Epilogue
SIX MONTHS LATER
Simon
The sun was just beginning to set over the ranch, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that reflected off the remaining patches of spring snow.
I stood on the porch of our cabin—our cabin, a thought that still made my chest warm—watching Tanner work with one of the new horses Bobby Allen had brought in last week.
Six months. It had been six months since Christmas, since I'd collared him, since we'd made our commitment official.
Six months of waking up beside him every morning. Six months of learning every sound he made, every expression that crossed his face. Six months of watching him heal and grow and become more himself than I'd ever seen him.
We'd moved into one of the smaller cabins on the property in February. Atticus and Sean had insisted—said that we needed our own space now that we were officially committed. The cabin was cozy, just two bedrooms, a living area, and a kitchen, but it was ours.
Tanner had turned the second bedroom into an office where he worked on the few cases he'd kept. He'd drastically reduced his workload, taking on only the family law cases that truly needed him, the ones where children's welfare was at stake.
Everything else, he'd referred to other lawyers.
"I spent years drowning in work," he'd told me one night as we discussed the changes. "Trying to save everyone, fix everything. But I can't do that anymore. I won't."
I'd been so proud of him in that moment. Proud of how he'd learned to set boundaries, to prioritize his own well-being.
The office was also where he kept his little supplies.
Coloring books and crayons organized neatly on shelves.
His growing collection of stuffed animals—Peanut had been joined by several friends.
A toy chest filled with puzzles and games and all the things that helped him slip into little space when he needed it.
And he needed it often. At least a few times a week, he'd come home from a difficult call or a stressful meeting and wordlessly hand me his work clothes, asking with his eyes for permission to be small.
I always said yes. Always helped him into his comfy clothes—usually the elephant onesie or soft pajamas. Always made sure he had his sippy cup filled with something sweet. Always held him while he colored or played or just existed in that peaceful, unburdened headspace.
Watching him learn to embrace that part of himself had been one of the greatest privileges of my life.
Now, I watched as he successfully got the skittish mare to take an apple from his hand. His patience with animals had improved dramatically over the past months. He'd become one of Bobby Allen's most reliable helpers, especially with the more nervous horses.
"She's a beauty, isn't she?" Bobby Allen's voice came from beside me. I hadn't heard him approach.
"She is," I agreed. "Tanner's doing well with her."
"He's got a gift. That gentle energy of his—animals respond to it." Bobby Allen leaned against the porch railing. "You two seem real happy."
"We are." I couldn't keep the smile off my face. "Happier than I ever thought I'd be again."
"Wren would be glad to see it."
I glanced at Bobby Allen, surprised. We didn't talk about Wren often, though everyone on the ranch knew my story.
"He would," I agreed quietly. "He'd have loved Tanner. Would have appreciated how he makes me laugh, how he challenges me to be better."
"That's what the right partner does." Bobby Allen clapped me on the shoulder. "I'm heading out. You two have a good evening."
After he left, I made my way down to where Tanner was still working with the mare. He looked up as I approached, his whole face lighting up.
Even after six months, that look still got me. Every single time.
"Hey, Daddy," he said, stroking the mare's neck. "Look how calm she is now."
"I see that. You did good work with her, bud." I came up beside him, pressing a kiss to his temple. "But it's getting late. Time to come inside."
"Just a few more minutes?" He gave me those eyes—the ones that were hard to resist.
"Five minutes," I said firmly. "Then we're going in. I'm making dinner, and you need to eat."
"Yes, Daddy." He turned back to the horse, but I could see his smile.
I went back to the cabin and started on dinner—nothing fancy, just pasta and grilled chicken, but Tanner had been working hard all day and needed a good meal.
True to his word, he came in exactly five minutes later, kicking off his boots and hanging up his coat.
"Go wash up," I told him. "Dinner will be ready in ten."
He disappeared into the bathroom, and I heard the water running. When he emerged, his hair was damp where he'd splashed his face, and he'd changed into house clothes—soft sweatpants and one of my t-shirts that hung loose on his frame.
"Better?" I asked.
"Much." He came over and wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, resting his cheek against my back while I finished cooking. "Smells good."
"It's almost ready. Set the table?"
He pulled away with a soft sound of agreement and started gathering plates and silverware. We'd fallen into such easy domesticity over the months. Taking turns with chores, moving around each other in the small kitchen like we'd been doing it for years.
At dinner, he told me about his day—about the mare, about a call he'd had with a potential client that he'd ultimately decided not to take on.
"She wanted me to help her hide assets in the divorce," he explained, twirling pasta on his fork.
"Said her husband didn't deserve half of what she'd earned.
But when I asked more questions, it became clear she just wanted to be vindictive.
There were no abuse concerns, no custody issues.
Just two people who fell out of love and couldn't be civil about it. "
"So you referred her elsewhere?"
"I referred her to a mediator, actually. Told her she'd have better outcomes if they worked together instead of against each other." He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. "She wasn't happy about it, but it was the right call."
"I'm proud of you," I said, meaning it. "For knowing your boundaries and sticking to them."
His cheeks pinked with pleasure. "Thanks, Daddy."
After dinner, we cleaned up together, then settled on the couch. I had a book I'd been working through, and Tanner grabbed one of his coloring books.
"Daddy?" he said after a while, not looking up from his page.
"Yeah, bud?"
"Can I ask you something?"
I set my book aside, giving him my full attention. His tone suggested this was important. "Always."
He set down his colored pencil and turned to face me. "Do you ever… do you ever wish I was different? That I didn't need to be little sometimes? That I was more… I don't know. Grown up all the time?"
My heart clenched. "Where's this coming from?"
"I just—" He worried his bottom lip between his teeth. "I had a call with my parents today. They asked how I was doing, and I told them about cutting back my workload. About focusing on the cases that matter. And my mom said…" He trailed off, looking down at his hands.
"What did she say?" I kept my voice gentle, though I was already bracing myself.
"She said I was wasting my potential. That I'd worked so hard to build my practice, and now I was throwing it away to 'play house' on a ranch." His voice got thick. "She said I was being irresponsible. That I needed to think about my future."
I pulled him into my lap, settling him against my chest. "Look at me, bud."
He did, and I could see the hurt in his eyes, the old insecurities rising up.
"You are not wasting your potential. You're using it in a way that actually serves you instead of depleting you.
You're helping the people who truly need you, the ones who can't afford high-powered lawyers, the ones who are fighting for their kids' safety.
" I cupped his face. "That's not playing house.
That's being intentional about your life. "
"But what if she's right? What if I'm being—"
"She's not right," I said firmly. "And even if she was, even if you decided tomorrow that you wanted to quit law entirely and just work on the ranch full time, I would support you.
Because your worth isn't tied to your productivity or your career.
You matter because you're you, not because of what you do. "
His eyes filled with tears. "You really mean that?"
"Every word." I brushed my thumb across his cheekbone. "And as for wishing you were different? Never. Not once. You being little isn't something I tolerate, Tanner. It's something I cherish. It's part of who you are, and I love all of you."
A tear escaped and tracked down his cheek. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, sweet boy." I pulled him closer. "So much it scares me sometimes."
We stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other. Eventually, his breathing evened out, and I felt him relax completely against me.
"Better?" I murmured against his hair.
"Yeah." He nuzzled into my neck. "Thank you, Daddy. For always knowing what to say."
"That's my job." I pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Taking care of you. Making sure you know how loved and valued you are."
He pulled back to look at me, and something in his expression had shifted. His pupils were dilated, his breathing slightly faster.
"Daddy," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Can we…?"
Heat flared through me at the want in his voice. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He shifted in my lap, deliberately pressing against me. "Need to feel close to you. Need you to show me I'm yours."
I groaned, my hands tightening on his hips. "You're always mine, bud. Always."
"Then show me," he challenged, rolling his hips. "Please, Daddy. Need you."
I was already hard, had been since he'd settled into my lap, and his movements were making it impossible to think about anything else.
"Bedroom," I said, my voice rough. "Now."