Chapter 15 #2
Creativity isn't frivolous. It's necessary. You spend so much time in your head—let some of those thoughts out onto paper instead. No judgment, no pressure. Just color and create and let yourself play.
I clutched the note to my chest and took a shaky breath. How did this person know exactly what I needed? How did they see so clearly into the parts of me I kept hidden?
I heard footsteps in the hallway and quickly wiped my eyes. A moment later, Simon appeared in the doorway.
"Hey, bud—" He stopped when he saw the art supplies spread across the bed. "Another gift?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He came over and sat beside me, picking up one of the coloring books and flipping through it. "These are beautiful."
"They are." I finally found my voice. "I can't believe they got me all this."
"Looks like they want you to use them." He set the book down and turned to me. "You going to?"
"I want to," I admitted. "I just… I don't know if I'm any good at it."
"Doesn't matter if you're good at it, bud. What matters is whether it makes you happy." He brushed my hair back from my forehead. "You want to try? I can stay, or I can give you privacy if you'd rather—"
"Stay," I said immediately. "Please stay."
He smiled. "Okay. Let me just grab my book."
While he was gone, I organized the supplies, running my fingers over each item as if they were precious. When Simon came back, he settled into the reading chair with a well-worn paperback while I sat cross-legged on the bed with the sketchpad and pencils.
For a long moment, I just stared at the blank page. What should I draw? What if it looked terrible? What if—
"Stop overthinking," Simon said gently, not looking up from his book. "Just put pencil to paper and see what happens."
So I did.
I started with simple shapes—circles and lines that gradually became more defined. A fence line. A barn. Mountains in the distance. Before I knew it, I'd sketched out a rough version of the ranch, the property that had become my sanctuary.
I added details slowly, losing myself in the process. The way the light hit the main house. The curve of the driveway. The horses in the pasture.
Time slipped away. At some point, Simon got up and turned on the lamp as the afternoon light faded, but he didn't interrupt. Just gave me space to create.
When I finally set the pencil down, my hand was cramping slightly and my neck was stiff from hunching over, but I felt… light. Like I'd released something I didn't know I'd been holding onto.
"Can I see?" Simon asked.
I nodded, suddenly nervous as he came over to look.
He studied the sketch for a long moment, and I held my breath, waiting for his reaction.
"Tanner," he finally said, his voice full of wonder. "This is incredible."
"It's just a sketch," I said, trying to downplay it even as warmth flooded through me at his praise.
"It's more than that." He traced a finger along the fence line, careful not to smudge the pencil marks. "You captured it perfectly. The feeling of this place. The peace of it."
"You really think so?"
"I know so." He set the sketchpad down carefully and pulled me into a hug. "I'm so proud of you, bud. For letting yourself do this."
I buried my face in his shoulder, overwhelmed by the emotion swelling in my chest. "Thank you."
"Nothing to thank me for."
"Yes, there is." I pulled back to look at him. "You make me feel like it's okay to want things. To do things just because they make me happy."
His expression softened. "That's exactly how it should be."
That evening, I showed the sketch to Sean and Atticus. They both gushed over it, with Sean immediately suggesting I do more drawings that could be framed and hung around the house.
"We could have a whole gallery," Sean said excitedly. "Tanner's ranch collection!"
"Let's start with one drawing," I said, laughing at his enthusiasm.
But secretly, I was already thinking about what I might draw next.
The sound of a phone ringing interrupted the peaceful moment. I recognized it as the house phone Atticus insisted on keeping in case there was ever a problem with cell phone signals out on the ranch. I frowned, trying to recall the last time I’d heard it go off. No one ever called.
“Hello?” Atticus said, answering the line that hung on the wall in the kitchen. “Oh, yeah. Just a second.”
His head popped around the corner, and he looked right at me. I didn’t need him to speak to know the call was for me.
Standing on shaky legs, I made my way into the kitchen. I felt everyone’s eyes tracking my movements. It would have been unnerving if not for the fact that I was concerned over who needed to reach me so badly they’d tracked me to the ranch.
I took the phone from Atticus, turning my back to everyone in a pitiful attempt at privacy. “Um, hi. This is Tanner speaking.”
“Tanner,” the booming voice called out. “You’re a hard man to find.”
“Judge Vael? How can I help you, sir?”
Torn between shock and suspicion, I focused on putting my professional face on for the sake of getting answers. If the judge from the Quincet case was calling, it meant he had news.
I only hoped it was good news.
“Figured you would want an update on things since the last time we spoke. To be honest, it took me longer to find you than I intended, but you’ve always gone above and beyond for your clients. It only seemed fair to return the favor."
Unable to speak, I hummed to show I’d heard him. This entire conversation felt like a fever dream. The judge didn’t necessarily dislike me, but he’d been so sure to rule against me that I took it a bit personally. Him calling like this changed my perspective on our relationship.
“To keep it short, Mr. Quincet has been granted sole custody of his children. They were returned to him a couple of days ago. Mrs. Quincet is being held on multiple charges, including child neglect and abuse. Once the court was able to get ahold of her, I sent officers to her to do a welfare check.”
He paused, his silence saying more than words could. Regret and frustration had to be the prominent emotions he felt after handing those kids over to the woman who would hurt them so badly she’d be criminally charged.
Of course, I didn’t point any of that out. It would be in poor taste, and it wouldn’t change anything. The past was the past.
“I apologize for my hasty decision before. You presented a good case for Mr. Quincet. Had I taken a moment to assess the information properly instead of defaulting to the mother as caregiver, I would have seen the truth behind the illusion the mother presented. I hope this news brings you peace. You’re a damn fine lawyer, Tanner. Don’t forget it.”
“Thank you, sir. I… I appreciate you reaching out. It means a lot.”
He grunted before wishing me a happy holiday and we hung up. I stood there shellshocked for a moment before turning to face my friends. They made no effort to pretend like they weren’t listening. It would have been amusing if not for the fact I felt so happy I could burst.
“That was the judge. He found the children and returned them to their father. He was granted sole custody. They’re safe.”
Cheers went up around the room as the news took hold. Daddy was up and over to me in a flash. His arms wrapped around me, giving me the connection I needed.
“This is the best news, bud. I’m so happy for those kids and your client. Most of all, I’m glad you get peace knowing they’re reunited.”
Peace.
That’s exactly what I felt.
The next morning, I woke up with my thumb in my mouth again. At this point, the rare habit had turned into a constant thing. I’d come to accept there was no sense in worrying about it. I knew Simon wouldn’t care all that much, and really, there was nothing to be embarrassed about.
He knew I was Little. The two felt like they made sense together.
I lay there for a moment, watching Simon sleep beside me. His face was relaxed, peaceful in a way I'd learned meant he wasn't having nightmares about his late husband. He'd told me a few nights ago that he still dreamed about Wren sometimes—not always sad dreams, but dreams nonetheless.
I understood. Grief didn't just disappear because you found someone new. It became part of you, woven into who you were.
Carefully, so as not to wake him, I slipped out of bed. My elephant pajamas kept me warm as I shuffled to the bathroom. I'd worn them again last night, and Simon had read me a bedtime story just like he'd promised—one of the children's books from the box he'd found at my apartment.
It had been perfect. I'd felt small and safe and cared for in a way I never had before.
In the bathroom, I splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth. When I came back out, I noticed something on the nightstand that hadn't been there when I went to sleep.
Another wrapped package.
My heart leapt as I grabbed it, sitting on the edge of the bed to open it. Behind me, I heard Simon stir.
"Morning, bud," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
"Morning." I held up the package. "Look what appeared."
He propped himself up on one elbow, watching as I carefully unwrapped it.
Inside was a sippy cup.
But not just any sippy cup—this one was perfect. It was insulated stainless steel, which meant it would keep drinks cold for hours. The color was a soft gray-blue. And on the side, embossed in white, was the face of a baby elephant.
A baby elephant.
Just like the pajamas.
My Secret Santa was amazing. Really freaking amazing.
"Oh," I breathed, turning the cup in my hands. The elephant had long eyelashes and a sweet smile, and something about it made me want to cry.
"That's adorable," Simon said, sitting up fully. "Your Secret Santa has a theme going."
"They do, don't they?" I looked at him, excitement bubbling up. "It's perfect for me, right?!"
The words came out more enthusiastically than I'd intended, more little than I usually allowed myself to be in front of others. But instead of looking uncomfortable or weirded out, his expression went soft and warm.