Chapter 15
Marie
L ife had been full of big days recently, but today felt like one of the biggest.
The smell of cinnamon rolls clung to my sweatshirt as I slid into Dwight’s truck. He’d insisted on driving us, said it would be "simpler" that way, but I knew better. He didn’t want me chickening out. Not today.
"Ready?" His voice was low, warm, like the first sip of coffee on a cold morning.
"Not even a little," I admitted, twisting my hands in my lap. My fingers smelled faintly like powdered sugar from icing cookies earlier.
Dwight chuckled, the sound rumbling through the cab. He reached over, resting his hand on mine. Big, solid, steady. It anchored me.
"Marie," he said, voice soft but firm, "you’ve got this. Trust me."
I nodded, swallowing past the knot in my throat. The hum of the engine filled the silence as we pulled away from the bakery. I had Secret Cat tucked firmly under my arm. Her and I were besties now.
When we arrived at the community hall, I hesitated in the doorway. The space glowed with fairy lights strung across the ceiling, casting a golden hue over everything. Bright cushions were scattered around, Littles already curled up with coloring books or chatting in quiet clusters. A few heads turned toward us, curious but not intrusive.
"Looks cozy," Dwight murmured, his green eyes scanning the room before landing back on me.
"Yeah," I said, barely above a whisper. My chest felt tight, nerves coiling and uncoiling like springs.
He slid his hand into mine, squeezing once. "Breathe, baby girl. We’re here together."
The warmth of his touch melted some of the tension. I stepped inside, my sneakers sinking into the plush rug beneath us.
"Marie!" A familiar voice called out—Rebekah, with her ever-present box of crayons tucked under one arm. She grinned as she approached, her pigtails bouncing. "You made it!"
"Of course I did," I said, forcing a smile. Rebekah wasn’t buying it, though; her gaze flicked to Dwight, curiosity sparking.
"Dwight?" she asked, tilting her head. “Are you a Little?”
Dwight shifted from awkwardly left and right. “I am not.”
I squared my shoulders. "He’s my Daddy Dom."
A beat of silence. Then another. My heart hammered against my ribs.
"That’s awesome!" someone else chimed in—a Little I hadn’t talked to much before. A ripple of interest passed through the group, heads nodding, smiles widening.
"Nice to have you here, Dwight," Rebekah said, grinning. Her tone was casual, easy, like this was the most natural thing in the world.
"Glad to be here," Dwight replied, his grip on my hand never faltering. “Just wanted to see what all the fuss is about. Give my Little Girl some support, too.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest, spreading until it reached the tips of my fingers. For the first time, I wasn’t just standing on the edges of this group—I was stepping into it, fully and unapologetically.
"Show us your stuff later, Marie," Rebekah teased, holding up her crayons.
Lucy’s voice cut through the hum of chatter, sharp and bright. "Marie!" I knew that Dwight had been a little nervous of her being here. They had a tense conversation at her wedding. Now she was back from her honeymoon and he wanted to make a good impression.
I barely had time to turn before she barreled into me, arms wrapping tight like she hadn’t seen me in years instead of just last week. Her signature lavender perfume wrapped around me, familiar and grounding.
"Hey, Lucy," I said, laughing as she pulled back just enough to hold me at arm’s length. She beamed, her dark curls bouncing as she gave me a once-over like a proud big sister. “How was the honeymoon?”
Lucy's eyes lit up at the mention of her honeymoon, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. The memories seemed to dance behind her gaze, a hint of mischief sparkling within them.
"Oh, Bali was absolutely magical," she began, her voice carrying a dreamy quality that enveloped us all. "Marcus and I stayed in this gorgeous villa right by the ocean. It was dreamy. Lots of swimming and fun."
“Sounds perfect.”
"You’re looking cute as ever," she teased before her gaze landed on Dwight. She looked stunned. “Dwight? You’re here?”
"Yep," he said, his tone steady but warm. His hand still held mine, his thumb brushing small circles against my skin. “I’m with Lucy. Her Daddy Dom.”
Lucy looked confused, but gave a smile. “You’re a Daddy?”
“Must run in the family,” Dwight said.
“I had no idea. Marcus will be interested to hear that.”
“I’m sure he will.”
"Well, I’m glad you’re here," Lucy said, stepping closer and poking him lightly in the chest. She grinned up at him, no hesitation, no awkwardness, just pure Lucy. "We’re always in need of more supportive Daddies around here."
Dwight froze for half a second—just long enough for me to notice how his shoulders tensed, how his grip on my hand tightened slightly. But then, almost like a switch flipped, relief softened his features. He let out a low chuckle, dipping his head toward her.
"Happy to be here," he said, his voice quieter now, more sincere. His eyes flicked to mine for a heartbeat before returning to hers. "For Marie. For the League. And for the whole town."
"Good answer," Lucy said with a wink, clapping him on the shoulder before turning back to me.
Before I could even process the exchange fully, Rebekah popped up out of nowhere, balancing a box of crayons that looked heavy enough to topple her over. "Marie! Come sit with us!"
She jerked her head toward the circle of cushions near the fairy-light-draped wall, where a few Littles were already sprawled out, chatting and giggling.
"Go ahead," Dwight murmured, his voice low by my ear. "I’ll stick close."
"Not letting me out of your sight, huh?" I teased, though my pulse quickened at the thought.
"Not a chance," he replied, his lips quirking into that small, crooked smile that always seemed to disarm me.
We followed Rebekah to the circle, Dwight’s hand loosening in mine but never fully letting go. He didn’t sit right away, waiting until I lowered myself onto one of the plush cushions first. Then, slowly, carefully, he sank down beside me, his broad frame somehow making the space feel smaller, cozier.
I glanced at him, nerves bubbling back up for a moment. What if I couldn’t relax? What if I froze up like I had done in the past? But Dwight was already watching me, his green eyes steady, calm, so full of quiet encouragement that my chest ached.
"You got this," he mouthed, barely moving his lips.
Something in me eased. Not all the way—but enough. I drew a deep breath, the scent of lavender and the faint sugary sweetness from Dwight’s shirt mixing with the soft murmur of voices around us.
"Okay," I whispered, mostly to myself.
Lucy clapped her hands, a cheerful sound that cut through the soft hum of conversation. "Alright, everyone! Time for announcements!"
I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, the edges of Dwight’s fingers brushing mine where his hand still lingered on my knee. His touch grounded me, a steady anchor in the sea of chatter and movement around us.
"Anyone have something to share?" Lucy prompted, scanning the group. A few Littles raised their hands, and one by one, they spoke up about upcoming meetups or new coloring books they’d found. It was lighthearted, easy—until someone nudged my arm.
"Hey," Rebekah whispered from her spot beside me, her grin conspiratorial. "Tell them about your glitter markers."
My cheeks burned instantly. Maybe I should have kept this to myself. "What? No, it’s not . . ."
"Come on," she said, louder this time, drawing attention. "Marie’s been doing some amazing stuff this week."
"Yeah!" Another voice chimed in. "We wanna hear!"
The chuckles spread like wildfire, warm and teasing but not unkind. My face felt like it might combust as all eyes turned toward me. Even Dwight’s. His expression wasn’t mocking, though—it was quiet, encouraging. That crooked smile tipped up just enough at the corner to make my heart stutter.
"Okay," I muttered, mostly to stop the prodding. I sat straighter, pushing past the heat crawling up my neck. "So, um, I got these new glitter markers last week. You know, the gel kind? They’re super smooth." My voice wavered, but I kept going, feeling the words tumble out faster now. "And I’ve been trying to, uh, loosen up a bit. Less staying inside the lines, more . . . freehand stuff. It’s kinda messy, but it’s fun. I—I actually finished a whole page yesterday."
A small round of applause broke out, playful but sincere. Someone whistled. My blush deepened, but I couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up. Dwight’s hand squeezed my knee briefly, his pride radiating without him saying a word. I glanced over at him, catching the way his green eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. He looked proud. Of me .
"That’s awesome, Marie," Rebekah said, and others murmured their agreement. For the first time, I didn’t feel like an outsider here. My chest felt lighter, freer. Like maybe I belonged.
But the mood shifted when another Little raised her hand, her voice trembling as she started to speak. "I . . . I had kind of a rough week," she admitted, clutching a plushie tightly against her chest. Her shoulders hunched forward, like she wanted to fold in on herself. "My caregiver . . . he—" Her breath hitched. "He said some things. Made me feel small, but not in the good way. Like I wasn’t enough."
The room went silent except for the faint rustle of fabric and cushions as people leaned closer. My stomach twisted. The raw vulnerability in her voice hit hard, dredging up old fears I thought I’d buried. Fears of being judged, laughed at, dismissed.
"That’s not okay," someone said softly, breaking the silence. Then another voice added, "You deserve better." Others murmured agreement, their words wrapping around her like a protective cocoon.
Dwight shifted beside me, his posture straightening. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his thighs, his hands clasped loosely. When he spoke, his voice was low, steady, but filled with something deeper. Conviction. "Not all Daddies are like that," he said, his green eyes locked on hers. "A real Daddy—a good one—he makes you feel safe. Seen. Respected." His words carried weight, each one deliberate, and I could feel how much they meant to him. "Don’t let someone take that away from you. You deserve more."
The Little nodded, tears glimmering in her eyes but not falling. She hugged her plushie tighter, and a few people shuffled closer to offer quick hugs or pats on the back.
I stared at Dwight, my throat suddenly tight. He wasn’t just saying those words for her; I could see that now. He was saying them for himself too, carving out space in this little community with every earnest syllable. The man who once drowned in shame was here, offering his voice, his presence, his care—not just for me, but for everyone in this room.
He caught me looking and quirked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to smirk but didn’t quite dare. It wasn’t playful, though. It was almost shy, like he wasn’t sure if he’d done the right thing until he saw my reaction.
"Thank you," the Little whispered, pulling my focus back. Her voice was steadier now, stronger. The group murmured their support again, and my heart swelled.
Dwight reached out, his hand brushing mine briefly before pulling back. No words, just a touch. But it said everything.
The room had gone quiet again, the kind of quiet that pressed against your eardrums and made you hyper-aware of every little sound—the shuffle of someone adjusting their cushion, the soft squeak of a crayon as a Little colored in the corner. My focus had drifted to Dwight’s hand, still resting near mine, his solid presence grounding me in all this unfamiliarity.
Then I saw it—movement by the door. A figure stepping inside, hesitant. My stomach flipped. Marcus. Lucy was beside him, her hand on his arm like she’d physically dragged him here. She glanced around the room, smiling, but Marcus kept his gaze locked ahead, scanning slowly until it landed on us. His wave was small, almost nervous. I couldn’t blame him.
I felt Dwight stiffen next to me before I even turned to look at him. He went rigid, shoulders squaring up like he was bracing for impact. The room seemed to notice too, the Littles glancing between the two men, sensing the shift without knowing the story behind it. Even Rebekah paused mid-sentence, her crayon hovering over the page.
Marcus didn’t take another step. He stood there, tentative, like he wasn’t sure if he should even be here. But there was no anger on his face—just something softer, quieter. Searching.
Dwight’s jaw twitched. I could tell he felt every pair of eyes in the room on him, but he didn’t look away from Marcus. His grip on my hand loosened, and then he let go entirely, rising to his feet in one smooth motion.
“I’ll be back,” he murmured, voice low, not meeting my eyes.
I nodded, heart thudding hard against my ribs. The air around us felt brittle, like one wrong move might shatter it. I watched as Dwight stepped out of the circle, his boots scuffing lightly against the floor. Marcus stayed where he was, waiting. They were both waiting, really.
Dwight stopped halfway between the circle and the door, his hands hanging loose at his sides, but not relaxed. His fingers twitched once, curling into fists before straightening again. The space between them felt impossibly wide, though it couldn’t have been more than ten feet.
“Hey, Marcus,” Dwight said finally. His voice was steady, but just barely.
Marcus swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “Hey.”
And then Dwight broke. It wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t loud—it was raw, unfiltered. The words spilled out of him in a rush, like they’d been trapped too long and couldn’t wait another second. “I screwed up. I screwed everything up.” His voice cracked, jagged at the edges. “I never should’ve—God, Marcus, I never should’ve done what I did to you. Outing you, running off . . . I was so damn wrong.”
His shoulders dropped, the weight of the apology pulling him down. “I hurt you,” he added, quieter now. “I know I did. And the reason I did it is because I’m a Daddy Dom, too. I resented how comfortable you were in your identity. I was jealous.”
The room held its breath. No one moved, no one spoke. Even the Littles seemed to sense the gravity of the moment, their usual giggles and chatter replaced with a solemn stillness. I rose to my feet without thinking, drawn by the tension strung tight between them.
Dwight’s head dipped slightly, his green eyes shining with something I couldn’t quite name. Shame? Regret? Both? His hands clenched into fists again, tighter this time. “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I needed to say it. I’m sorry, Marcus. For all of it.”
My chest ached, watching him like that—open, vulnerable in a way I’d never seen before. And when I glanced at Marcus, his expression mirrored the same mix of emotions swirling inside me: shock, pain, and something close to hope.
No one dared exhale. We were all waiting for what would come next.
Marcus stared at Dwight for a second that felt like a whole hour. His chest rose and fell, sharp and uneven, before his shoulders finally slumped. Relief softened his face, almost like he’d been holding something heavy for years, and now it was gone. Then he stepped forward and grabbed Dwight in a hug—tight, unpolished, the kind of hug you don’t plan out.
It wasn’t smooth. Dwight froze for half a beat. Then his arms came up, wrapping around Marcus, clinging like he might fall apart if he let go too soon. Neither of them said anything at first, just stood there, two big guys locked together in this mess of awkward forgiveness. Marcus’s voice cracked the silence. “The bakery . . . looks great,” he mumbled, words barely loud enough to catch. “Sorry I missed the opening.”
Dwight pulled back just enough to look at him. His voice wavered, low but full of something raw, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Thanks,” he said, hoarse. “That means a lot.” He hesitated, then added, “I’m glad you’re here.”
And that did it. My throat tightened as tears welled up without asking my permission. I pressed the heel of my hand against my cheek, trying to keep it together, but seeing them like this—it broke something open inside me. Around us, the room started to hum with quiet murmurs, little ripples of approval and soft claps that didn’t feel intrusive. It wrapped around the moment instead, like everyone knew how much this meant.
I sniffled, wiping at my eyes, catching Lucy’s gaze across the room. She smiled, warm and knowing, and gave me a little nod like See? Told you things would work out .
When they finally let go of each other, the tension in Dwight’s shoulders melted. His hands hung loose at his sides instead of balled into fists. Marcus rubbed the back of his neck, looking shy for a guy who had just hugged his estranged brother in front of an entire group. Dwight glanced over at me, his green eyes softer than I’d ever seen them, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
Lucy clapped her hands, breaking the spell. “Alright, folks! Let’s circle up for gratitude time!” Her voice carried that cheerful bossiness that no one dared argue with. Littles and Doms shuffled toward the center of the room, rearranging cushions and settling in again. Dwight stayed close, his fingers brushing mine as we took our spots on the floor. The contact sent a spark up my arm, grounding me.
One by one, people spoke up, sharing sweet little moments or thanks. Rebekah gushed about finding a new set of pastel gel pens. Someone else got misty-eyed talking about their Daddy teaching them how to ride a bike for the first time, as an adult. It was all cozy, heartfelt stuff, the kind that made your chest ache in the best way possible.
Then all eyes turned to Dwight. He cleared his throat, shifting on his cushion. His usual steady confidence looked rattled, like he wasn’t sure he belonged here yet. His thumb tapped against his knee, a nervous tick I’d picked up on after spending so many mornings watching him knead dough. Still, he sat up straighter, squaring his broad shoulders like he was bracing himself.
“I, uh . . .” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve spent a long time pretending I wasn’t this.” He gestured vaguely, his voice quiet but deliberate. “A Daddy Dom. I thought if I ignored it, maybe I could outrun it. But all that did was hurt people I cared about. And myself.”
The room stayed silent, not the bad kind, but the kind where you know everyone’s really listening. My heart pounded, half from nerves for him, half from pride.
Dwight inhaled sharply, then let it out slow. “I’m done running,” he said, voice steadier now. His eyes found mine, locking on, and the weight of his next words hit like a freight train. “And I wouldn’t have made it here without Marie believing in me. And Marcus letting me try again.”
My cheeks burned, and I couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across my face even if I tried. A few sniffles sounded around the circle, followed by scattered applause that grew louder when Dwight ducked his head, sheepish but smiling.
I wanted to leap across the damn cushions and throw my arms around him right then and there, but I stayed put, hands clasped tight in my lap, heart hammering so hard it was a miracle no one heard it. Damn, I was proud of him.
***
There were crayons everywhere.
"How does this even happen?" I asked, crouching down to gather a rogue handful that had rolled under the table. My knees creaked against the wood floor of the community hall, but the ache didn’t bother me. Not tonight.
Dwight chuckled softly next to me, one big hand scooping up stray plushies and stacking them into the open bin nearby. "Controlled chaos," he said, his voice low, warm. "Kind of like life these days."
"Deep thoughts from the crayon-cleanup crew," I teased, bumping my shoulder lightly against his.
He smirked, but it was softer than usual, that guarded edge slipping just enough for me to see the man underneath—the one who’d just poured his heart out in front of a room full of Littles and Daddies. The one who was still figuring out how to let himself be seen.
"Hey, Dwight!" Marcus’s voice carried across the room, casual but deliberate. He stood near the door, hands shoved deep in his pockets, Lucy lingering just behind him.
Dwight straightened, hugging the bin of stuffed animals against his chest like a shield. His jaw tightened, but when Marcus smiled—small, tentative—some of that tension melted away.
"Glad you stuck around," Marcus said, taking a couple of steps closer. "Really, man. It's good seeing you like this. Turned things around and all." His gaze flickered toward me briefly before landing back on Dwight. "Maybe we should hang out sometime? Get Lucy in on it too. Keep it easy, y’know?"
"Yeah," Dwight said, his voice rougher than before. He cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that."
The air between them felt fragile, like glass stretched thin, but neither of them moved to break it. Marcus gave a small nod, then turned back toward Lucy, murmuring something as they slipped out the door.
I stepped closer to Dwight, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. His knuckles were white where they gripped the bin, his fingers trembling ever so slightly.
"Hey." I brushed my arm against his, gentle, grounding. "You okay?"
He exhaled slowly, setting the bin down with care. "Yeah. Just . . . a lot."
"Good 'a lot' or bad 'a lot'?" I tilted my head, catching his eye.
"Mostly good," he admitted, his lips twitching into something that might’ve been a smile if he wasn’t so damn tired.
"Well, come on, Mr. Mostly Good," I said, grabbing his hand and giving it a tug. "Let’s get outta here before Lucy ropes us into vacuum duty."
That got a real laugh out of him, low and rumbling, and I couldn’t help but grin as we made our way to his truck.
Sliding into the passenger seat, I buckled up and glanced over just in time to see him collapse into the driver’s side, running a hand over his face. He stared at the steering wheel for a second, then let out this breathless little laugh.
"Did that just happen?" he asked, looking at me like he half-expected me to pinch him awake.
"Sure did," I said, kicking off my sneakers and tucking one leg under me. "And you killed it. Seriously, Dwight. You were amazing in there."
"You're biased," he muttered, but his ears turned pink, and I knew my words had landed right where they needed to.
"Maybe," I said, leaning over the console until I was inches from his face. "Doesn’t make it any less true."
Before he could argue, I kissed him—soft and slow, letting every ounce of my pride for him pour into that one moment.
When I pulled back, his eyes were wide, bright, and a little dazed.
"Marie . . ." His voice cracked, just slightly, and my chest swelled.
"Yeah, yeah," I said, brushing a curl out of my face like it was no big deal. "I’m proud of you. Deal with it."
His grin split wide, boyish and disbelieving, and I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. This man—this complicated, wonderful man—was mine, and for the first time, it really felt like we were both ready to believe it.
The engine rumbled to life under Dwight’s hand, his fingers gripping the key like he needed it to anchor him. I kicked my other sneaker off and wiggled my toes against the floorboard, still riding the high from the meeting. The truck jolted forward as we pulled out of the gravel lot. My cheeks still felt warm from all the smiles and whispers of pride—and maybe from that kiss—but then Dwight’s phone buzzed.
It was sharp and sudden, cutting through the soft hum of the heater. He glanced at the screen, and I watched his whole face shift—like someone had just knocked the wind right out of him. His knuckles went white on the wheel for a second before he eased off, jaw locking tight.
"Who is it?" I asked, sitting up straighter. My voice sounded too loud in the cab. Something heavy twisted low in my gut.
He hesitated, thumb hovering over the phone like it might bite him. "My manager," he said finally, low and flat.
"Your band manager?" I tilted my head, trying to read his expression. It was like watching a storm roll in—green eyes clouding over with something dark and tense. "You should answer it," I added, trying to sound casual, though my pulse quickened. "Might just be some paperwork or—"
"Yeah," he muttered, cutting me off. His shoulders sagged, but his hand shook slightly as he swiped to accept the call. He put the truck in park near the curb, the engine idling rough beneath us. "Hello?"
I leaned back, watching him carefully. His lips pressed into a thin line as whoever it was started talking. A muscle jumped in his jaw. My nails dug into my thigh.
"That’s not fair," Dwight said after a stretch of silence, his voice tight, controlled. Like he was holding back a flood. "I don’t owe you—" His gaze flicked to me for half a second, then away again. "No, I’m not leaving."
My stomach dropped. What wasn’t fair? Leaving where?
His grip on the steering wheel tightened until I could see the tendons flexing along the back of his hand. Whatever the person on the other end was saying, it wasn’t good. I couldn’t hear it, but I could feel it, thick and suffocating between us. The tension climbed higher with every second.
"Listen—" Dwight started, but stopped just as fast, his mouth snapping shut. His free hand came up to rub at his forehead, dragging down across his face like he could pull himself together by sheer will. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, raspier. "No. I’m not... I’m not coming back."
"Coming back?" I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. He didn’t look at me.
Another long pause, filled only by the faint static of the caller’s muffled ranting. Dwight’s chest rose and fell once, sharply, and then he hung up. Just like that. The silence afterward was deafening.
Slowly, he set the phone down on the console, like it weighed more than it should have. Then he let his head fall back against the seat, staring straight ahead, unblinking.
"Okay," I said cautiously, my voice cracking around the edges. "What—"
"They’re threatening to sue me," he said, cutting me off. His words were slow and deliberate, each one hitting like a hammer. "Unless I go back on tour."
"Tour?" I echoed dumbly. My heart thudded hard against my ribs.
"Yeah." He let out a bitter laugh, but it was empty, hollow. His hands stayed clenched on the steering wheel, even though we weren’t moving. "They’ve got some contract bullshit about unfinished commitments. They think I owe them another leg of shows—" He broke off, shaking his head. "And if I don’t give it to them, they’ll bury me in legal fees."
"Jesus," I breathed. My mind raced, trying to keep up, make sense of it. He hadn’t talked much about his band days, and now I wondered how much he’d kept locked away.
"I have to leave town." His voice cracked, raw and uneven. Finally, he turned to me, green eyes dark with something close to dread. "I don’t know when I’ll be back."
The words hit me like a punch to the chest. My mouth opened, but no sound came out.