Chapter 10 #2
I looked down at the basket. At the curve of the bottle. The muted sheen of the pacifier. The careful way everything had been placed, like it mattered.
The answer tightened my chest.
“No,” I whispered. “It just felt quieter. And lonelier. And like I was always holding myself still so nothing could go wrong.”
My fingertips brushed the edge of the pacifier. The plastic was cool, grounding. A shiver traced up my arm.
“This is…” My voice broke. “This is a lot, Graeme.”
“I know,” he said. “If it’s too much, tell me. I’ll put everything away. We can pretend I never did it.”
Panic flared, sharp and immediate.
“Don’t,” I said quickly, turning. He was closer now, kneeling a short distance behind me, one hand braced on the rug, the other resting easy on his thigh. Concern threaded through his expression, soft but unmistakable. “Please don’t.”
His shoulders eased, just a fraction.
“Okay,” he said. “I won’t. This is your corner, Rudy. Yours. I won’t touch anything unless you ask. You get to decide if—and how—you use it.”
You get to decide.
The words settled somewhere deep and tender.
My foster homes had come with rules. The bad ones had come with rules meant to control instead of protect. Mrs. Davis had offered structure that made room for me to breathe. Nate had wrapped his expectations in the language of love and nearly erased my ability to want without fear.
Graeme was offering choice.
My hand shook as I reached into the basket and picked up one of the reindeer—the one I’d been staring at since the first day. Its scarf was crooked, the stitches a little uneven, like it had been made by someone who cared more about the feeling than the finish.
I held it to my chest, and for the first time, I didn’t wonder whether I was allowed to want this.
Its fur was ridiculously soft—the kind that made you want to rub your cheek against it without thinking. I pressed my thumb into its belly and watched the fabric give and spring back.
“I don’t…” I swallowed. “I don’t know how to start again.”
He didn’t rush to answer.
“You don’t have to start any special way,” he said. “We’re not following anyone else’s script.”
A breath left me in something that was half a laugh, half relief.
“You make it sound simple.”
“I’m not saying it’s simple,” he said. “I’m saying it’s yours.”
I looked down at the reindeer in my arms, then at the pacifier still resting in the basket. Want pooled low and warm in my chest, familiar and aching in equal measure.
“Graeme?” I said, because his name felt solid. Real.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
The word landed the way it always did—steady, reassuring, like a hand at my back. My shoulders eased without me meaning them to.
Silence settled around us—full and steady and waiting, like it had all the time in the world.
“I…” The words tangled. I forced them through anyway. “I want… I want to be… small. For a bit.”
“Okay,” he said, and I heard the care he put into keeping his voice even. “You can be as small as you want, for as long as you want. And if you want to stop, you say so and we stop. You’re in charge of that, Rudy. Always.”
My eyes burned hotter.
“Can you…” I licked my lips, heat creeping up my neck. “Can you stay? With me? While I…”
His hand came into view, palm up on the rug beside me.
“I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else,” he said.
I put my hand in his.
He didn’t pull or tug. He just shifted, moving to sit on the loveseat, then gave a little nudge so I could follow. My knees were unsteady when I stood, the reindeer hugged to my chest, but his hand was a warm anchor.
The cushion dipped under his weight when he sat back, then again when I perched beside him. For a second, I froze, stiff as a board, not sure what to do with my limbs.
Graeme’s arm came along the back of the loveseat, not quite touching me.
“If you’d like to be held,” he said carefully, “you can climb into my lap. If you’d rather just sit next to me, we can do that too. Both are fine.”
My brain scrambled to list pros and cons.
My body had already decided.
I turned, letting my legs fold under me as I shifted sideways.
The reindeer ended up squished between us for a second before I readjusted, carefully placing it on my other side.
I hesitated only a heartbeat before swinging one leg over his, then the other, until I was straddling his lap facing his chest.
My cheeks burned so hot I was pretty sure they could have melted the snow outside.
“This is…” I muttered, not sure which word I was reaching for. “A lot.”
“I know,” he said softly.
His hands settled at my hips, fingers gentle, giving me plenty of space to move away if I wanted to. I didn’t. The opposite, actually. I scooted just a little closer until my chest brushed his and my forehead tucked under his chin.
His heartbeat was a solid thump against my cheek.
Slow. Reliable.
His scent wrapped around me—pine, wool, a hint of something warm and spicy I couldn’t name. It went straight to the tightest, most knotted-up parts of me.
Everything inside me loosened by degrees.
“You’re okay,” he murmured, one hand sliding up to rest between my shoulder blades. His palm was broad and warm, the weight of it making me feel… anchored. “You’re safe, sweet boy. I’ve got you.”
A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold outside.
“I like…” My voice came out muffled against his shirt. I forced myself to tilt my head back just enough to look up at him. “I like when you talk like that. With your deep voice. It feels… safe.”
His eyes softened in a way I didn’t have a word for.
“I’ll remember that,” he said quietly. The pad of his thumb brushed a slow line over the back of my neck. “You deserve to feel safe.”
My gaze dropped to the basket again.
The pacifier lay where I’d left it, its simple shape almost unbearably loud in the small space.
I swallowed.
“I haven’t…” My throat tightened. “I haven’t used one in years. I told myself it was time to grow up. That it was… pathetic.”
His fingers tightened just a fraction against my back.
“It isn’t pathetic,” he said, voice low and certain. “It’s a comfort object. That’s all. Like a blanket. Or a favourite mug. Or—the reindeer.”
A small, wobbly smile tugged at my mouth at the mention of the reindeer.
“I missed this,” I admitted. “More than I should’ve.”
“You can miss anything that made you feel loved,” he said. “There’s no ‘should’ there.”
Carefully, like it might vanish if I moved too fast, I leaned sideways and reached for the pacifier. My fingers closed around it.
It was lighter than I remembered. Maybe they always were and I’d just forgotten.
A strange, thick sound escaped my throat. I turned it over in my hand, tracing the curve with my thumb, feeling the subtle give of the silicone.
My vision blurred.
“I don’t know if I can…” I whispered.
“You don’t have to,” he replied immediately. “You can hold it. Keep it in your pocket. Hide it under your pillow. Whatever feels right. Using it isn’t a requirement. It’s an option.”
The pressure in my chest eased a fraction.
I nodded, a small, jerky movement.
“Okay,” I breathed.
I didn’t put it in my mouth.
Not yet.
I curled my fingers around it instead, fist closing tight like I was afraid someone would rip it away if they saw.
Graeme seemed to understand exactly what that meant. His hand smoothed slow circles over my back, from my shoulders down to the small of my back and up again. Each pass unwound another coil of tension inside me.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, the words vibrating through his chest into my cheek. “You’re very brave, you know that?”
My laugh came out watery.
“Don’t feel brave,” I muttered. “Feel like I’m going to fall apart if you stop talking.”
“Then I won’t stop,” he said simply.
His hand kept moving.
My body melted bit by bit, muscles unclenching, jaw loosening, breaths lengthening without my permission. My legs shifted, knees tucking in closer around his hips as I let my weight rest more fully on him.
Somewhere in the shuffle, the reindeer ended up wedged between our chests. I gave it a tiny squeeze. It squeaked, the faintest little sound, and something inside my ribcage cracked open.
A small, helpless noise slipped out of me.
Graeme’s arms came around me properly then, gathering me in, one hand splayed wide over my back, the other sliding up to cradle the back of my head.
“I’ve got you, sweet boy,” he whispered into my hair. “You don’t have to hold anything together right now. You can just… be.”
My eyes flooded.
“I’m so tired,” I heard myself say. The words were small, thin, the kind of admission that had never been safe before. “Of pretending. Of being… normal. Of always worrying if I’m too much or not enough or—”
“Hey,” he murmured, his thumb stroking slow lines at the nape of my neck. “You are exactly enough. Exactly as you are. All your pieces. Big and small.”
The sob came then.
Quiet, but whole.
It shook me from the inside out. Tears soaked into his shirt. I squeezed my eyes shut, mortified and relieved all at once.
Graeme didn’t flinch.
Didn’t tell me to calm down.
Didn’t shift away.
He just held me. Solid and constant, letting me cry against him like I was worth the effort. His hand never stopped moving on my back. His voice kept up a low, soothing murmur—words and sounds blending together.
“You’re okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You’re safe here. Nobody’s going to take this away from you. Breathe with me… That’s it… Good boy.”
The words went straight through me.
Not like Nate’s sharp, grudging praise. Not like a carrot dangled over my head.
Like a truth.
My fingers loosened slowly around the pacifier, my hand uncurling just enough that the plastic pressed into my palm instead of digging into it.
I didn’t know how long we stayed like that. Long enough for the tears to taper into hiccupy breaths. Long enough for my body to finally decide it didn’t have to be rigid to survive.
At some point, Graeme reached over and tugged the blanket down from the back of the loveseat, draping it over my shoulders and his arms in one smooth motion. The softness of it brushed my neck, my cheek. It smelled faintly of clean cotton and the shop.
My head tipped sideways until my ear rested over his heart. The steady thump anchored me to something real.
“You with me, Rudy?” he asked quietly.
I nodded against his chest.
“Yeah,” I whispered, the word slurring a little. “M’here.”
His chest rumbled with a soft, barely-there chuckle.
“Good,” he said. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
My eyelids felt heavy. The fairy lights blurred at the edges of my vision, turning into soft halos. The pacifier was still in my hand, curved against my palm. The reindeer’s knit scarf tickled my chin.
“Graeme?” I mumbled.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
I hesitated, the other word hovering again. It slipped out before I could catch it.
“Daddy?”
His arms tightened, just a little. His breath hitched, then settled.
“I’m right here,” he said, voice roughened at the edges in a way that made my stomach flutter and my heart calm all at once. “You rest, okay? I’ve got you.”
My muscles went lax, one by one, like someone flipping off switches. His hand kept tracing slow, soothing patterns over my back.
“You’re safe here, sweetheart,” he whispered, lips warm against my hair. “All your pieces are safe.”
The words wrapped around me like the blanket.
My last clear thought, before sleep pulled me under, was that this—this quiet little corner in the back of a Christmas shop, in the arms of a man who’d made space for every soft, scared part of me—felt more like home than anywhere had since Mrs. Davis’s home.