Page 68

Lincoln dropped onto it with a grunt, feeling the soft give of the cushion under his rear.

Daddy had already spread out the coloring sheet—an old-fashioned steam engine puffing along a winding track, its cheerful face beaming from the front as it chugged through a countryside of cartoon trees and puffy clouds.

Childish, yes, but charming and inviting.

He picked up a bright-red pencil and blinked when a puff of strawberry-scented wax tickled his nose.

“These smell,” he muttered.

“Good or bad?”

“Good.” He tried not to smile as he leaned in, selecting a purple next. Grape.

Daddy stayed nearby, but didn’t hover. He wasn’t watching like a hawk. He just existed beside him, warm and steady.

By the time the train had a red body and purple smoke, Lincoln’s shoulders had softened. His breath had evened out. The noise in his head had quieted.

He liked this. The soft scratch of pencil on paper. The deep inhale of fruity scents. The way his world narrowed to color and shape and nothing else.

When he finally leaned back, Daddy pressed another glittering star onto his bingo card. “That’s five, cuddle-bug”

Lincoln looked at the gold sticker, then at the card in full. Twenty-five squares. Some filled with tasks that made him smirk. Others made his stomach twist—like tell me a fear or use your diaper so Daddy can clean your bum .

Still, it felt good. Achievable. Like something he could do—when so much else had felt out of reach lately.

Daddy stood and walked out of the room.

Lincoln’s stomach gave a small twist. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere far.” Daddy returned a moment later, something blue tucked under his arm. “It’s time for your nap. But first—since you got your first bingo.”

He held out the plush toy. It was a bright blue, fuzzy thing with huge ears and wide black eyes, and a mischievous smile stitched across his face.

Lincoln blinked, then reached out to take it. The fur was unbelievably soft. The ears were ridiculous and large. And he had the kind of face that looked like he'd get into trouble and drag you right along with him.

“He’s… adorable,” Lincoln murmured. “What is he?”

“That’s Stitch. He’s from a cartoon called Lilo & Stitch . Total menace. You’ll like him.”

Lincoln looked down at the stuffie again, his throat tightening in that strange, quiet way it always did when he felt seen.

But then Daddy straightened again.

Lincoln’s stomach gave a small twist. “Where are you going?”

“Just the kitchen.” Daddy reached down and helped him up. “It’s time for your nap.”

Lincoln blinked. “Nap?”

“I want you to rest for at least twenty minutes.”

“I’m not tired.” He crossed his arms crushing the stuffie. “And I’m not fragile.”

“I never said you were fragile,” Daddy said, guiding him toward the bedroom. “But I want to play a lot with you today, and I need to make some preparations.”

Lincoln’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want the silence. He didn’t want to lie down in that room with nothing but the weight of his own thoughts pressing into the mattress.

“Babyboy.”

His chest tightened.

“Yeah?” His voice came out small.

Daddy crouched in front of him. “Didn’t we agree to be honest about our feelings and needs?”

Lincoln didn’t answer.

Daddy waited.

“I want to keep playing with you.” His words came out in a rush, barely louder than a whisper. He hated how young he sounded. How needy.

But Daddy didn’t flinch.

“I get that. And believe me, there’s nothing I want more.” His hands settled on Lincoln’s hips, fingers curling gently over the denim straps. “But I want you to rest for twenty minutes. Just twenty. Then I’ll be back.”

Lincoln scowled. “I can rest while playing on my phone.”

“No,” Daddy said, soft but firm. “Resting is lying down and doing nothing. You can set an alarm if it helps, but no games. No reading. No TV.”

His fingers twitched. “Can I take my stuffie?”

“Sure, you can take Stitch with you.”

That earned him a flicker of a smile. But it faded just as fast.

“What’s bothering you, cuddle-bug?”

Lincoln shook his head, but Daddy’s hand rose to cup his cheek again. The same thumb from earlier traced just under his eye. Not demanding—just there.

“I think…” Lincoln swallowed hard. “I think you’re tired of me.”

The words felt like glass coming out of his throat.

Daddy didn’t gasp. Didn’t flinch.

Instead, he pulled him close. He wrapped one arm tight around Lincoln’s back, and placed the other hand at the nape of his neck, grounding him. His cheek pressed against Lincoln’s hair, warm and steady.

“I’m not tired of you.” His voice was a low murmur, steady as his heartbeat. “I love you. All of you. Even the sulky, stubborn bits.”

Lincoln sniffed.

“I’m not leaving,” Daddy added. “Just going to put dinner in the slow cooker.”

Lincoln nodded, the gesture more a rub against Daddy’s chest than anything clear. “Okay.”

“Twenty minutes,” Daddy reminded, pulling back to meet his eyes. “Not a second less or no sticker.”

Lincoln huffed but shuffled toward the bed.

“I’ll tuck you in.”

Of course he would.

Daddy helped him up, arranging the pillows just so. He even placed Stitch—his blue stuffie—right under Lincoln’s arm.

He bent low to press a kiss to his forehead. “Rest, babyboy.”

Lincoln curled around the soft weight of the diaper and the fading scent of strawberry from the pencils.