Chapter 15 Taron
Taron
“Hiccup!” I giggle, everything looking all wobbly and spinning for a second.
The Woody Hollow is a blur of laughter and clinking glasses by the time we call it a night. I’ve had one cider too many—maybe two, maybe three but who’s counting—and everything feels fuzzy and fun, like the world’s wrapped in cotton candy.
“Boy…” Kaleb says, a look of paternal disapproval on his face. “Someone needs to learn their limit when it comes to our cider…”
I simply smile goofily and try to stop myself from hiccupping again.
Robbie’s disappeared somewhere with Trask, probably causing more trouble, and Kaleb’s steady hand on my lower back is the only thing keeping me from weaving too much as we step out into the cool night air.
The door swings shut behind us, muffling the noise. Streetlamps glow soft, turning the quiet sidewalks into golden paths. I lean into Kaleb, giggling as I trip over nothing.
“Whoops,” I say, clutching his arm. “The ground moved.”
He chuckles—that low, rumbling sound I love. “Nah. That’s you, baby boy. Time to get you home.”
I pout up at Kaleb. “But I’m not tired. I could dance. Or… or play more darts!”
My Daddy simply arches a brow. “You threw your last one at the ceiling, baby boy.”
“Did not.” I say, knowing full well that I did. Another giggle bubbles up.
Kaleb shakes his head, amused. Then, without warning, he scoops me up—big hands under my thighs—and slings me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.
“Weeeee!” I squeal, half-laughing, half-protesting, my world flipping upside down. His shoulder’s broad and solid under my stomach, his arm locked firm across my legs to hold me steady. “Kaleb! Put me down!”
“Nope.” He starts walking, easy strides like carrying a tipsy boy is just another Saturday night. “You’re done walking for the evening.”
I dangle there, hair falling in my face, giggling uncontrollably. I briefly get all horny and try humping and grinding on Kaleb’s chest as he carries me but my appetite for sexy times is outweighed by my drunkenness unfortunately and I kind of give up as queasiness takes over.
The town passes upside down—shop windows dark, fairy lights on the B&B porch twinkling in the distance. Kaleb’s hand pats my butt lightly—not spanking, just reassuring.
“Fine,” I huff through laughs. “But if I puke on your back, it’s your fault.”
“You won’t.”
The walk’s short, but by the time we reach the B&B steps, my giggles have slowed to hiccups. Kaleb eases me down gentle, sets me on my feet. I sway a little, grab his shirt for balance.
“Easy,” he murmurs, cupping my face. “You good?”
I nod, beaming up at him. “Best night.”
He smiles—soft, rare—and leads me inside. The lobby’s quiet, just the grandfather clock ticking. We climb the stairs hand in hand, my steps careful on the plush runner.
In my room, Kaleb closes the door behind us. The space feels smaller with him in it. I flop onto the bed, arms wide, staring at the ceiling as it spins just a little.
“Clothes off,” he says, voice firm but kind. “Can’t sleep in jeans.”
I prop up on my elbows. “Bossy Daddy!”
“Practical Daddy,” Kaleb counters.
He crosses to me, big hands gentle as he tugs off my boots, then my socks. I lift my hips when he unbuttons my jeans, lets him slide them down.
My sweater next. He eases it over my head, leaves me in just my briefs—pale blue, nothing fancy. My pajamas are all at the laundry down the street as I forgot to pick them up earlier. A mistake, but even in my drunken condition it’s hot to be so exposed like this in front of my Daddy.
Kaleb doesn’t stare. He doesn’t leer. He just looks at me with that steady warmth, like I’m precious. He pulls back the quilt, helps me slide under.
“Water,” he says. “I’m gonna get you some. Hangover prevention.”
I nod, snuggling into the pillows. He disappears into the little attached bathroom, comes back with a glass. I watch as he sits on the bed’s edge, holds it to my lips.
“Sip. Slow,” Kaleb says, warmth in his voice and love in his eyes.
I do, the cool water sliding down my throat. It clears some of the fuzz. But even through the beer haze, I sense it… something unsaid. His jaw’s a little tight. Eyes thoughtful. Like he’s working up to words.
“What?” I ask, setting the glass on the nightstand.
He hesitates. Shakes his head. “Nothing. It’ll keep for tomorrow.”
My stomach twists—sudden, sharp. Keep for tomorrow? That sounds… bad. Like bad news. Like “we need to talk” bad. Like breakup bad.
No. No way. Not after everything. Not after last night, the camping, the way he was looking at me just moments ago.
But the doubt creeps in. Slithery. Insidious.
I hide it. Force a smile. “Okay. Tomorrow.”
Kaleb tucks the quilt around me and then brushes hair from my forehead, kisses it softly.
“Good night, baby boy. Sleep tight.”
“Night, Daddy.” I say, my voice small.
Kaleb stands, lingers at the door a second. Then clicks off the light. The door shuts quiet behind him.
I stare into the dark, heart pounding.
What if…?
No. Sleep. It’s the cider talking.
I close my eyes but I drift off restlessly, the worry curling like smoke in my dreams.
I blink awake, stretch my tired arms and legs under the quilt. My head’s a little fuzzy, but not pounding. Thanks to the water, probably.
My first thought: Kaleb.
Second thought: That look last night. It’ll keep for tomorrow.
I can’t help it but my stomach knots. There was totally something on Kaleb’s mind. Even though I’d had too much to drink , I could tell that there was something bugging him.
Is he breaking things off?
Did I misread everything? The camping, the nights together, the Daddy—maybe it’s too much too fast. Maybe he’s realizing I’m just a city boy playing at small-town life.
Or maybe Pace was right after all…I’m not special, I need to lose weight, I’m definitely not enough on my own.
No. I need to stop thinking like this. This isn’t good. At all. And then I remember, I don’t actually know where Robbie is. I mean, he was meant to be staying with me but in my drunken haze I kinda lost track of all that, and so did he. I need to know that he’s safe, and there’s no time to waste.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and type a text to Robbie…
Taron: Where r u? Everything ok? Reply ASAP!
Robbie’s reply thankfully buzzes in seconds.
Robbie: All good hehe! Will spill later. Safe & sound. Don’t worry!
Cryptic, but I’ve got a feeling I know what Robbie was up to last night and I’d bet a future book deal on it having something to do with Trask. But either way, he’s fine, that’s what counts.
But my mind won’t let go of Kaleb and what he wanted to say last night. The worry gnaws at me as I lie in bed. I need to pull myself out of this and fast.
I sit up, rub my face. I can’t sit here spiraling, no way.
Shower. Clothes. Walk.
Clear my head.
That’s the plan!
I throw on jeans, a sweater, boots. Then I grab my backpack—notebook, water, Lightening tucked inside for company.
That’ll do me. It’s time to move and get some much needed fresh air that will hopefully put any paranoid thoughts out of my mind.
And who knows, I might even shake off this hangover in the process.
Outside, the air’s crisp. Cool. It’s just what I need. I head toward the small park at the town’s edge—trees, benches, a little pond. There are paths to wander down there too, but it’s not big like the forest so there’s no opportunity to actually get lost.
As I walk, my mind races…
What if Kaleb says it’s over?
What if I have to go back?
What if—
No.
Breathe.
Walk.
After doing my best to get all negative thoughts out of my system, I walk back into the town with a determination to get an OJ, a bagel, and hopefully get myself feeling back to something like my normal self.
The town square is quiet this mid-morning—benches still damp from overnight dew, a few pigeons strutting around the little fountain.
I’ve got a fresh-squeezed orange juice in one hand, Mrs. Peplinska insisted on the extra-large cup “for the vitamin C, dear”, and a perfectly ripe banana in the other. “Potassium,” Mrs. Peplinska said.
I smile at the memory as I peel the banana and take a bite. It’s sweet and perfect. The juice is tart and cold, cutting through the last foggy edges of last night’s cider.
My head’s clearer already.
But my body still a little heavy, but the fresh air and the walk are helping.
I find my favorite bench—the one under the big maple that’s just starting to bud—and sit. Legs crossed and backpack at my feet with Lightening peeking out the top. The square feels peaceful. Safe. Like the whole town is holding its breath with me.
I pull out my phone to check the time. Habit. And maybe to see if Kaleb’s texted. Nothing yet. He said we’d talk in the morning, but it’s past ten and still quiet. My stomach does that nervous flip again.
Urgh.
I hate this.
Before I can spiral, the screen lights up with notifications—old ones, buried. I swipe them away, then freeze.
Pace.
I blocked him everywhere weeks ago. Phone, email, socials. Gone. But last night, in that drunken moment of doubt, I unblocked him. Just in case. Just to prove he wasn’t trying to reach me. To prove I was over it.
I wasn’t.
I scan over them, knowing I shouldn’t. And then I see it. There’s an email, subject line: Important Opportunity – Let’s Talk.
My thumb hovers it and my heart kicks hard.
I tap.
The message is short. Professional but promising the world. Classic Pace…
Taron,
I know things ended badly, but business is business.
I’ve had a major publisher reach out—big five imprint, serious money on the table.
They love the manuscript sample you sent before everything went sideways.
They’re offering a six-figure advance, plus marketing push, audiobook deal, the works.
Only condition: a few targeted changes. Steamier tone in key scenes, tighter pacing on the emotional arc, and a new ending that is more marketable.
Nothing you can’t handle, and nothing I can’t work on with you.
This could be it—the mainstream breakout you’ve been working toward.
But you need to let me handle things this time.
I know what I’m doing. You can write, but I’m the man who will get you to where you need to go.
Call me. Or reply. But let’s make this happen.
Pace
I stare at the screen. Read it again. Then a third time.
Six figures.
Big five.
Audiobook.
Marketing.
Everything I’ve dreamed about since school. Since the first rejection letters. Since the indie days of scraping together promo budgets from ramen money.
My fingers tremble. Excitement surges—hot, bright, dizzying. This is huge. Monumental. The kind of break most writers only fantasize about.
But… Pace.
He still wants control. I can tell that all the old issues are still going to be there, nothing has changed as far as that goes.
If anything, he seems like he wants more control than ever.
And that means artistic control too. But he’s an agent, he should only be handling the business side and not trying to make me something I’m not.
Pace is still the same man who cornered me in his office. Who tried to force me into photoshoots I hated. Who told me my body wasn’t “marketable” enough unless I lost weight. Who threatened my career when I said no.
I hate him.
And yet…
This offer isn’t from him. It’s from a publisher. A real one. Pace is just the middleman.
In theory I could take the deal. Make the changes. Keep my vision mostly intact. Get the advance, the bookstore placements, the reviews in big outlets. Prove to everyone—including myself—that I belong.
If I was to reply to Pace, what would I even say?
Yes?
Tell me more?
Send the contract?
My heart pounds. This could change everything.
Everything.
The town square fades around me. The fountain’s trickle, the pigeons, the maple leaves rustling overhead—all of it blurs.
Because if I say yes…
I go back.
Back to the city. Back to agents and deadlines and networking events. Back to the life I ran from.
Back to a world without Kaleb. A world without the woods. Without the quiet mornings in his cabin. Without his big hands tucking me in. Without the way he calls me baby boy like it’s a prayer.
I look down at the half-eaten banana in my hand. The OJ cup sweating on the bench beside me.
This is my choice.
Right here.
Right now.
One reply could rewrite my future.
I swallow hard.
My fingers stay frozen over the screen.
There’s no denying it, what I type next could change everything.