Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Clayton
The first thing I noticed when I woke was warmth. Not just the kind that came from the blankets or the steady heat in the room, but the quiet kind that seeped into your chest when you realized you weren’t cold, or alone.
Felix’s arm had been heavy around me through the night, not trapping, just…there. Solid. Safe. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept like that—not braced, not pretending, not listening for the sound of someone slamming a door.
It didn't matter what time Jason ever rolled in, he expected me to be there waiting.
I lay there for a while, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest. He looked younger in sleep.
Less guarded. I wanted to stay here forever, but the part of me that could never sit still started whispering that I should do something—show I was grateful, make myself useful before he woke up and remembered I was still here.
I slipped out of bed carefully, tucking the blanket back around him. He didn’t stir.
The house was quiet as I padded down the hallway in my socks. The floor was cool underfoot, and the faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air—clean, cedar, steady. It made me smile before I even realized I was doing it.
In the kitchen, I found the coffee. Just smelling it was enough to make my chest loosen another notch. It felt like a normal morning—something I hadn’t had in too long. I started humming before I knew it, pulling out eggs and bacon from the fridge, setting water to boil.
I wanted him to wake to warmth. To something soft.
The rhythm of cooking calmed me—stirring, flipping, plating. I found cinnamon in the cupboard and added a dash to the toast, just because. The way Mom used to.
My phone sat on the counter, and when I scrolled through playlists, my thumb landed on Christmas Favorites.
It was muscle memory, I guessed—from years of running the holiday display at the toy store.
Back when I used to start every day with carols and the smell of sugar cookies from the mall bakery next door.
I smiled, remembering the chaos of those mornings—tangled garlands, sticky candy canes, kids shrieking with laughter. I’d loved it. The mess, the sparkle, the believing.
Now the sound of “Jingle Bells” even quiet echoed in the space, and for a second, I almost felt like that man again. The one who made other people happy.
I was just finishing the eggs when I heard soft footsteps behind me.
“Morning,” Felix said, voice still rough from sleep.
I jumped and nearly dropped the spatula. “Sorry! I was trying not to wake you.”
He leaned against the doorframe, looking at me in that way that made my stomach flutter—like he saw me, not the mess I’d been lately. “You succeeded. Barely. I thought the coffee was a dream.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Breakfast is ready. I was keeping it warm.”
His eyes landed on the plates. “You’ve been up a while.”
“Not really,” I said, suddenly shy. “I just…didn’t want to waste the morning. I hope it’s okay.”
“More than okay,” he said, and the warmth in his voice made my throat go tight.
I handed him a mug. “One sugar, right?”
His eyebrows rose. “You remembered.”
“Of course.”
He took a sip and smiled, that lazy, dangerous kind of smile that made my pulse trip.
The song changed to “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas,” and I realized too late that I’d left the Santa hat out on the chair. He followed my glance, smirking.
“Planning something festive?”
I laughed, embarrassed. “Kind of. I’ve got a booking with the agency this afternoon. Office party in town. They need a Santa.”
“I bet they do,” he said, softer this time, almost fond.
That warmth spread through me again, curling deep in my chest.
“You’ve got work too, right?” I asked, setting his plate in front of him.
“Yeah. Although we’re winding down at this time of year.”
I nodded, sitting across from him. “I can lock up after I go. I’ll be back after seven.”
He studied me for a long moment, like he was memorizing something. “You really don’t stop, do you?”
The question made me blush. “I like keeping busy,” I admitted. “It feels strange to just…be still.”
He reached across the counter, covering my hand with his. His palm was warm, grounding. “Then keep doing what makes you feel safe. Just remember you don’t have to earn your place here.”
I couldn’t speak for a second. The words hit harder than I expected. “Yes, sir,” I whispered, and hoped he didn’t see the way my throat moved.
The music swelled again, and for a heartbeat I thought, Maybe this is what home feels like. Not a place. A moment. A person.
And I wasn’t ready to let it go.
I’d been walking on air all afternoon. The office party was loud, bright, full of cheap cookies and the soft shriek of kids who couldn’t believe Santa had shown up in person.
I’d nailed the entrance, ignored my nerves, and even the adults seemed delighted.
There was a line for selfies, a contest for the best Christmas sweater, and at least three people had tried to slip their wish lists into my sack.
I’d smiled until my cheeks hurt. I only had two hours with the kids then they were running an adult Secret Santa.
I hated those, but beggars can’t be choosers and all that.
Then I saw him.
Jason.
He was at the back of the conference room, red tie already loosened, whiskey in one hand, phone in the other. For a second, I thought maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was just someone who looked like him. But the second he looked up, his gaze locked on mine and I knew.
Damn.
I almost dropped the parcel I was giving the little girl. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought everyone could hear it. I wanted to run. I wanted to disappear. But I couldn’t. I was in the suit, the beard, the boots. Santa didn’t panic.
Jason staggered toward the table. I tried to focus on the kids—a little boy tugging at my sleeve, a woman with a camera trying to get her toddler to smile—but I could feel Jason’s eyes burning into me.
He didn’t wait. He cut right through the crowd, already talking too loud.
“Clayton? Is that you?” His words slurred, but the contempt was razor sharp. “Aren’t you a little old for this shit?”
The room seemed to shrink. Every nerve in my body screamed to run, but I just stood there, cookies trembling in my hand.
“Hey, look everybody—it’s my ex. Dressed as Santa Claus.” He barked a laugh. “Didn’t think you could sink any lower, but here we are.”
A couple of people glanced over. I wanted to melt into the floor. One of his coworkers distracted him while the mom got the last little boy away safely. I needed to leave right now, but I had the adult presents to do. He started with the voice. He always did.
“Hey, everybody, did you know Clayton here used to be a big shot? Now he’s Santa. I guess it’s true what they say about hitting rock bottom.” Jason shoved his way to the front, sloshing whiskey on the carpet. His eyes were red. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.
A few people snickered. Someone called out, “Give Santa a lap dance, Jason!” but I could see the way the women nearest the food table stiffened and glanced away. The HR lady looked like she might choke on her cookie.
I tried to ignore it. My whole body felt cold, like the suit wasn’t even there.
Jason kept going. “C’mon, Clayton, let’s get a picture together! For old times’ sake.” He shouldered towards me, reeking of the aftershave I hated and whiskey. His hand landed heavy on my knee.
I tried to stand, but Jason was faster. He flopped right into my lap, knocking the sack of presents sideways, and hollered, “Santa, I’ve been a VERY naughty boy this year.”
A roar of laughter from the guys near the bar. One of them was filming with his phone.
I flushed, heat crawling up my neck. I wanted to disappear. I wanted Felix, or anyone, to just tell me I could leave. But Felix wasn’t here. This was on me.
Jason twisted, pressing his ass hard into my thigh. “Don’t you want to ask what I want for Christmas?” He grinned, teeth bared. “I want a man who doesn’t cry all the time. You hear that, Santa? Think you can manage that?”
The laughter got sharper. Close to mean now. A couple people muttered, but nobody tried to stop him. I tried to shift Jason off me, gently, not wanting to make a scene, but he just braced his arm around my shoulders and leaned in, breath hot and sour.
“Bet you never thought you’d end up like this,” he hissed. “Pathetic, washed up, begging for scraps. How’s that working out for you?”
I tried to breathe. I stared at a spot on the carpet, counting the blinking lights on the fake tree. One, two, three. I could survive this. I’d survived worse.
Jason’s hand slid up, grabbing the fake beard. He yanked, hard, almost tearing it off my face. “Let’s see the real Clayton, huh? Let’s show everyone what you look like without the mask.”
The beard came loose, snapping against my cheek. It stung as he ripped it off. My eyes watered, but I blinked fast, refusing to let him see it.
A few people started shifting, uncomfortable now. Someone called, “Hey, Jason, time to go,” but Jason just laughed, swinging the beard in circles.
“Did you know Clayton here used to beg me to take care of him? Said he couldn’t sleep alone, couldn’t even eat unless I made him. Like a little bitch baby.”
The laughter died. The HR lady’s eyes went wide. A couple of people started to look uncomfortable, and someone’s phone dropped to the carpet with a thud. I tried to breathe. I could feel sweat prickling, slick on my palms. My whole body wanted to shut down. Just…shut down and disappear.
Jason leered at me, still waving the fake beard. “Hey, Clayton. Remember last Christmas? When you got those little kid pajamas and thought I'd wanna take them off you? What’s the matter, Santa, do you need a nap now?”
I stared at the floor. I couldn’t move. If I tried, I’d trip, or cry, or both. I’d never felt so exposed. Not even when Jason had thrown me out.
He twisted, grinding his ass down, grabbing my arm so hard I could feel the fingers bite. “You’re not even a real man, you know that? You’re just a fuck-up in a costume. Nobody wants a sad old loser like you. They just pay you to play dress-up.”
My ears rang. The color drained out of the room. I felt like a kid in trouble, frozen in place while everyone stared.
He leaned in, hot breath right in my face. “You know what I want for Christmas? I want you to admit you’re pathetic. That you like being treated like a baby. C’mon. Tell everyone.”
I wanted to die. Right here, right now. Maybe it was the way the room had gone dead quiet.
Maybe it was the way a few people actually looked disgusted.
Maybe it was just the way my hands shook, or the way my chest hurt, or the way I just wanted Felix, needed Felix, needed someone to just tell me I was okay, even if I wasn’t.
I swallowed and tried to push Jason off my lap. “Please get up,” I said, voice shaking. “You’re hurting me.”
He sneered, twisting tighter, his knuckles digging into my thigh. “You always were a whiner. No wonder you lost your job. No wonder nobody wants you. You’re just a sad little man who can’t even take care of himself.”
I should have fought back. I should have said something. But my brain just went white. I could feel the sweat down my spine, the tears gathering in the corner of my eye. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t. Not here. Not for him.
Someone finally stepped in. A woman in a green dress, face set hard. “Jason, you need to stop. Now.” She got her hands between us, pried his fingers off my arm. “You’re drunk. Go home.”
Jason shoved at her, but not hard. “What? You want a turn? I bet Santa here would love that. Sit on his lap.”
My hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t hold the sack. It slipped to the floor, spilling the Secret Santa presents. “Jason, that’s enough.” The HR lady’s voice cracked, but she stepped closer. “You’re making a scene.”
He ignored her. “You want to see something funny?” He turned, hauling me after him. “Come on, Santa, it's a party. Let's see you strip.”
He shoved at my shoulder. I stumbled. My knee hit the edge of the table, and I almost went down, but I caught myself. Barely.
The room was dead quiet now. Nobody was laughing.
Jason leaned in, hot breath in my ear. “You’re pathetic. You always were. You’re not even a real sub, you know that? Just a needy, whiny mess.”
He said it quietly, for me alone. Like a secret. Like he was proud of it.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to disappear. I just kept picking up the presents, head down, hoping he’d get bored.
He didn’t.
He grabbed at the hat, yanked it off, sent it spinning across the room. Then he tried for the buttons on my suit, but his fingers were clumsy. I caught his hand, finally, and pushed it off.
“Stop,” I said, but it came out a whisper.
He sneered. “Make me.”
I didn’t even try. I just stood there, shaking, heat and shame burning right through me.
The woman in the green dress stepped in. “Jason, you need to leave. Now. Or I’m calling building security.”
He glared at her, but she didn’t flinch. She just stared him down, arms folded. “Go home,” she snapped. And finally, I took advantage of his distraction and nearly bolted from the room.