Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
It had been a few days since he’d taken Danny over his lap and spanked the grief out of him.
The boy had slept afterward like the dead.
Curled in on himself, warm and boneless, one hand tucked beneath his cheek and the other curled into Easton’s shirt like a child afraid to lose his tether.
By morning, he’d blinked up at Easton with glassy eyes and a dopey smile, then slipped into his unicorn onesie and padded barefoot across the floor demanding Lucky Charms, humming off-key to some cartoon jingle while rubbing sleep from his eyes with a closed fist.
It had been fucking adorable.
The kind of adorable that made something shift in his chest.
Danny had returned to his Little self effortlessly, without shame or pretense. He’d clambered into Easton’s lap, knees pressing into the cushion like he belonged there, and looked up with that sleepy smile that made grown men hand over their whole damn hearts.
“Story time,” he’d said, snuggling in with all the confidence of someone utterly safe.
Easton had wrapped an arm around him. The gesture had been natural and instinctive. “Which book?”
Danny had shrugged against his chest. “Doesn’t matter. I want your voice in my head.” And he’d shoved his thumb in his mouth.
A small laugh had caught in Easton’s throat, but it didn’t quite make it out. He’d reached for a book on the side table and flipped it open one-handed and read about dinosaurs and rhymes.
His cadence had been soft, and his breath measured. Danny on his thighs should’ve felt natural and it almost did.
But his mind ruled his heart and told him to tread carefully.
He was here, going through the motions of being the Daddy, giving care, and holding the boy.
But the warmth didn’t quite sink into his skin.
He felt it press at him, not through him.
Like he was wrapped in glass and steel, not flesh and blood.
His fingers stroked over the onesie’s soft fabric, and the part of him that knew what it meant to provide comfort followed the motions flawlessly.
But the part that used to feel wonder at the privilege and made his heart beat a joyful rhythm stayed silent.
Danny exhaled, all contentment and trust. Easton’s arms tightened around him, but his chest didn’t open the way it used to.
Why?
Why didn’t it feel like enough?
He glanced down at the top of Danny’s head, at the tufts of unruly hair and the curve of his cheek as it squished against Easton’s pec.
Lately, he couldn’t sink into it the way he used to. Like something in him was still braced.
Danny wiggled and let out a tiny hum of approval, curling tighter against him. Easton shifted just enough to support his weight better, lips brushing Danny’s temple before he continued the story.
He’d watched Danny shed guilt. Watched him take back joy and softness and comfort in a world that had ripped those things from him.
But deep inside the locks were still bolted.
And as the boy in his lap sighed and let go, Easton finally realized he hadn’t.
So Easton had made an appointment.
The hallway outside Sam Denten’s office was quiet, which wasn’t usual at Rawhide Ranch. The silence magnified the click of Easton’s loafers on the floor and the slow drag of breath through his nose.
He stood there with one hand curled in a loose fist, not quite raised, staring at the door.
The woodgrain of the door was smooth, polished and normal. It was just a door, just a therapist’s office, and just a conversation.
But it might as well have been Fort Knox.
Taking a steadying breath, he tried to find his calm, but his heart beat a fraction too fast. It wasn’t quite panic but had enough of an edge to make his breath feel tight.
His spine straightened out of habit, and he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin like he was prepping for surgery or walking into a boardroom.
All bluff.
Because underneath, his stomach roiled.
He wasn’t sure what terrified him more. The prospect of talking and unraveling or that he wouldn’t talk at all.
What right did he have to be someone’s Daddy when his own emotions were still locked behind steel doors? When he hadn’t let go of the one person who’d ever seen him? How could he hold someone else’s grief when he still hadn’t finished carrying his own?
He flexed his fingers, loosening the tension in his fist.
Being a Daddy wasn’t about perfection. He knew that. He taught that. But knowing and believing were two different things.
And there was that guilt again. That twist in his gut that said if he let himself want this, really want Danny, he’d be betraying Wilbert.
His best friend and his former lover. The man who’d died too soon and left behind a boy Easton couldn’t stop thinking about.
Easton stared at the door a beat longer. He could walk away. Make some excuse. Tell himself this was a private thing he could sort out alone.
But the truth was, he didn’t want to do this alone anymore.
He raised his hand.
Three knocks.
“Come in.”
Easton stepped into the small office and closed the door behind him.
The room was calm in the way a forest clearing opened for you after a strenuous hike.
Wooden panels lined the lower walls, a plush rug softened the tiled floor, and the bookshelves were dotted with leather-bound journals, psychology texts, and a few sensory toys that invited idle hands to explore.
The scent of pine lingered and enhanced the forest feeling. It was balanced. Just like Sam.
The therapist sat in a leather armchair by the window, legs crossed, tablet idle in his lap like he’d only just set it down. His expression was neutral but welcoming. Patient, as always.
“Easton.” A nod. “Have a seat.”
He sat. Not on the couch but in the other armchair across from Sam. He rested his forearms on armrests, leaning slightly back. A posture intended to exude serenity, control, and confidence.
He didn’t feel any of those things.
“I’ve been meaning to come sooner.” He willed his hands to stay loosely curled around the armrests. “I needed time to think, I think.”
Sam didn’t press. He simply waited, giving him space.
Easton looked around, trying to find his starting point. “It’s not about Danny,” he said finally, even though they both knew it kind of was.
Sam gave a subtle nod. “Understood.”
“It’s about Wilbert. And me.” The name caught in the back of his throat, but he forced it out, feeling like a dam giving way by degrees. “I don’t talk about him much. Not with people who didn’t know us back then.”
Sam shifted but stayed quiet, as if he were waiting for more. There was no judgment on his face. Just open air between them and the soft scent of pine.
“Wilbert and I... we tried. Once. Years ago. Before he met Danny.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe surprise or curiosity.
But Sam didn’t blink. Just observed him with that same steady gaze.
“We didn’t work. Not like that anyway. Maybe because we were friends first. Or maybe we were too similar in the wrong ways.
” He leaned forward resting his elbows on his thighs and stared at his hands.
Scoffed. “We were too dominant and although we tried, neither one of us found the space inside to soften.”
He rubbed his hands. They were capable hands that could hold a scalpel or a sobbing boy.
“We had chemistry. Friendship. But not compatibility.”
“You stayed friends?”
Easton nodded. “He was family. More than that. He was… he knew me better than anyone. Still does, in some ways.”
He let out a breath. “I was there when he met Danny. Some volunteer event. Fundraiser, I think. Wilbert and I were both manning a booth. Danny showed up in a pink T-shirt and rainbow suspenders with a tray of cookies. Everything bright and sparkling and he had the brightest damn smile. Wilbert froze. Just froze mid-sentence and stared at him like he’d been shot. ”
A small smile tugged at Easton’s lips.
“I nudged him and told him, ‘You’re staring.’ He just whispered, ‘He looks like rainbows and happy endings.’”
Easton paused and exhaled. “He offered Danny a soda. Didn’t even ask his name. Just offered a, ‘Here, you look thirsty’. And that was it. They were inseparable. I think Danny moved in three weeks later.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Jealous.” The word came out faster than he meant it to.
He blinked and considered. “Not of Wilbert,” he contemplated. “But of what they had. That connection. The kind you don’t get to build. It just happens. And when you see it in other people… it makes you realize how empty your own table is.”
He fell quiet again.
“I didn’t realize how lonely I was until I saw how not-lonely Wilbert was,” he said softly. “And I never blamed Danny. But I used the fact that they were together to keep my distance. Like it gave me permission not to feel.”
Sam shifted and leaned forward. “And now?”
Easton looked up. “Now Wilbert’s gone. And I’m the one still standing. I keep asking myself if helping Danny heal is honoring Wilbert’s memory or replacing him.”
A long pause followed. Sam finally broke it. “That sounds more like guilt than clarity.”
Easton shrugged. “Probably.”
Sam studied him for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. “Can I offer you a thought I often share with clients wrestling with this exact tension?”
Easton gave a faint nod.
“There’s a difference between chasing dopamine and nurturing serotonin.
” Sam shifted and rested one ankle on the opposite knee.
“Dopamine is a spike. It’s the high you get from winning something, from sex, from taking a risk.
It’s fast and flashy. With the addictive taste of instant gratification but also fleeting. ”
Easton didn’t move but cocked his head and listened.
“Serotonin, though, that’s… slower. It’s what settles into your bones when you feel safe.
When you’re held. When someone says, ‘I see you, and you’re enough’.
It doesn’t rush in. It gradually builds and when it’s there, it sustains.
” Sam’s voice gentled. “Are you chasing a thrill, Easton, and looking for a replacement or a high? Or are you sitting in front of me because you want peace? Because you want to show up for someone and maybe let someone show up for you.”
The words drove home like arrows in a bullseye.
Easton tried to speak, but no words came out. He swallowed, tried again, and croaked, “But what if it’s too soon?”
“Grief doesn’t come with a clock,” Sam replied. “Neither does love. What matters is the direction you’re moving, not the pace.”
At a total loss for words, Easton swallowed.
“I think Danny is your tide.”
His vision blurred for just a second.
“You’re not trying to replace Wilbert.” Sam wiggled his ankle. “You’re trying to move forward. That’s not betrayal. That’s human.”
Easton nodded slowly. The movement was stiff, as if his neck had forgotten how to loosen.
“He sees me a certain way,” Easton murmured. “As strong. Steady. Good. I don’t know if I am.”
“Then let him show you.”
The quiet wrapped around Easton like a weighted blanket.
“You’re not stepping into Wilbert’s shoes,” Sam added. “You’re stepping into your own.”
Easton leaned back in the chair, arms loose, tension bleeding out of his shoulders inch by inch. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding himself until this very moment.
“Thank you,” he said as he rose, and meant it.
“Anytime.” Sam offered a tranquil smile. “That’s what I’m here for.”
As Easton stepped out of Sam’s office, the late afternoon buzz had taken over. Snippets of music drifted from somewhere in the distance, and he could hear Erika chatter with new arrivals at the desk.
Two Littles darted down the hallway, laughter bubbling as they chased something round and red that skittered ahead of them.
“Hey. No running,” Easton said, but too late. They were already past him, giggles fading around the corner. His voice hadn’t even sounded firm. Not like it should.
He was contemplating going after them when a service submissive in a crisp pastel uniform pushed a cart past him, the scent of peanut butter and apple slices trailing in its wake. She dipped her head respectfully. He nodded back, absently, though his mind wasn’t in the hallway anymore.
He paused by the gift shop. The window was cheerful and overfilled with cuddly stuffies, sippy cups, and a giant plush unicorn someone had dressed in a tiny jean jacket. It was adorable.
Some other time, he might have gone in and bought the animal for Danny, but the warmth it usually sparked in him was muted today.
So, he didn’t go in.
Back to the apartment? Too quiet. Too still. Danny wouldn’t be there. He was at the nursery, enjoying his third day in the Butterfly Program.
His steps turned across the hall before he realized where they were taking him. Derek’s office.
He stopped.
No. He didn’t need more advice. Not today.
Instead, he turned toward the large doors and stepped outside.
The cold slapped him the second the door closed behind him. His thin shirt did nothing to block the wind, and a shiver rolled down his spine. He stood on the porch a moment, shoulders hunched against the chill, debating whether to turn around and spare himself the bite of the air.
The walkways had been cleared, but old snow still clung to the edges in gritty gray piles, melting slowly in the pale winter sun. A gust kicked up the scent of woodsmoke and horses, and somewhere in the distance, someone laughed.
Easton exhaled, the breath turning white as it hit the air, and started moving. His feet crunched against salt-scattered gravel as he took the first step, unsure where he was headed, only that he didn’t want to be still.
For the first time in months, he wasn’t thinking about what he’d lost.
He was thinking about what, or if he was honest with himself who, might still be his to love.