"I have a Christmas present for you I want to give you early."
I saw mild panic cross his face even though I knew there were gifts under our silly tree with my name on. I kissed him briefly then went to the closet to get the bear. I'd attempted to wrap him, but it was a mess. Although, as I watched Clayton’s eyes glittering with moisture, I didn't think it mattered. He took the mess of sticky Christmas paper from me and just stared in awe.
"Open it," I urged, terrified I'd made a huge mistake. He ripped the paper and stopped still. For a long while, neither of us moved. The lights from the Christmas tree flickered in the reflection of the window—red and gold, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Then he let the paper drop to the floor and stared at the teddy bear. He hiccupped and then the tears started, but he didn't say a word, and my heart dropped somewhere in my boots. I'dscrewed up. I reached out to grab the thing out of his hands, but quicker than me, he yanked it to his chest and dropped to the floor, sobs bursting from him. He didn’t let the bear go. Not even when he was crying so hard I thought he might make himself sick. He just clung tighter, face buried deep in the fake fur, knees up, cradling himself and the bear at the same time. The sobs weren’t quiet, either. They tore out of him, raw and helpless, like he’d been holding them in for a thousand years.
I sat down right there. Didn’t try to take the bear away, didn’t even touch him at first. I just let him get it out. The crying. The shaking. The way his hands twisted so tight in the bear’s fur I heard the stuffing crunch, but I didn’t care. If he needed to rip the damn thing apart, I’d buy him another. I’d buy him a hundred if it made him feel better.
Eventually, the storm eased. He hiccupped, wiped at his cheeks, but the tears just kept coming. He stared at the bear like it was magic. Like it was proof he was allowed to want things. Allowed to be soft. Allowed to have something just because it made him feel safe.
I slid closer and rested my hand on his back, gentle, just enough to let him know I was there. His whole body shivered under my palm, but he didn’t flinch away. If anything, he leaned in. Burrowed, almost. “It’s just a bear,” I said softly. My voice was rough. “But I wanted you to have something that was yours. Something you could keep.”
He shook his head, hard. “It’s not just a bear.” The words were all tangled with sobs, but he got them out anyway. “No one’s ever… No one’s ever given me something like this. It’s like you’re seeing all of me, and you like what you see.” His lip wobbled and goddammit so did mine. He was so far gone in the feeling of being seen, being chosen, that I could practically taste the relief coming off him.
He clutched the bear, pressing it to his chest like maybe if he let go, it would vanish. His hands shook. His lips shook. I think even his soul shook, but he didn’t try to hide it.
“I love him,” he whispered. Like it was a secret. “He’s perfect.”
I didn’t say anything. I just rubbed slow circles on his back, letting him settle. He was so used to being told he was too much, or not enough. So used to hiding the parts of himself he thought were wrong. But right now, he wasn’t hiding at all. He was just…here. Real.Mine.
He looked up, eyes shining. “Is it really for me?”
I nodded. “For you, baby. Always.”
He bit his lip, caught between another sob and a laugh. “I don’t even have a name for him.”
“You don’t have to decide now,” I said. “He’ll wait.”
He hugged the bear tighter, shaking. “I… I really am allowed to keep him?”
I wanted to shake him, just a little, for ever thinking he wasn’t allowed something this small, this simple. I wanted to shake everyone who’d made him feel like he had to earn every scrap of kindness.
When the tears finally stopped, I eased him up, slow and steady. “C’mon, baby. Let’s get you on the couch.”
He didn’t let go of the bear, not even for a second. He let me help him up, knees stiff, eyes swollen, and a little dazed. If I’d had any doubt before, I didn’t now. He was mine. He wanted to be safe. Wanted to belong.
I sat him down, wrapped him in the softest blanket I could find, and made sure the bear stayed tucked right under his chin. He looked at me, eyes huge.
“You really don’t think it’s pathetic?” he whispered, almost like he was scared to hear the answer.
I scooped him into my lap and snuggled in. “No, baby. I think it’s brave. I think you’re brave.”
And for the first time, I realized the holiday miracle wasn’t the lights or the laughter or the presents.
It was this.
A man burrowing in my arms, finally believing he was safe.
And me, finally brave enough to admit I’d found home.
Chapter seventeen
One year later
Clayton
The scent of pine and cinnamon filled the atrium—my signature, apparently.Last year Felix would’ve rolled his eyes at the idea of “scent-themed morale strategy.” This year Felix had ordered three extra crates of cinnamon sticks and called itbrand continuity.
