Chapter Twenty-Two
Spencer
Sure enough, just down the road, Spencer spotted him. Jamie was walking alone, head down, arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to hold in all the pieces. Spencer pulled over fast, barely putting the truck in park before jumping out.
“Jamie!” he called.
Jamie looked up, startled, eyes red and puffy. Spencer didn’t hesitate. He crossed the distance in a few long strides, wrapped his arms around him, and pulled him in tight. Jamie didn’t resist—he just sagged into him like he’d been holding himself up too long.
Without a word, Spencer scooped him up, tossed him gently over his shoulder like he weighed nothing, and carried him back to the truck. Jamie didn’t protest. He just let himself be held.
Spencer opened the door, set him down in the passenger seat, and buckled him in like he was something precious.
Because he was.
Spencer sat in the truck with the engine off, the heater humming low as snow drifted softly outside.
Jamie was beside him, small and quiet, his shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear into the seat.
Something inside Spencer had cracked wide open when Jamie’s suffering became his.
He hated seeing Jamie like that—hurt, shaken, carrying the weight of people who didn’t deserve him.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with Billy,” Spencer said, watching Jamie’s profile in the dim light. “Whatever he said was a lie. The little bastard is a professional liar, cheater, and asshole all rolled up into one.”
Jamie didn’t look at him right away. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I saw Tom.”
Spencer’s heart sank. Of course, he saw Tom. He reached over, took Jamie’s hand in his own. “And… do you want to talk about it?”
Jamie shook his head, then whispered, “I want to go to the cabin.”
Spencer squeezed his hand. “You mean our cabin, right?”
That’s when the tears came, slowly at first, and then steadily, streaming down Jamie’s pale cheeks.
Spencer’s chest tightened. It about killed him to see Jamie cry like that, so raw and vulnerable.
He didn’t start the engine. He didn’t rush him.
He just leaned in, kissed Jamie softly, and brushed his fingers along his earlobes, the way he knew calmed him down.
Jamie cried quietly, his breath hitching, and Spencer held him through it, letting the silence speak for them. No fixing. No rushing. Just being there. Spencer grabbed a tissue from the glove compartment and wiped Jamie’s tears.
Eventually, Jamie pulled back, his eyes still wet but his lips curled into a soft smile. “You’re so good to me,” he said. “No one ever cares about me like you do. And I didn’t have to do anything for it.”
Spencer’s throat tightened. He cupped Jamie’s cheek. “I fell in love with who you are. I want you as is.”
“I need you, Daddy Spencer, not because I can’t live on my own, but because I love how you make me feel. I don’t want anything to happen to you because I want you to be my daddy.” Jamie pulled out his binky and sucked on it.
Spencer leaned in, their bodies close, and kissed Jamie, their hearts pounding in unison. “You’re my boy now.”
“You’re the best daddy ever.” He lifted his binky and stuffed it into his mouth again.
Spencer kissed the top of Jamie’s head, lingering there for a moment longer than usual. The scent of Jamie’s shampoo—pine and something warm—grounded him, but it didn’t soften the knot of anger tightening in his chest.
“We can head for Brentwood tonight and get your things,” he said quietly, trying to keep his voice steady. “You don’t need to see Tom at the mixer.”
Jamie didn’t answer right away. He just sat there, small and quiet, letting the silence stretch between them. Then, slowly, he reached up and took his binky out, slipping it into his pocket like he was packing away a piece of comfort.
“Tom took my key,” Jamie said, voice low.
“He took your key?” The words hit like a slap. He felt his pulse spike, a hot rush of disbelief flooding through him. “Are you serious?”
Jamie shrugged. “I don’t care anymore.”
But Spencer did. He cared a lot. Too much.
The idea of Tom—cold, controlling Tom—stripping Jamie of access to his own space, his own things, made Spencer’s blood boil.
It wasn’t just petty. It was cruel. It was calculated.
And it was exactly the kind of thing Tom would do to remind someone they were disposable.
“So, he plans to keep your things?” Spencer asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it.
Jamie nodded. “He packed my stuff and said he’ll ship it out.”
Spencer clenched his jaw. “Where is he shipping it out to?”
“Nowhere,” Jamie said, eyes flicking away. “He told me to email him my new address.”
Spencer’s fists curled in his lap. The audacity.
Tom had boxed up Jamie’s life like it was a return-to-sender situation, like Jamie was just another item he’d grown tired of.
Spencer wanted to drive to Brentwood right now, kick down Tom’s door, and make him understand exactly what it meant to mess with someone Spencer loved.
“Then I’ll give him our Montana address,” Spencer said, voice tight. “If that’s okay?”
Jamie nodded, and Spencer saw the flicker of relief in his eyes. That was all he needed. Tom might’ve taken Jamie’s key, but he hadn’t taken Jamie’s worth. Not anymore. Spencer would make damn sure of that.
“I want to go to the mixer. With you at my side. I’m proud to be seen with you.”
Spencer smiled, heart full. “Can we stop by Nathan’s to get your things?”
Jamie nodded.
Spencer wiped his tears away with a tissue again.
They drove in comfortable silence, the kind that only comes after shared pain. When they arrived at Nathan’s cabin, Alfie met them at the door. He said little—just pulled Jamie into a hug, holding him tight like he understood everything with no need for words.
Spencer watched them, grateful. Jamie had people now. Real ones. Ones who stayed.
The cabin smelled of pine needles and dust, a smell Spencer loved. He hauled in Jamie’s backpack and suitcase, dropping them by the creaky bedframe. “Okay, those are your things for now,” Spencer announced, grinning.
“Thanks.” Jamie was lying naked on the bed.
Spencer grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the small bathroom. “C’mon. We need to get clean before the main event.”
The shower was a tight fit, but that was the point.
The water hit hot and steady, steam quickly fogging up the glass door.
Spencer leaned back against the tiles, letting the heat soak into his shoulders, watching Jamie get his hair wet.
It was a simple thing, but it made his chest feel tight in the best way.
He reached out, tracing the line of Jamie’s jaw, his thumb smoothing over a drop of water on his cheekbone.
Jamie’s eyes met his. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, yourself.”
Spencer pulled him closer, the water sluicing between them, and kissed him.
It was slow and deep, unhurried. There was no rush.
Jamie’s hands came up to cradle his face, his thumbs stroking his temples.
They stood like that for a long time, just kissing under the spray, the world outside the foggy glass completely forgotten.
It was less about getting clean and more about this: the private intimacy, the slide of skin against skin, the simple, profound comfort of being together.
Eventually, the water cooled down. They reluctantly turned it off and stepped out, grabbing towels. Spencer ruffled his own hair dry and then did the same to Jamie, who laughed and batted his hands away.
“Okay, okay, enough,” Jamie chuckled, his cheeks pink from the steam and the attention.
Spencer, feeling a flutter of nerves, went to his closet. He took a deep breath and pulled out the new outfits, laying them side-by-side on the quilt.
Two pairs of dark denim jeans. Two blue denim button-ups. Two pairs of scuffed, honest-to-god cowboy boots. And finally, with a flourish, two crisp, new cowboy hats.
Jamie stared, his mouth slightly agape. Then, a slow, brilliant smile spread across his face. “You did not.”
“I did,” Spencer said, his own grin a little wobbly. “We’re gonna be the best-dressed guys there, and there won’t be any doubt about who is a couple.”
“I love it.” Jamie picked up the smaller shirt. “We’re gonna look like a couple of ridiculously handsome twin cowboys.” He ran up to Spencer, wrapping him in a hug and giving him a sweet kiss. “Big thank you, Daddy Spencer.”
“Just getting my boy used to dressing like a cowboy when we’re back home in Montana.”
Getting dressed felt like preparing for battle, but a fun one. They helped each other with the stubborn snaps on the cuffs and debated the angle for the hats. Staring at their reflection in the dark window glass, a matched set, Spencer felt a wave of affection so strong it almost knocked him over.
The truck cab was filled with the scent of clean denim and the low hum of the engine as they started down the dark, winding road toward the mixer.
“You nervous?” Spencer asked, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel.
“Terrified,” Jamie admitted freely, staring out the windshield. “I feel like we’re wearing a sign that says, ‘Look at us, we’re together!’ in giant, denim letters.”
Spencer reached over, his hand finding Jamie’s on the seat. He laced their fingers together. “Well, we are. Together, I mean. And we look good.”
Jamie squeezed his hand. “We do, don’t we?” He was quiet for a minute. “You think anyone’s gonna give us trouble?”
“I don’t know,” Spencer said honestly. “Maybe a look or two. And I’m not letting a bunch of strangers I’ll never see again ruin our night. I get to dance with the best-looking guy there. That’s all I care about.”
Jamie brought their joined hands up and kissed Spencer’s knuckles. “When did you get so smooth?”
“Must be the cowboy hat,” Spencer joked, feeling his nerves settle. “Gives me confidence.”
“Good,” Jamie said, his voice soft. “Then I’ll stick close to you and your confident hat all night.”
“Deal.” Spencer smiled, his thumb stroking the back of Jamie’s hand. The headlights cut a path through the darkness, leading them toward the noise and the lights and the music, and for the first time all evening, Spencer felt genuinely ready.