“Doesn’t have to. We’ll work it out. You don’t even have to call it anything, if that’s easier. But you have to let me look after you.”
I nodded, fast, not trusting myself to speak.
“Okay. Tell me one thing right now that would make you feel safe.”
My first thought was embarrassing. Stupid. But I didn’t want to lie. “Could you just…maybe hold me? For a while?”
He pulled me in even tighter, arms like steel bands, and I collapsed into his chest. It didn’t matter that we were both grown men or that I was too old for this, or that I was already on his lap. I just let go, letting the ache settle into something smaller, letting him take the weight.
He stroked my hair, slow and steady. “That’s the whole point, baby. You need more? Ask. You need less? Tell me. We can call it whatever you want. It’s not about the word. It’s about what you need.”
I went limp against him, all the tension leaking out in a rush that left me breathless. My face was pressed to his shirt. He didn’t seem to mind.
“I like the rules,” I said, muffled. “I like knowing what I’m supposed to do. That’s why my job was so easy. All children know exactly what Christmas should be like.”
He made this low, approving noise. “Then you’ll have them. But you don’t have to pretend to like anything just because someone says you should. Hell, I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time. We’ll figure it out together.”
His hand cradled my head, heavy and careful. “You did well, telling me all that.”
It hit me, sharper than anything else. Praise. I buried my face even deeper and felt the tightness in my chest start to fade.
“I want to be good for you,” I whispered.
“You are, baby. Always. Even when you get these ridiculous ideas you’re not enough.”
Chapter fourteen
Clayton
I woke up to the smell of pancakes. Real ones—not the instant kind that always turned out too thin, but thick, fluffy ones like Mom used to make when we’d pretend Christmas lasted all year.
The soft hum of music floated down the hallway. Not the usual jazz Felix played when he worked, but something softer, slower. Lullabies on piano, maybe.
When I walked into the kitchen, blinking sleep from my eyes, Felix was already at the stove—sleeves rolled up, hair damp from a shower. The sight of him, so domestic and steady, made my chest go warm and tight at the same time. Then I stared open-mouthed at the Christmas decorations. Had they been there last night?
He saw me looking. "I've ordered some more but I thought you'd like to put them up." I nodded, excitement rushing through me. He stepped close and brushed a kiss on my lips. “I should have started withgood morning, sleepyhead.”
I froze. The word wrapped around me like a blanket and a warning all at once.Sleepyhead.No one had ever called me that before. Not like that. Not where it felt…safe.
“I, um—good morning.” I rubbed my arms, suddenly aware that I was wearing one of his t-shirts. It hung halfway down my thighs.
“Sit,” he said gently, nodding to the small kitchen table. A coloring book lay open there—the thick, heavy kind meant for kids, with animals and simple shapes outlined in bold black. A box of colored pencils sat beside it, perfectly sharpened. Next to that was a mug with a cartoon reindeer.
He noticed me staring and shrugged, a little self-conscious. “Thought we’d have an easy morning. No stress. Pancakes, cocoa, maybe some cartoons after. You could try coloring, if you want.”
My throat went tight. He meant well—I knew that. Every inch of him radiated patience and quiet care. But something in me panicked at the thought.
“That sounds…nice,” I managed, sitting down carefully. My palms left damp prints on the table.
Felix slid a plate of pancakes in front of me and sat across, not pushing, not watching too closely. Justthere.
I tried to eat. Tried to breathe. Tried to convince myself that I could do this—just relax, just be.
He flipped a page in the coloring book. “You don’t have to stay inside the lines,” he said softly. “There aren’t any rules here.”
That made my chest ache. I reached for a crayon, blue, and stared at the blank page. The second my hand touched it, my pulse started to race. The colors blurred.
I wasn’t supposed to make mistakes. Not at work. Not at home. Not anywhere. Jason’s voice echoed from the past—don’t act childish, you’ll embarrass yourself—and I flinched hard enough that the crayon snapped in my grip.
