22. Reid
TWENTY-TWO
REID
Boots thudded against the concrete floor as the guys from B shift filed in. Fresh coffee brewed somewhere behind me, strong enough to singe nose hairs. Marco and Trent were already giving me side-eye.
Griff leaned on a locker, arms crossed, one brow raised. “You got a hot date, Reid?”
I didn’t answer.
Trent whistled low. “Bet he packed a whole charcuterie board. Crackers, grapes, one of those little jams.”
Marco laughed. “Fancy cheese. The kind with a rind and a name you can’t pronounce.”
I grunted, tugged my duffel over one shoulder, but there was no hiding the twitch at the corner of my mouth. Denying it wouldn’t do me any good—not when they’d all seen the change in me these last few weeks.
Didn’t stop me from trying. “You assholes done?”
“Almost.” Griff smirked. “Just say hi to your boy for us.”
A door clanged open. Boone came in, phone in hand, his voice low and warm as he murmured to Megan on the other end. He looked tired. Not the dragging, sleep-deprived kind—just worn in that quiet, bone-deep way that came from caring too damn much.
“She puked again,” he said once he hung up. “Can’t keep much down this week.”
Trent frowned. “That’s rough, man.”
Marco reached over, gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Anything she’s been able to eat?”
Boone nodded, but it looked more like he was trying to convince himself. “Saltines and watermelon. Doctor said it should ease up after the first trimester.”
“She’s lucky she’s got you,” Griff added. “You two’ll get through it.”
Boone didn’t speak for a beat. Then, softer: “Yeah. We will.”
My chest pulled tight. I clapped him on the back as I passed. “Go home. She needs you more than we do.”
His smile flickered, grateful.
By the time I got home, the sun was already climbing, warm light slanting through the windows. I dropped my bag by the door, stripped out of my uniform, and headed for the shower.
Ari’s voice stuck in my head—something he’d said a few days ago, half under his breath, about sunflower fields and the way golden hour light hit just right for sketching.
He probably didn’t think I was listening. Or that I’d remember.
But I did.
Of course I did.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing in my kitchen, towel slung low on my hips, slicing strawberries into a container.
I had a bag of kettle corn he liked, a couple of chilled sodas, two turkey sandwiches—extra mustard for him.
Bottled water, sunscreen, the big soft blanket he always stole during movie nights.
All of it tucked neatly into a basket I’d found in the back of my pantry.
The last touch was a shirt I knew he liked—he always gave me shit when I wore it, said it made my arms look like trouble. Which, coming from him, was basically a full confession.
I pulled it on, ran a hand through my damp hair, and glanced at the clock. Still early. Perfect.
The drive to his place was quiet. Light traffic. Windows down, music low. I caught myself glancing at the passenger seat more than once, already picturing him there—legs curled up, sketchpad balanced on his thighs, bare feet on my dash if he thought he could get away with it.
God, I loved that boy.
He was waiting on the porch when I pulled up, sunlight catching the strands of his hair and lighting him up like something out of a dream. Sketchpad in one hand, bag in the other, already smiling like he knew I’d show.
I leaned out the window. “You bring that pretty attitude of yours, or do I need to drive back home?”
He rolled his eyes, but his smile deepened. “Depends. You bring snacks?”
“Get in the truck, boy.”
He did, and the second the door clicked shut, the world shifted just a little. Like it always did when he was close.
We didn’t talk much on the drive. Just the occasional joke, the kind of quiet that didn’t need filling. Fifteen minutes out of town, I turned down a dirt road lined with weathered fencing and patches of dry grass.
Ari leaned forward, peering out. “This is where you’re taking me to die, huh?”
“Friend of mine owns the place,” I said. “Told him we’d be quick. Said to leave a bottle of beer on the fence post in exchange.”
He laughed, low and warm, and I watched the tension drain from his shoulders as the first sunflower patch came into view— wide-open, golden-bright, stretching far enough to feel like the sky had dropped down to kiss the earth.
I parked and killed the engine. Ari was already opening the door, bouncing out before I could grab the blanket.
I followed, basket in hand, eyes on him as he spun in a slow circle, taking it all in.
“You gonna draw or just dance around like a Disney princess?”
“Both,” he said. “Now get the blanket, Daddy. I have a kingdom to command.”
I shook my head, but I was grinning.
And I was exactly where I wanted to be.
Ari led the way, scanning the field like he was hunting treasure. Sunflowers stretched tall all around us, their wide golden faces tilted toward the sky. He finally slowed near a gentle rise where the stalks grew thick, but the view opened wide enough to glimpse the rolling hills beyond.
“Here,” he said, already pulling the blanket from my hands and tossing it across a patch of flattened grass.
I set the basket down, then crouched to smooth the corners while he kicked off his sandals and dropped into a sprawl with all the grace of someone completely at home in his own skin.
The sketchbook came out fast—he always moved like that when inspiration hit.
Quick, decisive, like the idea was already halfway formed and he just had to catch up to it.
He didn’t ask me to sit beside him. Didn’t need to.
I dropped down next to him, stretched my legs out, and leaned back on my elbows, content to let him work. A few bees buzzed lazily nearby, but the heat kept everything slow and quiet.
“What’re you drawing?” I asked.
“The field,” he murmured without looking up. “Maybe you. Haven’t decided yet.”
I smirked. “Let me know if I should flex.”
He didn’t dignify that with a response. Just kept sketching, tongue tucked in the corner of his mouth, eyes flicking between page and horizon.
A few minutes passed. Then?—
“Okay. Shirt off.”
My brows lifted. “Excuse me?”
“I said shirt off, Daddy. Unless you’re scared.”
I scoffed but reached behind my neck to tug the fabric over my head. The air hit my skin like a slow exhale. “You just want to ogle me.”
He gave me a once-over that was anything but subtle. “Obviously.”
Then he adjusted his position, pulled one knee up and angled the sketchbook toward his thigh like he was building something serious.
I’d been looked at a lot of ways in my life—by coworkers, by people needing help—but never like this.
Not with this kind of focus. Like I was something soft and worth studying. Like I mattered.
He didn’t say much while he worked. But I could see the flush rising on his cheeks. Could see the quick dart of his tongue every time his pencil paused.
“You’re blushing,” I said quietly.
“You like when I look at you like this,” he murmured, not denying it.
I reached out, let my fingers trail the back of his hand.
“Can’t sit still, Daddy? Thought you liked giving orders, not taking them.”
“Maybe I like when you forget who’s in charge.”
He sketched for a bit longer before sitting up straighter and wiping his hands on his shorts. “I want to make you a crown.”
I blinked. “What?”
He was already gathering a few sunflowers, picking the ones with sturdy stems. “You heard me.”
“You better not.”
He didn’t answer. Just reached into the basket, rummaged around, and came up with a twist tie from the sandwich bag. I watched him braid the stems together with nimble fingers, weaving in small blooms and bits of green. It shouldn’t have worked. It did.
He turned to me, smug as hell. “Don’t move.”
“Ari—”
He planted a knee between my thighs and leaned in, placing the crown on my head like it was a damn coronation. “There,” he said, breath ghosting my cheek. “Now you’re perfect.”
My growl was low. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
He pressed a kiss to my jaw, then one just below my ear. “I know.”
We sat like that for a while. His head on my shoulder, my hand curled around his bare knee. The kind of quiet that didn’t itch to be filled. The kind you earn.
Eventually, he spoke. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
He hesitated. “When did you know? That you were a Daddy?”
I looked down at our legs, all tangled together on the blanket. Took a breath.
“I think the signs were always there,” I said. “Even back in high school, I was the one making sure everyone got home safe. Wanting to fix things, to soothe.”
I paused, fingers tightening slightly on his knee.
“But I didn’t have the words for it back then. I just thought it meant I was dependable. Responsible. The kind of guy you marry.”
Ari didn’t speak, but I could feel the way his breath changed. Like he was listening with more than just his ears.
“I married young. My high school girlfriend—you know her, Tessa. She knew I was bi. That was never a secret, and it didn’t scare her.
But the rest of it...” I shook my head. “I didn’t know how to explain it.
That I craved... giving in a different way.
Structure, tenderness, a kind of guidance that didn’t stop once you left the bedroom. ”
I looked at Ari. His lashes were wet, catching the light.
“I tried to be what she needed. She tried, too. But I was always holding part of myself back, and she felt it. We were kind to each other, even in the end. Just... not aligned. She didn’t want a Daddy.
.. that wasn’t who she needed me to be. And I didn’t want to keep pretending I didn’t want to be one.
“I started using the word after the divorce,” I admitted. “Casually at first. Hookups. I thought maybe it was just a kink I’d finally let out of the box. It was the first time I’d ever let myself want out loud. But it wasn’t just about sex.” I paused.
“Is that all you’ve done since the divorce? Hookups?” he asked, voice quiet.
I nodded. “It felt easier to give pieces of myself to people who didn’t expect anything real. None of them ever called me Daddy.”
He blinked. “No one? For real?”
“Not once. Because I didn’t let them. That part of me stayed locked up... until you.”
His eyes widened, then softened. “Why me?”
I smiled, brushing my thumb along his cheekbone. “Because with you, I wanted to care . Not fix. Not possess. Just... care . You made space for that in me without even trying. And when you called me Daddy the first time, I didn’t mind at all. The title fit me perfectly.”
Ari let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t even know I was gonna say it. It just... slipped out.”
“Did it feel right?”
He nodded.
I touched his chin, turned his face toward me. “How did you know? That you’re a boy?”
He shrugged at first, but I waited. Let him fill the silence.
“I think... I’ve always wanted to be held . Not just physically, but like someone was wrapping their arms around the messy parts, too. I didn’t have that growing up. And the older I got, the more I thought I had to grow out of it. Be strong.”
He looked down, fiddled with the hem of the blanket.
“I dated men who wanted to be needed, not who wanted to nurture . And I thought maybe that was the best I could get. So I tried to be smaller. Softer. Invisible, even, if it meant someone would stay.”
I knew where that was going. “The ex?”
He nodded. “He wasn’t a Daddy. Just a guy who liked control. Made it feel like love, until it didn’t. I stopped asking for things. Stopped hoping.”
My chest ached.
“You don’t have to hope anymore,” I said softly. “Not with me.”
Ari smiled, eyes wet. “I know.”
I kissed him—slow, lingering, reverent. The way he deserved.
Then I gently pulled back, thumb brushing his cheek. The sunflower crown slipped sideways over my temple, and Ari reached up to straighten it with careful fingers. His touch lingered against my temple, then slid back into my hair like he wasn’t ready to let go.
I wasn’t ready either.
The blanket rustled as I shifted beside him, leaning back on one elbow, my free hand finding the curve of his waist like it belonged there.
“I’d like to talk to Sage on Monday,” I said, watching his eyes.
He blinked.
“It’s time he knows about us,” I continued, voice low. “If you don’t mind.”
His brows pulled together, not in worry—just surprise.
“I don’t want to keep you a secret,” I said, thumbing a bit of sunflower pollen from his cheekbone. “I don’t want to hide how happy you make me. But I won’t do it if you’re not ready. It has to be both of us, or it’s not worth it.”
Ari didn’t answer right away. His throat worked like he was trying to swallow something thick. Eyes shining now, and not from the sun.
“Are you serious?” he asked, voice a little rough.
“Yeah.”
“I mean really serious. No more sneaking around. No more pretending we’re just friends if someone’s watching.”
“I want people to know I’m yours,” I said simply. “And that you’re mine.”
Ari looked at me for a long moment, and I let him. Let him take all the time he needed to see the truth on my face, to weigh it against the fear that had lived in both of us for so long.
His smile was soft. Unsteady. Full of something that looked an awful lot like wonder.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Yeah. More than okay.”
I wrapped an arm around him and pulled him down beside me, letting the sun warm our backs as he curled into my chest. His sketchpad lay forgotten in the grass, page fluttering in the breeze. I didn’t need a picture.
This right here? It was burned into memory.
His laugh brushed against my collarbone as he adjusted the crown one more time. “You look ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the one who made me wear it.”
He grinned. “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view.”
I kissed him again—lazy and unhurried, both of us smiling too much to keep it serious. Somewhere nearby, a bee buzzed past. A bird called overhead.
But in our little patch of sunflower and blue sky, there was nothing but soft laughter, quiet kisses, and the quiet, certain joy of being known.