I keep it matter-of-fact—unhooking straps, easing fabric down his shoulders, steadying him when he wobbles while stepping out. His Marvel shirt swaps for a soft pajama top, socks for clean striped ones. It’s not about speed, not about anything but the trust he’s putting in me with every tiny surrender.
I soak it all in, loving every second.
When he finally crawls into his sleeping bag, he leaves a gulf of space between us. Quackers sits in the middle like a referee. Isettle into my own bag and fold my hands over my chest, giving him room.
One minute passes. Then another.
It starts with a wiggle.
Oren scoots an inch closer. Stops. Waits.
Another wiggle.
Closer. Stops again.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
Finally, I reach into my bag and pull out the small box I’ve been holding onto since the checkout line at the outdoor store. I reach over him and place it in front of him.
“What’s this?” he whispers.
“A reward,” I say simply. “For courage.”
He turns towards me and opens it, eyes going wide at the bright plastic flashlight inside—yellow, with a smiling bear on the handle.
His mouth falls open. “It’s… mine?”
“Yours,” I confirm. “Figured Quackers could use backup on night watch.”
He clutches it to his chest like a treasure, whispering, “Best Daddy ever,” before pressing a quick kiss to my cheek.
My laugh finally slips free, soft in the dark. But I don’t correct him.
The tent settles into quiet except for the faint snores and giggles drifting from the other campsites. Oren wriggles one last time, flashlight pressed against his chest, and his guard-dog-in-disguise Quackers tucked under his chin.
He yawns so wide I can hear the squeak at the end of it. “G’night, Daddy,” he mumbles, words slurring with sleep.
I should correct him. Remind him I’m not—can’t be—what he thinks. Because what if I disappoint him? What if I can’t be the Daddy he needs? But the word has wrapped around me like my sleeping bag, warm and inescapable.
I lie on my back, staring at the nylon ceiling above us. My pulse hasn’t slowed since he said it. Best Daddy ever. As though it was a fact, not a wish.
He sighs in his sleep, body shifting unconsciously toward me until his shoulder brushes mine. A tiny, trusting move.
I keep perfectly still, afraid to spook him, but inside I’m burning with something equal parts fierce and fragile. Pride, maybe. A protectiveness I didn’t know I could feel this strongly.
The flashlight slips from his hand, bumping against my arm. I catch it, click it off, and set it gently between us. Oren doesn’t stir.
So I just watch him. Watch the rise and fall of his chest, the glitter still faintly stuck to his fingers, the way he smiles even in dreams.
I’ve stared down worse nights than this one. But nothing has ever undone me as much as this boy curled beside me, trusting me to protect him until morning.
Sleep doesn’t come easy, not with my heart pounding the way it is. And Oren—God help me—he’s a wiggler. Squirming in his sleep, rolling closer until his back presses into me. That tempting little ass brushes against my crotch, and even through layers of padded nylon, every cell in my body lights up like I’ve been set on fire.
For half a second, instinct snarls louder than reason. But I grit my teeth, press my fists into the sleeping bag, and force myself still. This isn’t about me. It can’t be.
He sighs, unconcerned, blissfully unaware of the war raging inches away. I shift just enough to give him space, though the heat of him still lingers.
Want and guilt tangle in my gut. I want him, bad enough that it scares me. But more than that, I want to deserve him. To be the man he thinks I am when he looks at me with those wide, trusting eyes.
So I breathe. In. Out. And remind myself that morning will come, and with it another day I get to try to be worthy of this boy.
