Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
OREN
Ihug the weighted cover tighter around me. The cartoons flickering in the dim room, but I barely notice. My thumb hovers over the chat window, debating whether to tell my friends I’m okay.
Then my phone buzzes. Keane.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says, calmly. “I know you’ve been keeping to yourself. That’s fine. I just want to check in. You’re safe, right?”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “Yeah. I’m… fine.”
“Good. I’ll keep checking in every hour,” he says. “Remember our plan. Screenshots, privacy, locks. If anything happens, you call me first. Got it?”
“Got it,” I whisper, finally feeling some of the tension in my chest ease.
After he hangs up, I sink deeper into the couch, the blanket cocooning me. I glance at the screen again, replying to friends one by one. The group chat lights up with notifications—questions, emojis, teasing—but I can handle it now. I can actually type back without feeling like I’m unraveling.
It’s the best I’ve felt all day. Strong. Brave. Self-assured.
To reward myself with a small treat, I grab my jacket and head out because there’s only so much hiding I can do before the heavy fleece begins to feel smothering instead of comforting.
I drag my feet across the shiny tiles of the mall, trying to shake the restless energy buzzing under my skin. I find myself at the carousel, kids squealing and parents laughing, and I grin at the horses. The line isn’t long. Maybe a quick ride will take my mind off things.
But then I catch a glimpse of a man leaning against a nearby pillar—broad shoulders, tailored jacket, perfectly cut and styled hair.
My stomach tightens. That can’t be…? My brain insists it’s him.
My pulse races. I step out of line. My hands fumble with my phone, thumb hovering over Keane’s number, but I don’t call.
Not yet. Just… keeping it there, just in case.
I duck into a toy store, the bright colors and noise a small comfort.
Parents bustle past, kids tug at shopping carts, and I let myself sink into the crowd, pretending I’m invisible.
The closer, busier aisles help, give me breathing space.
I take a few deep breaths. Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me. Maybe he’s not here.
I wander past shelves filled with action figures, puzzles, and plush animals, letting my fingers trail along the boxes.
My eyes land on a jigsaw puzzle, something calm and methodical.
A distraction. Something to focus on. I pick it up, along with a tiny, floppy baby duck that looks just like Quackers.
The waves in my stomach calm a bit. Familiar comfort, even in the middle of all this chaos.
I slip them under my arm, checking the aisles once more. No signs of him. No reason to panic. Not yet. Even so, Keane’s number glows at the top of my screen. Just in case.
Clutching the puzzle and baby Quackers a little too tightly, I weave through the crowded aisles. My eyes dart toward the entrance and every mirror reflection. Every man who looks vaguely familiar makes my heart hammer.
Keane’s voice echoes in my mind: breathe, slow down, remember you’re safe. I almost tap his number, almost send a quick “I’m fine” text, but I stop. Not yet. A small victory would be staying in control, proving I’m not just a scared little boy hiding.
At the checkout line, I pause, pretending to study a display of miniature stuffed animals while scanning the store for any sign of Vince. Nothing. No one from the past. No… him. My chest eases slightly, though the knot in my stomach remains stubborn.
I fumble with my wallet, carefully placing the puzzle and duck on the counter, trying to act casual. Nearby, a kid squeals, pointing at a plush dinosaur. The sound snaps me back to the store’s normal energy—grounded, secure.
Stepping outside with my treasures in hand, a flicker of relief warms my chest. Sunlight hits my face, and for the first time since entering the mall, the anxiety loosens its grip. My thumb slides over Keane’s number again, a quiet reassurance.
Focusing on the puzzle is harder than it should be—pieces, colors, shapes blur together—and my fingers twitch almost uncontrollably.
The pieces click under my fingers, colors lining up just right, when a sharp knock at the door makes me jump.
Ice cubes rattle in the glass of cold brew, and I blink down at the puzzle, frowning.
“Coming!” I call, brushing my hands on my jeans.
I remember Keane’s warning to check and double check before opening the door, but Keane puts my mind to rest by calling out, “It’s me, baby.”
He’s leaning in the doorway, his brow raised as he takes me in. My stomach twists, part excitement, part nerves. Before I can think, he steps inside, reaching out with that easy, deliberate grace he has.
“Looks like someone’s enjoying a snack,” he murmurs, tilting his head.
I open my mouth to protest, but he leans closer, lips brushing the whipped cream away in a slow, deliberate kiss. Heat blossoms in my chest, and I catch myself grinning.
“Thanks, Daddy,” I murmur, voice lower than I mean to.
He chuckles softly, that deep laugh that always makes me melt, and I realize how much I’ve missed him even in the few hours he was gone.
“Cold brew?” he asks, nodding toward the glass.
I fight off a blush, guilty as charged.
“I ate salty pond scum squares first!”
He just smiles, settling beside me at the counter, taking in the puzzle pieces with that patient, fond look that always makes me feel… small, cherished, and completely seen.
Keane’s fingers skim over the puzzle pieces, then he leans closer, picking one up and letting it hover over the board like a magician.
“Think this goes here?” he asks, his deep voice low, teasing.
I nod, hands brushing his as I take the piece from him. The contact sends a shiver straight through me, and I catch myself grinning like a fool.
“Yep. Perfect.”
We work side by side, quietly bantering, swapping pieces, until the last one snaps into place. I step back, puffing out my chest.
“Ta-da!”
“Ta-da indeed,” Keane says, his eyes soft as he watches me. Before I can react, he leans in and brushes a quick, sweet kiss over my lips. My pulse skips. “Puzzle master,” he murmurs against my mouth, then chuckles.
I laugh, brushing my hands over my face, suddenly shy.
“Don’t—don’t make me blush, Daddy.”
He just grins, leaning closer again, thumbs brushing over my knuckles.
“I could stay here all day, helping my boy finish puzzles… or anything else he wants.”
I catch my breath, leaning into him, the warmth of his body pressing against mine.
“Anything else?” I murmur.
His hand drifts to the small of my back, making me buzz from the contact.
“Yeah. Everything,” he says simply, his gaze locking with mine. “But only at your pace. Always at your pace.”
A quiet sigh escapes me, relief and longing tangled together.
I know the trust is there—I can feel it—but the playful, teasing closeness is just as intoxicating.
He’s patient, he’s steady, and somehow, in the middle of my kitchen, leaning over a completed jigsaw puzzle, it feels like the most insulated place in the world.
The puzzle’s done, the cold brew nearly gone, and my stomach reminds me it’s time for something more substantial than a sad desk snack. I glance at Keane, whose brow quirks when he notices me fidgeting near the fridge.
“Thinking about dinner?”
“Yeah,” I admit, a bit shy. “I feel like… adult food, maybe? But, like, not too fancy.”
He grins, stepping closer. “Adult food. Got it. I can whip something up, or we can order in. What’s your vibe?”
I shrug, biting my lip. “Maybe something we can share. Pizza? Or those dumplings we liked last time?”
“Dumplings it is,” he says decisively, pulling his phone out. “I’ll call for delivery. You… set the table?”
I scramble, a mix of nerves and excitement, and start gathering plates, napkins, and silverware. Keane leans against the counter, watching me fumble, smirking as if I’m the most endearing thing he’s ever seen.
“I swear, you make something as simple as setting the table look adorable.”
When the food arrives, I sit cross-legged at the table, watching him unpack boxes and chopsticks. I flounder with mine, drop one, and let out a small groan. Keane’s chuckle fills the kitchen.
“Careful there, puzzle master. Or you’ll end up eating with your hands.”
I grab the next dumpling, eyes brightening.
“Oh! Fortune cookie!” I exclaim, picking it up like it’s a treasure.
He raises an eyebrow. “You know the rules,” he teases. “Finish your broccoli first.”
I groan dramatically, stuffing a few pieces into my mouth.
“Fine… fine.”
But the corners of my mouth twitch. I can’t help sneaking peeks at him while he moves between plates, the warmth of him making my chest flutter.
Halfway through, I muster the courage. “Keane…” My voice is a little breathless. “Would you… stay tonight?”
He pauses, sets a dumpling down, and looks at me with that Daddy gaze.
“Yeah,” he says, softly but firmly. “I’ll stay. But only if you promise to feel brave on your own sometimes too. I’ll do everything I can to make sure you do.”
I nod, cheeks warm, feeling a mix of excitement and relief.
I wish I had the courage to tell him. Part of me is still rattled, still jittery from everything—Vince, the texts, the what-ifs.
But the other part… the part that’s tangled up in him, that just wants to lean into his warmth and feel kept… that part is loud, insistent.
I want him to stay for me. For us.
From across the table, I glance at him to see the look in his eyes, and my chest tightens. He doesn’t need me to say it. He just… knows.
Even so, I wish I could put it into words.
Keane hovers in the doorway while I brush my teeth and floss. He hums softly, just a background note, and I realize I’m talking more than I normally do—about cartoons, the puzzle, even the sticky undies incident from the other day.
When I finally settle under the covers, he leans over to tuck the blanket around me. His fingers brush my arm, just enough to send shivers, and I try not to wiggle too much, though the warmth of him so close makes my stomach do little flips.
“Want a story?”
I nod, holding out the book I picked earlier. Not my usual naughty one, just something boring and silly. He flips it open, and his deep voice brings every word to life.
I start interrupting, quietly at first, suggesting small tweaks to make the story more ours, maybe the boy hedgehog climbs into Daddy’s lap instead of just reading alone. He laughs softly each time I add a detail, a little crinkle gathering at the corners of his eyes.
By the time he reaches the end, I’m curled against him, knees drawn up, my cheek resting against his chest. The rhythm of his breathing, the way he murmurs the last line, “Sleep tight, kiddo,” has me thinking that this is exactly where I want to be.
“Tomorrow,” he whispers as he shifts to make room, “we’ll read the story you write for me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining the words I might put down, words that only he will hear, words that can stay just between us. His hand slides over mine as he settles beside me, careful not to crowd, just close enough.
“Night, Daddy,” I murmur.
“Night, my boy,” he answers, and I feel a little thrill that he’s here, fully here, keeping me protected.