn’t seen him in a few months. “You talk to him at all?”
He shook his head quickly, almost angry. “No, sir. He…decided we were done.” I waited. I could see it wasn’t just anger. Hurt, deep and familiar, threading through every muscle. He wouldn’t look at me.
“He just…wanted someone different, younger, I suppose,” Clayton went on, voice thin. “Said he was done. Found someone new.” His fingers tightened around the mug. “I came home early on Thanksgiving, and they were both there.”
My jaw flexed. I wanted to reach across the table and cover his hand, but I held back. I barely knew him. Didn’t matter. I wanted to. “He didn’t deserve you,” I said, cool and quiet. “Not if that’s how he ended things.”
He shrugged, but the motion made him wince. “I wasn’t…enough. Got old, I guess. He wanted something different.”
“Bullshit.” I didn’t let him squirm away from it. “Any Dom worth the title knows how to value loyalty.”
He blinked, startled by the word. Loyalty. That meant something, I could tell. He looked up. Just for a second. The hope in his eyes punched through me.
The cocoa was half gone. I watched the way he held the mug, fingers trembling just a little. It wasn’t the caning or the bruises. This was deeper.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
That one hit harder than I expected. I wanted to tell him I’d do this every night if he needed it. But I wasn’t that guy. It would be cruel to promise.
I cleared my throat, changed gears. “You’re working office parties now?”
He brightened. Instantly. “Yeah. I’m Santa now.” A sheepish grin. “It’s fun, and I love the kids. Kids are cute. Even adults like it, turns out.”
“How many gigs have you got left?”
He counted on his fingers. “Three this week. Four next. The lady who booked me next week…Olivia? She said it was for her brother’s company.”
That landed like a punchline I wasn’t expecting.
