Page 57 of Daddy's Little Christmas

“Okay,” I breathed.

I didn’t put it in my mouth.

Not yet.

I curled my fingers around it instead, fist closing tight like I was afraid someone would rip it away if they saw.

Graeme seemed to understand exactly what that meant. His hand smoothed slow circles over my back, from my shoulders down to the small of my back and up again. Each pass unwound another coil of tension inside me.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, the words vibrating through his chest into my cheek. “You’re very brave, you know that?”

My laugh came out watery.

“Don’t feel brave,” I muttered. “Feel like I’m going to fall apart if you stop talking.”

“Then I won’t stop,” he said simply.

His hand kept moving.

My body melted bit by bit, muscles unclenching, jaw loosening, breaths lengthening without my permission. My legs shifted, knees tucking in closer around his hips as I let my weight rest more fully on him.

Somewhere in the shuffle, the reindeer ended up wedged between our chests. I gave it a tiny squeeze. It squeaked, the faintest little sound, and something inside my ribcage cracked open.

A small, helpless noise slipped out of me.

Graeme’s arms came around me properly then, gathering me in, one hand splayed wide over my back, the other sliding up to cradle the back of my head.

“I’ve got you, sweet boy,” he whispered into my hair. “You don’t have to hold anything together right now. You can just… be.”

My eyes flooded.

“I’m so tired,” I heard myself say. The words were small, thin, the kind of admission that had never been safe before. “Of pretending. Of being… normal. Of always worrying if I’m too much or not enough or—”

“Hey,” he murmured, his thumb stroking slow lines at the nape of my neck. “You are exactly enough. Exactly as you are. All your pieces. Big and small.”

The sob came then.

Quiet, but whole.

It shook me from the inside out. Tears soaked into his shirt. I squeezed my eyes shut, mortified and relieved all at once.

Graeme didn’t flinch.

Didn’t tell me to calm down.

Didn’t shift away.

He just held me. Solid and constant, letting me cry against him like I was worth the effort. His hand never stopped moving on my back. His voice kept up a low, soothing murmur—words and sounds blending together.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You’re safe here. Nobody’s going to take this away from you. Breathe with me… That’s it… Good boy.”

The words went straight through me.

Not like Nate’s sharp, grudging praise. Not like a carrot dangled over my head.

Like a truth.

My fingers loosened slowly around the pacifier, my hand uncurling just enough that the plastic pressed into my palm instead of digging into it.