Chapter Two
It was nearly four hours later when a weary Dylan arrived home.
His wife, Teagan, was waiting, having gotten the story in bits and pieces thanks to her husband’s texts.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He smiled, but it was obviously forced. “I’m good.”
He’d had a few close scrapes during his time on the force. And each time, that was his standard reaction.
I’m good.
She put a gentle hand on his forearm, looking into his eyes as she smiled softly. “It’s okay not to be okay.”
He stared at her for a moment. He kept up the smile. Even after his long, rough day, he still looked so handsome in his blue jeans and the tight gray t-shirt that hugged his considerable muscles. He’d showered before leaving the station—a habit he had of always wanting to get the germs and grime of the day off before getting into his personal vehicle to drive home. Teagan could still smell the crisp, clean scent of his bodywash.
He stood like that for almost a full minute. Then, a silent tear fell. She put more pressure on his arm, squeezing it reassuringly.
“He could have killed that boy. Or his mom. And I could have killed him.” He paused for a moment, the silence heavy and palpable. “He put me in a position where I almost had to shoot him to protect that family.”
Teagan nodded.
A moment later, he fell into her, hugging her tightly as he started sobbing.
She knew he needed this release. She also knew the guilt it would inevitably bring. It was something her husband had struggled with since his military days: he felt less heroic if he showed emotions. Like he shouldn’t have feelings as an ordinary person does. That he had to be in warrior mode all the time, or he was somehow less of a man.
Add his Little side into the mix and well…the man carried an enormous amount of guilt. And fear.
He lived in constant anxiety that his brothers and sisters in blue would find out about his shameful secret.
So, his life often consisted of a delicate dance: feeling Little but having to maintain a hard exterior.
Teagan hugged him while he cried. A good three minutes or so passed. Finally, he pulled away, wiped his eyes with one last sniffle, and said, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For…you know…”
She shook her head. “Let me tell you how this night is going to go. Pizza is on the way. We’re going to eat, talk, or just watch TV if you want. Or do a combination of all those things. You had a rough day. It’s time to unplug.”
He smiled. “Yeah. All that sounds nice.”
A devilish grin tugged at her full lips. “Does being in a big, thick diapee sound nice too, baby boy?”
It made her heart happy to see how hard Dylan blushed. His slight giggle was music to her ears. She knew he’d feel guilty for wanting this, but she hoped he’d play through it and just give in. He needed it so badly.
To her delight, he nodded.
“Then let Mommy get you all taken care of, sweet pea.”
He blushed again. But he never fought it. Not one time while she was putting that diaper on him. He just lay atop the bed, his pants off, closing his eyes and sighing wistfully as she swaddled him in the Mountainville Supreme nappy.
The struggle would come later, when he reflected on the experience and realized just how deeply he’d regressed.
But for now, at least, he was caught up in the escape that Little Space gave him.
And it was wonderful.