Saving Little Clark (Brave Daddies #4)

Chapter 1 Clark

As I searched for my phone on the coffee table, my gaze fell on a small, innocuous envelope resting on the polished wood. My name was written on the front in a familiar, spiky scrawl, the sight of it sending a sudden chill down my spine.

With trembling fingers, I reached out and picked up the letter, my heart pounding in my ears as I tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of paper, the words typed out in stark black ink.

"Do you remember the betrayal you repaid me with, in return for my true love?"

I felt the blood drain from my face, my lungs seizing up with a sharp, sudden panic. I knew that handwriting, knew the twisted, possessive mind behind those words.

Sterling. My ex-boyfriend, the man I had once thought I would spend the rest of my life with. The man who had made that life a living hell with his jealousy, his rage, his drunken ramblings about how I would never be good enough for anyone else.

It had been nearly a year since our explosive breakup, a year of rebuilding and healing and learning to trust myself again. But now, with this ominous message, it felt like I was right back where I started, cowering in fear of the man who had once claimed to love me.

Memories flashed through my mind like a sickening slideshow. The time Sterling had thrown a vase against the wall in a fit of anger, the shattered glass cutting into my bare feet as I tried to calm him down. The night he had stumbled home reeking of whiskey and grabbed me by the throat, his fingers digging into my skin as he slurred baseless accusations and insults.

I thought I was done with that life, done with the constant fear. But now, it seemed like Sterling was determined to drag me back into his twisted world, to punish me for daring to go to the cops for what he did.

Part of me wanted to call my best friend Alex, to spill everything. But a larger, more insistent part of me recoiled at the idea of burdening him with my mess.

No, I decided, taking a shaky breath and crumpling the letter in my fist. I would handle this on my own. I wouldn't give Sterling the satisfaction of knowing he could still get to me.

I would ignore his message, go on with my life as if nothing had happened. Eventually, he would get bored and move on, and I would be free.

I couldn't help but think back to the early days of our relationship. Back when I had been so naive, so desperate to believe in the goodness of others, that I had convinced myself I could fix Sterling.

I had always been a fixer, a nurturer, someone who wanted to help and heal the broken parts of the people I loved. And when I first met Sterling, with his charming smile and wounded eyes, I thought I had found my ultimate project.

He seemed so lost, so in need of love and understanding. And I, in my youthful arrogance, had believed that I could be the one to provide it. That if I just loved him hard enough, fiercely enough, I could chase away the demons that haunted him and make him whole again.

But as time went on, as the cracks in his facade began to show, I realized that the demons weren't external at all. They were a part of him, woven into the very fabric of his being. And no amount of love or patience or understanding could ever truly banish them.

I still remembered the moment I first glimpsed the darkness that lurked beneath his charming exterior. It had been a little over a year into our relationship, and we were arguing about something silly and inconsequential. I made an offhand comment about one of his friends, and suddenly, his eyes had gone cold and hard, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he had said, his grip on my arm tightening to the point of pain. "You don't know anything about my friends, about my life. You're just a naive little boy playing at being a grown-up."

I reeled back as if he had slapped me, my heart pounding in my chest. I had never seen him like this before, so full of rage and contempt. It was like a switch had been flipped, revealing a stranger wearing my boyfriend's face.

Shaking myself out of the painful reverie, I now reached for the package that accompanied Sterling's letter and tore away the wrapping. There, nestled in a bed of tissue paper, was a small wooden box. Intricately carved with delicate swirls and whorls, inlaid with bits of colored glass that caught the light like tiny jewels.

I recognized it instantly. It was the box I had given Sterling for his birthday, just a few short months before everything had fallen apart. I had saved up for weeks to buy it, scouring antique shops and flea markets until I found the perfect one.

I was so proud of it, so excited to see his face when he opened it. And he seemed to love it, held it reverently in his hands and whispered words of gratitude and awe.

But now, seeing it again, knowing that it had been in his possession all this time, it felt tainted somehow. Like a reminder of all the lies and manipulations that poisoned our love.

Nestled among a collection of mementos and trinkets, was a folded piece of paper. This note was different. It was his first love letter to me. I scanned the words, my eyes blurring with unshed tears as I read the declarations of devotion and passion, the false promises of forever and always.

But then, just a few short weeks later, I had stumbled upon the truth. The secret he had been hiding for a decade, the dark and twisted depths of his soul. I closed my eyes, the memory washing over me like a tidal wave. The shock, the horror, the sickening realization that the man I loved was not who I thought he was. That he was capable of things I had never even imagined, things that made my blood run cold and my stomach churn.

With a determined sigh, I now closed the lid of the box and tucked it away in the back of my closet. And then, in a moment of comfort-seeking, I reached for my favorite stuffed animal, a plush lion named Roary.

I hugged him close to my chest, burying my face in his soft, fuzzy fur. I closed my eyes, letting the gentle weight of him in my arms remind me that I was safe, that I was loved.

As I drifted off to sleep, sucking on my blue binky to soothe myself, I made a silent vow to myself. A promise to keep fighting for the life and love I deserved.

The next evening, as I stepped into the colorful, cozy confines of my apartment, I could feel the stresses of the adult world melting away, replaced by a bubbly, effervescent joy that only came with embracing my Little side. The space was a reflection of my innermost self - warm and inviting, with soft pastel walls and plush, oversized furniture perfect for snuggling and pillow forts. Every surface was adorned with whimsical knick-knacks and treasures - a collection of snow globes from my travels, a shelf of well-loved stuffed animals, a brightly colored fingerpainted masterpiece hanging proudly on the fridge.

It was my safe haven, my happy place, and the only spot in the world where I felt truly free to be myself, no masks or pretenses required. And there was no one I loved sharing it with more than my best friend and fellow Little, Alex.

We had barely made it through the front door before we were shedding our grown-up personas like old snakeskins, giggling and bouncing with giddy excitement. Alex immediately made a beeline for the massive toy chest in the corner, rummaging through its contents with a mischievous grin.

"Aha!" he exclaimed, holding up a brightly colored Lego set triumphantly. "I knew you still had this bad boy stashed away. Remember when we started building it last summer and got distracted by that epic water balloon fight in the park?"

I laughed, the memory washing over me like a burst of sunshine. "How could I forget? You nailed Mrs. Henderson from 4B right in the bouffant. I thought she was going to have a hissy fit right there on the sidewalk."

Alex snickered, already dumping the Lego pieces out onto the plush carpet and sorting them into piles. "Totally worth the dirty looks and passive aggressive notes on the building bulletin board. That old bat needs to learn to lighten up and live a little."

I plopped down beside him, cross-legged and eager, my fingers itching to start creating. We had been working on this particular set for ages - a sprawling, fantastical castle with soaring turrets, a drawbridge, and even a working catapult.

As we lost ourselves in the familiar rhythm of snapping pieces together and trading ideas, our conversation began to drift into playful territory.

"All I'm saying is, Batman would make a kickass Daddy," Alex argued, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he focused on attaching a particularly fiddly brick. "He's strong, protective, and he's got all those cool gadgets to keep his boy safe and entertained."

I snorted, shaking my head in amused disagreement. "Yeah, but he's also broody as hell and emotionally constipated. Can you imagine trying to get cuddles and reassurance from the Dark Knight? He'd probably just grunt and disappear into the Batcave for three days."

Alex paused, considering. "Okay, fair point. But counterargument: Superman. He's got the whole gentle giant thing going on, plus he can literally fly you anywhere in the world for picnics and adventures."

"Good one," I acknowledged, snapping a tiny flag onto the top of a turret. "But consider this: Captain America. He's the ultimate protector, plus he's got that whole wholesome vibe that would make him so good at praise and validation."

Alex's eyes lit up, a dreamy smile spreading across his face. "Oh man, can you imagine? Being all cozy in footie pajamas, curled up on the couch while he reads you bedtime stories and tells you what a good boy you are? I'm swooning just thinking about it."

I giggled, warmth blooming in my chest at the adorable image.

"Speaking of ultimate showdowns," he said, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "I think it's time we finally settle the age-old debate: strawberry or chocolate ice cream? Which one reigns supreme?"

I groaned playfully, dropping my head into my hands. "Alex, we've been over this a million times. Chocolate is the obvious winner. It's rich, decadent, and it goes with everything. Strawberry is just a one-trick pony."

"Blasphemy!" Alex cried, clutching his chest in mock-outrage. "Strawberry is the taste of summer, the flavor of happiness itself! Remember when your dad took us to that farm upstate to pick fresh berries? You were in heaven, your face and hands stained pink for days afterwards."

I smiled softly at the memory, a bittersweet pang of nostalgia twisting in my gut. It had been one of the last truly carefree moments of my adult life, before my dad died of cancer.

As the afternoon wore on and the light outside began to fade into a soft, dusky purple, Alex cleared his throat, a hint of nervous excitement creeping into his voice.

"So, I've been meaning to tell you something," he said, fiddling with a loose brick absently. "Remember that Daddy/Little club I joined a few months ago? The one you were kind of iffy about at first?"

I nodded, a flicker of apprehension mingling with curiosity in my chest. I remembered the first event he had attended, a "Teddy Bear Picnic" in the park. He had come home that evening with excitement in his eyes and grass stains on his overalls, clutching a brand-new stuffed bear to his chest like a precious treasure.

"It was magical, Clarkie," he had gushed, bouncing on the balls of his feet with barely contained glee. "There were so many Littles there, but everyone was so welcoming and friendly. We played tag and had sack races and ate PB&J sandwiches with the crusts cut off. I felt like I finally found a place where I could be totally, unapologetically myself."

Seeing the joy and contentment radiating from my best friend, I felt a pang of longing. But the wounds from my past relationship were still too raw, the scars too fresh and tender to risk exposing to a new group of people.

But now, as he crawled around my living room floor, his eyes sparkling with mischief and barely-contained excitement, I could tell he had something up his sleeve.

"So," he drawled, plopping down beside me and resting his chin on his hands like a gossipy schoolgirl. "A little birdie told me that the club is having a super special, ultra-amazing, once-in-a-lifetime event next weekend. And you, my dear Clarkie, are going to be my date!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? And what exactly is this mysterious event that has you practically vibrating out of your onesie?"

Alex grinned, bouncing in place like a kid on a sugar high. "Okay, picture this," he said, waving his hands in the air for dramatic effect. "A grand ballroom, decked out in twinkling lights and shimmering fabrics. Everyone dressed up in the most adorable fairy tale costumes - princesses and knights, fairies and woodland creatures. There's a giant story time circle where all the Littles can cuddle up and listen to classic bedtime tales, complete with voices and sound effects."

He hopped to his feet, waddling as he twirled around the room with an imaginary partner. "And then, the main event. a magical, enchanted dance floor, where Daddies and Littles can waltz and foxtrot and cha-cha the night away. It's like a scene straight out of Cinderella, only instead of glass slippers and pumpkin carriages, it's light-up sneakers and sticker-covered sippy cups!"

"I don't know," I sighed, picking at a loose thread on my sweater. "It sounds amazing. But after everything that happened with Sterling, I'm just not sure if I'm ready to put myself out there again. What if I get hurt? What if no one wants to be my Daddy, or worse, what if I fall for someone who turns out to be just as toxic and manipulative as he was?"

Alex's expression softened, his eyes shining with understanding and empathy. He crawled closer, taking my hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Oh, Clarkie," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "There are so many good, kind, caring Daddies out there who would be lucky to have a Little as sweet and special as you. And if anyone tries to mess with you or make you feel small in a bad way, they'll have to go through me first!"

He puffed out his chest, striking a heroic pose that made me giggle in spite of myself.

But I could still feel the tendrils of doubt and insecurity creeping around the edges of my mind, the old fears and scars that refused to fade. "I appreciate that, Lex. But I don't know if I have the courage to take that leap again. Not yet, anyway."

Alex pursed his lips, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. "Well then, I guess you leave me no choice," he said, getting down on all fours and crawling over to his backpack with a determined air. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, and this definitely qualifies as a Code Red friendship emergency."

I watched, equal parts curious and apprehensive, as he rummaged through the pockets and zippers of his bag, muttering to himself under his breath. After a moment, he let out a triumphant "Aha!" and spun around, holding something aloft like a trophy.

It was a small, glittery token, shaped like a star and emblazoned with the words "Favor Owed" in loopy, iridescent script. I felt my eyes widen, a surprised laugh bubbling up in my throat.

"Is that what I think it is?" I asked, shaking my head in amused disbelief.

Alex grinned, holding the token out to me with a flourish. "You bet your sweet bippy it is. One genuine, bona fide, no-takesies-backsies Favor Token, earned fair and square by yours truly."

I took the token, running my thumb over the smooth, sparkly surface with a rush of fond nostalgia. The Favor Token system had been Alex's brainchild, a way for us to reward each other for significant acts of friendship and support. Over the years, we had exchanged them for everything from late-night ice cream runs during finals week to holding each other's hair back during the world's worst hangover.

But the most memorable token had been the one Alex had given me the day I came out to my parents, trembling and terrified of their reaction. He had been right there by my side, holding my hand and wiping my tears, a solid and unwavering presence in the face of my deepest fears.

When it was all over, when the hugs had been exchanged and the happy tears dried, he had pressed a token into my palm with a soft, proud smile.

"For being the bravest, most badass best friend a boy could ask for," he had said, his voice thick with emotion. "I know that was scary as hell, but you did it. You lived your truth, and I am so proud of you."

I had carried that token with me everywhere for months afterward, a tangible reminder of the unconditional love and acceptance I had in my corner.

And now, as I looked down at the shimmering star in my hand, I felt that same swell of warmth and gratitude filling my chest. Because I knew, without a doubt, that Alex would never steer me wrong. That he always had my best interests at heart.

"Alright, you win," I said, a slow smile spreading across my face. "I'll go to the Enchanted Evening with you. But I reserve the right to bail if things get too overwhelming, deal?"

Alex let out a whoop of joy, tackling me in a bear hug that sent us both tumbling back onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and laughter. "Deal! Oh man, this is going to be epic. We're going to find you the Daddy of your dreams, Clarkie, just you wait and see. It's going to be like a real-life fairy tale, only with more glitter and sippy cups and adult-sized footie pajamas!"

As we lay there, giggling and breathless with excitement, I felt a flicker of something new and hopeful sparking to life in my chest.