Chapter Twenty-Three
Jamie
The Find a Daddy Christmas mixer had finally arrived.
Jamie and Daddy Spencer strolled into the cabin, side by side, boots clicking against the wooden floor, both dressed like they’d coordinated for a cowboy magazine—dark jeans, denim shirts, and the cowboy boots made Jamie walk taller and he loved that.
His favorite was matching cowboy hats. He never had one and was enjoying it especially looking exactly like Daddy Spencer.
The first room they entered was more of a welcome room, decked out with twinkling lights wrapped around birch trees, and oversized ornaments hung from the ceiling.
Name tags and candy canes sat on a table, with a velvet-lined box next to Nathan and Alfie, who were wearing matching red shirts, black slacks, and Santa hats.
Nathan greeted them. “Welcome, gentlemen.” He held out a velvet-lined box with a mischievous grin. “Jingle Bells” thumped in the background, just loud enough to make conversation slightly awkward. “Daddies wear black masks and littles wear red ones.”
Jamie rolled his eyes. Masks? That hadn’t been part of the plan or was it? He glanced at Daddy Spencer, who looked just as thrown but already amused. Their whole “we’re a couple and we look amazing” vibe was about to get color-coded.
Daddy Spencer grabbed the black mask with a smirk. He slid it on like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life.
Jamie took the red one, hesitating for half a second before tying it behind his head. It felt weird, like stepping into a role he hadn’t auditioned for. But Daddy Spencer kissed his cheek, and that helped. They were still them—just with masks on their faces.
Then they stepped into the main room.
Christmas lights flickering everywhere wrapped around the ceiling, the ones Alfie and Jamie had strung up.
The scent of their baked gingerbread cookies hung in the air.
People milled around in black and red masks, laughing, flirting, sipping drinks from glittery cups.
The whole place buzzed with holiday tension and too much mistletoe.
What if he stood under the mistletoe and some stranger kissed him or worse yet, if Daddy Spencer stood there by mistake?
Jamie scanned the crowd and froze.
Near the fireplace, two figures stood talking.
One in a black mask, stiff posture. Jamie’s gut twisted.
That was Tom. He was almost sure. The way he stood, the way he held his hip like he was posing for a magazine—it was textbook Tom.
The man who made him feel like a walking disappointment.
He would never forget what Tom had done to him.
He’d dumped him like a bad purchase and left him standing there with nothing but a bruised heart. Tom couldn’t disguise his meanness.
Then came the guy in the red mask, practically bouncing off the furniture, talking too loud, making sexual gestures. Jamie’s breath caught. And that was none other than—Billy. Long blond hair, a red mask, practically draped over Tom. Jamie didn’t even need to guess.
Seriously? Both of them together? So maybe Billy wasn’t lying about Tom.
Jamie’s chest tightened. Tom made him feel small, like he was always one mistake away from being discarded. And now Billy was with him? It was like watching two bad decisions make out in public.
Both Daddy Spencer and Jamie’s past relationships had collided like two messy trains in the middle of a Christmas party. It was ridiculous.
A wave of emotions hit him—first, satisfaction. He was here with Daddy Spencer, looking amazing, feeling whole. No begging for affection, no silent tests to pass. Just warmth and ease.
But then vindication. Tom, the control freak, was stuck talking to Billy, the chaos gremlin. Jamie almost laughed out loud. It was karmic gold. Tom liked order. Billy was a walking tornado. Let them deal with each other.
Daddy Spencer noticed too. His jaw clenched, and Jamie could practically hear the internal monologue: I’m going to tell that guy off.
Before Jamie could say anything, the two of them strutted over as if they were presenting themselves as King Tom and Prince Billy.
“Spencer,” Billy said, voice syrupy sweet. “This is Tom. My new daddy.”
Jamie closed his eyes for a minute, grounding a civil sanity. Daddy Spencer didn’t.
“Oh, you mean the same Tom who dumped Jamie at a boutique with nothing in the middle of a snowstorm?” Daddy Spencer said, voice sharp.
Tom cleared his throat. “That was a misunderstanding due to Jamie not following orders.”
Tom’s voice had that familiar smug tilt to it—the one he used when he wanted to sound reasonable while twisting the knife.
He was standing there, mask off now, posture perfect, blazer crisp, acting like Jamie was the one making a scene.
Like Jamie was the dramatic one. Like Jamie hadn’t been left in a boutique with nothing but a hoodie.
Jamie felt his chest tighten as heat rose up his neck.
The surrounding walls blurred for a second—just twinkling lights and muffled music and the sound of his own pulse roaring in his ears.
Tom’s words were polished, practiced, designed to make Jamie look unstable.
Like he was overreacting. Like he was the problem.
Jamie scoffed, the sound sharp and bitter. “You’re a fucking liar.”
The words came out before he could second-guess them. And for once, he didn’t care. It was the first time he’d ever let himself publicly swear at Tom. Jamie didn’t swallow the anger or try to smooth things over. He felt it—raw and real—and he let it out.
Tom shot him a death stare, surprised. He wasn’t used to Jamie talking back, not like this.
Tom penalized public disobedience. In Tom’s world, he was the only authority orchestrating humiliation.
Jamie had spent too long being silent, being polite, being the one who didn’t make a scene. But now? Now he was done.
“I bet your new daddy doesn’t know what you really are,” Tom shouted to Jamie.
“Stop making shit up about me,” Jamie shouted.
Everything surfaced at once—every moment Tom made him feel small, every time he’d been told he was “too sensitive,” every time he’d been left out, dismissed, or made to feel like love was something he had to earn.
Jamie would not play that role anymore. Not here.
Not tonight. Not with Daddy Spencer standing beside him, ready to fight for him if he had to.
And for the first time in a long time, he felt powerful. Not because he was loud, but because he finally stopped letting Tom silence him.
Billy looked uncomfortable, but Tom just smirked. “Jamie, always the drama queen. Overly sensitive and habitually clingy.”
Daddy Spencer stepped forward. “You don’t get to rewrite what you did.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “And you don’t get to play hero, cowboy. Jamie’s fine. Look at him.”
“You don’t know what condition he was in when I found him frozen on the side of the road. Not even a fucking jacket!”
“Why don’t you ask Jamie what our arrangement was?” Tom asked, scowling at Jamie.
“Whatever it was, it doesn’t give you the right to abuse him.”
Tom’s voice cut through the room like a blade, sharp and smug. “He can play any role you want for money,” he sneered, loud enough for people nearby to hear.
Jamie froze for half a second, the words hitting him like a slap.
His stomach twisted. That wasn’t just a dig—it was a public humiliation.
Tom knew exactly what he was doing, painting Jamie as some kind of paid plaything, like their relationship had been transactional.
It was cruel. It was calculated. And it was a lie.
Jamie’s face flushed hot, a mix of shame and fury bubbling up fast. He felt the sting of old memories—trying so hard to be enough, to be loved, to be seen.
Tom had never paid him for anything. Not dinners, not gifts, not even gas money.
Jamie had given and given, and Tom had taken without a second thought.
“You never paid me for anything. You’re lying!” Jamie shouted, voice cracking with emotion.
It was the first time he’d ever raised his voice at Tom in public.
And it felt good. Messy, raw, but good. He wasn’t going to let Tom rewrite their relationship just to save face.
Not tonight. Not when Jamie had finally found someone who saw him for who he was—not a role, not a fantasy, but a real person worth loving.
Daddy Spencer didn’t wait. He shoved Tom hard enough to make him stumble back a step against the wall.
Tom shoved back.
And then it was chaos.
Jamie tried to grab Daddy Spencer’s arm, but fists were already flying.
Daddy Spencer landed a punch to Tom’s jaw, and Tom swung back, catching Daddy Spencer’s shoulder.
Billy shrieked and backed away, knocking over a tray of drinks.
People gasped, someone yelled for security, and Jamie stood frozen for a second before diving in to pull Daddy Spencer off.
“Daddy Spencer, stop!” Jamie shouted, gripping his arm. “He’s not worth it!” Jamie wouldn’t put it past Tom to press charges against Daddy Spencer.
Daddy Spencer was breathing hard, eyes blazing. Tom wiped blood from his lip, glaring.
“You don’t get to hurt him again,” Daddy Spencer growled.
Jamie stood off to the side, heart still thudding from the chaos that had just unfolded. Tom and Daddy Spencer had gone full fists—no holding back, no polite restraint—and now Tom was walking away, nursing his bruised ego with Billy trailing behind like a confused little duckling.
Jamie watched them go, the tension in his shoulders refusing to ease.
Tom’s blazer was still perfectly in place, of course, like even his fights had to be curated.
Billy’s red mask hung crooked on his face, and his long blond hair bounced with every dramatic step.
They looked ridiculous. Like villains in a soap opera who’d just been told their screen time was up.
Nathan and Alfie rushed in, both looking flustered but firm. Nathan’s voice cut through the music, sharp and final. “Tom, Billy—you’re done. Party’s over for you. Time to go.”
Alfie crossed his arms, standing beside Nathan like backup muscle. “We don’t tolerate this kind of drama. You’re out.”
Tom fumed but didn’t argue. He knew better than to push it. Billy looked like he might cry or throw a tantrum—maybe both—but even he knew the game was up. They turned toward the exit, Tom’s jaw tight, Billy pouting like someone had taken away his favorite toy.
Jamie felt a strange mix of emotions watching them get kicked out.
Satisfaction for sure. There was something deeply gratifying about seeing Tom escorted out like a misbehaving guest. But also a flicker of sadness—because once, Tom had been someone Jamie trusted.
Someone he’d tried to love. And now he was just a guy getting booted from a Christmas party for being the asshole that he was.
Then Daddy Spencer stepped up behind them, card in hand. Jamie’s breath caught.
“Tom,” Daddy Spencer said, voice low but firm. “Ship Jamie’s things to this address.”
Tom paused, took the card without a word, and stuffed it into his pocket like it were nothing. He gave a stiff nod, then kept walking.
Jamie watched it all, feeling the weight of it settle in his chest. That card held the last thread tying him to Tom. And Daddy Spencer had handed it over like a final move in a game Jamie didn’t want to play anymore.
As the door shut behind them, Jamie exhaled. It was over. The fight, the ghosts of old relationships. Tom and Billy were out, and he was still here—with Daddy Spencer, with warmth, with something real.
And for the first time in a long time, Jamie felt free.
“You okay?” Daddy Spencer asked.
Jamie nodded slowly. “I am now.”
They stood there, staring at one another, surrounded by glitter and chaos.