Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Cole
One Year Earlier
“Guys, how many times do I have to tell you—”
My words died in my throat as my back hit the wall. My best friend and his younger sibling were the only two who could ever get the upper hand on me.
And allowing Jesse to do so was a case by case basis.
The two barged into my house like they owned the place. Frankly, they might as well have. The three of us had been so tight knit for so long that we were practically inseparable.
Peyton, Jesse’s sibling, threw a bratty grin over their shoulder, and I folded. Damn it, they knew my weaknesses.
Begrudgingly, I let the McKauleys barge their way into my kitchen and decorate the table with various bottles of liquor.
It was my thirty-fifth birthday and despite my protests against celebrating, those two weren’t having it.
It had nothing to do with the number, and everything to do with the fact that I hated my own birthday.
The date fell smack in the middle of two major holidays.
As a child, people were too swept up in Thanksgiving recover and Christmas prep to celebrate.
Not that I minded. The only two people I ever needed were standing right in my kitchen.
Jesse had been my best friend since we were thirteen years old.
A nasty divorce had split him and Peyton up when they were kids, and Peyton moved to Georgia with their dad, while Jesse stayed with their mom in Kentucky.
A few years in, I started going with him to spend summers in Georgia, and that was when I fell in love with Peyton.
They didn’t let being younger or smaller prevent them from keeping up with us. Wherever we were, Peyton wasn’t far behind. They and Jesse were as close as siblings could be, and it never bothered me that every summer or school break, our duo would become a trio.
Peyton was shy and timid on the surface but once you unveiled the brat within, they were a total spitfire. Being queer in a small town, they had to be.
Only today, that fire had dimmed slightly.
As Peyton took their seat at the table and Jesse placed a spiced rum and coke in front of them—their favorite—they paled, even more than they already were.
The usual wash of pink over their cheeks was missing, the twinkle in their brown eyes having vanished—then they rubbed their stomach. “You feeling okay, Peyton?”
“Fine,” they lied, as I suspected they would. “Just tired.” They shoved a bottle of whiskey in my direction. “Drink up, birthday boy.”
The bottle vanished from view and an arm wrapped around my throat. I choked as a hand forced my mouth open and warm amber liquid poured into my mouth. I had two options: swallow, or drown.
I chose the former.
I wrenched out of Jesse’s grip, liquor burning my throat. “Bastard,” I muttered, wiping my mouth off. But Peyton was giggling, so I didn’t punish my best friend too severely—I only dared him to chug from the bottle.
He wasn’t my responsibility if he puked it all up.
As it turned out, that night was just what I needed.
The drinks kept coming and with each pour, my head got lighter.
A couple of hours in, we crowded around an open box of pizza on the table after I’d insisted that Peyton eat something.
Even through my buzz, I could tell that something was wrong.
They hadn’t taken a bite. If at all possible, they’d gotten even paler as the night wore on.
They picked at their food, alternating between rubbing their belly and massaging their temples.
That was when I slowed my alcohol consumption. If Jesse was going to get blackout wasted, then Peyton needed someone to be coherent. Besides, knowing they were sick had the Daddy in me itching to break free.
The older we got, Jesse and I realized we had more in common than we thought.
We were both Daddies and once I came to that realization, I could see that Peyton had “Little” written all over them.
Jesse seemed not to know—not that I expected him to.
I, however, had kept a close eye on them ever since.
They still hadn’t touched the rum and coke from earlier. They forced small bites of cheese down their throat, grimacing with each swallow.
Yeah, someone’s got a tummy ache. I rose from my seat, swiping their drink away and replacing the boozy beverage with some ginger ale that I kept in the fridge for this exact purpose.
Jesse was busy having a one-man dance party in the living room, so I knelt next to Peyton. “You don’t feel well, do you, sweetheart?”
They shook their head, and I swore I saw their lip tremble. “But I’ll be okay. It’s your birthday; I don’t want to ruin it.”
“I’d much rather you not throw up all over my kitchen table,” I joked. “Why don’t you go lie down?”
Peyton hesitated, which was as good as an agreement, but I waited for their response anyway. “You’re sure?”
“Of course.”
Peyton whispered a “thank you,” and took their ginger ale to bed. Jesse was so drunk that he barely registered their absence. I poured the rest of my whiskey away, trading it for a bottle of water and throwing myself onto the couch.
“You’re not even commenting on my singing!” Jesse slurred, falling into the cushions with his head on my lap.
“It’s like Lance Bass is in my living room!”
“Damn straight!”
I snickered. “Dude, there is nothing straight about any of this—including Lance.”
My best friend peered up at me with drunk, glossy brown eyes and booze-flushed cheeks. Those eyes clearly ran in the family, but Peyton’s held a certain tenderness that Jesse’s didn’t.
And his weren’t the ones I saw in my fantasies, as much as he might like them to be.
“Are you having a good time?” he asked.
A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. I ruffled his hair. “Yeah, I’m having a good time.”
Disappointed, he glared at my choice of beverage. “You’ve hardly had anything to drink.”
“Because you’ve had enough for the three of us.”
It was only then that he realized we were down a person. “Where is Peyton?”
“Hopefully asleep.” Jesse’s eyes slid shut, and he swallowed hard, as if he were fighting off nausea. “Maybe you should consider doing the same.”
“Pfft, amateurs.”
But he was well on his way to sleep. Gently, I wriggled my way from beneath him and tucked a pillow under his head. After making sure he had his own water and a trash can for good measure, I cleaned up the kitchen and turned off the TV.
There were three bedrooms down the hallway: mine, the guest room, and another that stayed locked most of the time.
I wasn’t ready to talk about that one.
Instead of going straight to bed, I knocked gently on the guest room door.
When no response came, I nudged it open.
Peyton laid on top of the blanket, still fully dressed and fast asleep.
Bless them, they’d tugged the trash can over to the bed.
After a quick check to make sure they hadn’t been sick, I topped up their drink and covered them with a blanket before retreating to my own room.
It couldn’t have been long before I woke up to noises in the hallway. I thought it was Jesse at first, but soft whimpering had me bolting upright. Sniffling, and the linen closet opened? What the hell?
Pulling myself from bed, I crept into the hallway. Peyton was stretching their arm high above their head, reaching for the… spare sheets? “You okay?” I asked.
Startled, they whirled around, sheets crashing to the floor behind them. “I’m sor—” They gagged, rushing into the bathroom.
Poor thing. I followed, kneeling beside them to brush sweaty blond hair out of their face. “It’s okay, baby,” I soothed. “Get it out.”
The name had slipped out, but I wasn’t going to correct it. My Daddy senses were on fire, and Peyton needed me.
As I rubbed their back, I fumbled behind me for the light switch. Peyton tried to speak between waves, but to no avail.
By the time they were finished, tears poured from their pretty eyes. When their stomach finally settled, they sat back on their heels and it was then that I noticed why they’d been reaching for the spare sheets: Their pants were wet. “I’m sorry,” they whispered, voice hoarse. “I got sick and—”
“It’s okay,” I hushed, retrieving a pack of makeup remover from under the sink.
They weren’t wearing makeup, but I hoped the aloe would help soothe their angry skin.
Tugging one of the wipes free, I gently rubbed at their soft cheeks.
“Why don’t you get yourself in a cool shower?
I’ll worry about the bed and get you something clean to wear. ”
Peyton fiddled with the hem of their shirt, sniffling. When they spoke, it was with a soft, bashful voice that only a Daddy would recognize—they were regressing. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?” I straightened, turning on the shower.
“Take care of me.”
Despite their protest, they let me help them to their feet. I shoved the flannel off their shoulders and it fluttered to the floor. When they didn’t stop me from unbuckling their belt, I knew they were deep into their safe space.
“We’ve known each other since we were teenagers, Peyton. Have I ever struck you as someone who does things they don’t want to?”
“Yes, because you’re too nice to worry about inconveniencing someone.”
Damn it; they were right. I rolled my eyes, choosing to show them rather than tell them that I wanted to do this. Their Rubik’s cube of belts and chains turned loose, and I lowered the zipper for them. When my hands found the hem of their shirt, they raised their arms pliantly.
“That doesn’t count when it comes to you,” I said quietly. Leaving them to completely undress, I moved for the door. “Toss your clothes in the hall and I’ll wash them for you.”
Peyton nodded, and I shut the door behind me. Once I’d collected the clean sheets from the floor, I straightened up the guest room—but they weren’t going back in there if I could help it.
Peyton’s clothes were sitting in the hallway, so I combined those with the dirty sheets.
Before I started the machine, I picked out Peyton’s jeans to clear their pockets and remove their belts.
As I did so, something small and blue fell into the washing machine: A pacifier–adult-sized, to accommodate a larger mouth.
Grinning, I tucked it into the pocket of my sleep pants. They’d be wanting that soon.
With the shower still running, I left a T-shirt on the counter for them and did something I hadn’t been able to for quite some time: I prepped my space for a Little.