“Hey,” I murmured, touching his elbow. “You okay?”
But he flinched—actuallyflinched—and before I could say another word, he bolted. Straight through the crowd, out the side door, his sweater flashing green in the twinkle lights.
I swore under my breath and went after him.
The cold hit me as my breath fogged. The parking lot glittered with slush and Christmas lights reflecting off wet asphalt. Clayton stood halfway across it, breathing hard, hands clutched over his chest.
“Clayton!” I called.
He didn’t hear me—or couldn’t. His eyes were unfocused, body trembling. Then headlights flared to my right—a car backing out too fast from the gas station next door, tires skidding slightly on the wet pavement.
“Clayton,move!”
He startled, turning just in time to freeze again like a deer in the headlights. I ran—heart slamming—and caught his arm, yanking him backward as the car braked hard, horn blaring. The mirror missed him by inches.
He stumbled into me, shaking violently. I wrapped an arm around him, steadying us both.
The driver threw up a hand in apology and drove off, but I barely noticed. My heart was still hammering against my ribs.
“Jesus, Clayton,” I breathed, pulling him closer. “You could’ve been hurt.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice thin and broken. “I didn’t—I just needed to—”
I tightened my grip. “Don’t apologize. Just breathe.”
He clung to me then, fingers gripping my coat like he was afraid I’d vanish. “He used to say it,” he choked out. “About sending me home. Jason used to—” His voice cracked. “He’d make me kneel by the door until he decided if I was allowed to stay. I thought I was past it, but when I heard…”
My throat went tight. I’d known his ex had done damage, but hearing it like this—seeing the echo of it nearly get him hurt—made my hands shake with fury I didn’t know I still had in me.
“You’re not with him,” I said quietly, fiercely. “You’re safe now. You hear me? You don’t ever have to earn the right to stay.”
He nodded against me, but I could tell he didn’t really believe me, but why would he? All I'd done was promise this only lasted through Christmas.
When his breathing finally steadied, I pressed a kiss to his temple before I could stop myself. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
He didn’t argue, just let me guide him toward the car. His hand stayed in mine the whole time, and I didn’t let go—not when we reached the car, not when I helped him in, not when the silence settled thick between us. I quickly texted Gabriel to let him know everything was okay.
As I drove, the faint tremor in his hand eased. But mine didn’t.
Because it hit me, clear as the headlights slicing through the dark: This wasn’t about playing Daddy anymore, but actually being one. This was aboutprotecting him.About wanting himsafe in a way that had nothing to do with control and everything to do with care.
Somewhere between the laughter of that party and the blare of a car horn, I’d crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.
And I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to.
Clayton hadn’t said a word on the drive back. He sat small and still in the passenger seat, the fingers that weren't clutching mine tangled in the hem of his sweater, eyes on the rain-slicked window. The reflection of the city lights rolled over his face—gold, red, silver—but his expression didn’t change.
Every few seconds I caught the faintest tremor in his hands.
When we got home, he tried to slip away down the hall, murmuring something about changing out of his sweater. I caught his wrist gently before he could vanish.
“Clayton,” I said quietly.
He stopped, eyes darting to the floor. “I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. “No. Not again. You don’t apologize for being scared.”
“But I ruined the night.” His voice cracked, soft and desperate. “You brought me to something special, and I made a scene. I ran out like a coward and—”
