Page 88 of Daddy's Little Christmas

Their mouth twitched. “Got it free.”

“Sometimes free is the best kind,” I said.

This time when they smiled, it reached their eyes. They moved away, blending into the crowd.

I exhaled shakily. My vision went a little blurry around the edges. The noise of the room pressed tighter.

Graeme’s hand brushed the small of my back. “Breathe,” he whispered.

I tried. I really did. In through my nose, out through my mouth. But my chest felt too tight. The fluorescent lights buzzed louder. Every voice seemed to bounce off the walls twice before fading.

I kept handing out bags. My hands started to feel disconnected from my body, like I was watching someone else move them.

“Rudy,” Graeme said quietly after a while. “Look at me.”

I blinked, realizing I’d been staring at nothing. I turned my head. His face swam into focus, concern etched around his eyes. “Hey,” he said. “Where are you right now?”

I swallowed. “I’m here,” I said automatically. Then, softer, “I think.”

“How’s your body feeling?” he asked. “Heavy? Light? Tight?”

“Um.” I had to think about it. “Floaty. And my shoulders hurt. And my head feels… buzzy.” The words tumbled out withoutmy usual filter. “There’s a lot of people. And noise. And smells. And… feelings.”

He nodded. “Yeah. There are.”

I clenched my jaw. “I’m okay. I can keep going.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe you can. But I don’t want you on autopilot until you crash. That’s not the goal.”

“But there’s still people in line,” I protested, glancing at the shrinking-but-still-present stream of folks. “If I stop, you’ll be one person short, and—”

“Rudy.” His voice was gentle but firm. Daddy-voice. “Look at me.”

I did. My chest hitched.

“You did hours of good work today,” he said quietly. “You showed up. You were kind. You saw people. You didn’t treat them like a chore or a project. That matters.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Needing a break doesn’t erase that.”

My eyes burned. “I don’t want to disappoint you,” I whispered, the truth slipping out before I could swallow it back.

Something in his expression softened, broke, reformed. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, almost like it hurt. “You don’t disappoint me by having limits. You’d disappoint me if you didn’t listen to your body.”

I bit my lip. A tiny, traitorous part of me wanted to fold in on myself right there, small and quiet and needing. Not here in front of everyone.

“I can make it to the end of the line,” I argued, but my voice sounded weak to my own ears.

He considered, then nodded once. “Okay,” he said slowly. “We’ll finish this batch. Then we’re done for today. Deal?”

My shoulders sagged with relief I hadn’t wanted to admit I needed. “Deal,” I whispered.

He brushed his fingers along my arm, a quick stroke. “That’s my boy,” he murmured.

The words steadied me enough to get through the last few bags. When the line finally thinned and Maribel waved over a new pair of volunteers to relieve us, I felt hollowed out and full at the same time.

We shrugged out of our aprons and turned in our name tags. Maribel hugged us both.

“You two were stars,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for letting me be here,” I said, voice hoarse.