Chapter One
Jamie
Jamie glanced over at Daddy Tom behind the wheel, the man looking every inch the Brentwood chief of police even off duty. His hair was fire-engine red and impossible to ignore. Those hazel eyes, sharp enough to cut through fog, stayed fixed on the road ahead. His shoulders filled the driver’s seat, built solid and unbending, like the world itself would have to move around him if it wanted to pass.
He was tapping the steering wheel again, slow and steady. Jamie knew that rhythm. He performed in the way he always did when his thoughts were too loud for silence but too private for speech.
“I’m gonna drop you at a small boutique while I make a work call,” Daddy Tom said.
Jamie didn’t look up. His thumb traced the soft crease of the Christmas romance paperback in his lap, his eyes fixed on the words like they held answers. “Okay,” he said.
Daddy Tom’s phone calls were always solo—tight, sealed, like he was a secret agent. Jamie had stopped asking who wason the other end. He’d learned early curiosity earned a change of subject.
“It’s just easier,” Daddy Tom said, almost to himself, as they passed a few restaurants. “Without distractions.”
Jamie snorted. “You mean without me asking who you’re calling, right?”
Daddy Tom grinned. “Pick out any jacket you want. My treat.”
Jamie glanced up, eyes narrowing. “Can I get a leather one? Like yours?”
Daddy Tom nodded. “We’ll head to the cabin after. You’re gonna love it.”
The car slowed at the curb in front of a narrow shop wedged between a bar and a pawnshop. Its windows were fogged, lights dimmed like the place had already given up on customers. Daddy Tom leaned over and kissed Jamie’s temple before Jamie climbed out, the seat groaning under his weight.
Jamie watched him go, the door clicking shut like punctuation. He didn’t move right away. Just stood there, listening to the silence Daddy Tom left behind, wondering again what kind of truth needed that much privacy.
He remembered last summer, the gas station off PCH. Daddy Tom had stepped outside to make a call, pacing behind the ice machine like he thought it could block sound. Jamie had watched through the window, catching fragments, “I told you not to call here,” and “He’s with me now.” The words had stuck like burrs, sharp and small.
Another time, in the motel parking lot, Daddy Tom had pulled the car around the back and angled it away from the cameras. Jamie had pretended to sleep, but his ears had stayed open. The voice on the other end had made Daddy Tom’s fingers twitch against the wheel.
Jamie didn’t know who it was. Didn’t know if it was one person or many. But he knew the calls weren’t about work, and they weren’t about him. They were about something else—something Daddy Tom didn’t want him to see.
He hung around at the outside entrance of the store, pretending to browse through the foggy front window while glancing at the parking lot. He sensed danger, a premonition of something awful, yet he hardened himself against the fear. With only a bright red hoodie, Jamie stepped into the small boutique with snow dusting his shoulders like powdered sugar, his running shoes soaked from the slush outside. The place was cozy, a little cramped with two racks of insulated coats and jackets lining the walls, with some flannel shirts folded neatly on a table by the front
It smelled like cedar and old leather, with a weird hint of artificial pine. Jamie ran his fingers over a rack of jackets, the kind that looked better on a hanger than it would on him. He reached for his phone to check the time, but the screen gave one last flicker and died. No charger, no wallet either. Daddy Tom had said he’d cover it, so Jamie had left both in his backpack in the car.
He felt stupid; a little like he was being punked. Daddy Tom was his rescuer, but there was a price to pay. He wasn’t like other daddies, doting over Jamie the way he needed. He was always looking over his shoulder for another boy as if Jamie wasn’t enough. He said nothing to him, but Jamie felt the distance.
He wandered past a rack of denim and corduroy, fingers grazing a soft brown sleeve that reminded him of his dad’s old barn coat. Something about the weight of the fabric, the way it sagged just right on the hanger, made him pause. He certainly didn’t need any reminders of his father.
Daddy Tom hadn’t mentioned where he was going to make the call, or who to. And Jamie didn’t press—he rarely did. Therewas a rhythm to things: Jamie waiting in stores and gas stations, Daddy Tom pacing out his privacy in parking lots. It was the kind of unspoken understanding that didn’t need fixing until it broke.
As he drifted deeper into the store, the quiet settled around him. He ran his hand down another jacket. This one was too sleek, too neat. He wanted a leather jacket like Daddy Tom’s.
Jamie tugged the sleeve of the jacket he’d tried on, fingers brushing the coarse fabric like maybe it would convince him it belonged to him. It didn’t feel like his, nothing in this store ever would, but Daddy Tom had told him to pick one out, so he’d tried. Daddy Tom was supposed to come back after the call, and he should have been standing right beside him by now. But he wasn’t.
By the time the store’s lights flickered and the clerk gave him that sorry, we’re closing smile, Jamie’s stomach had already sunk to the floor. He stepped out into the parking lot to wait while the cold bit instantly at his cheeks. Snowflakes floated down, soft at first, then steadier, sticking to his hair, his lashes. He watched the clerk drive away.And stillDaddy Tom’s brand-new Jeep Wrangler Rubicon wasn’t there.
Jamie’s chest tightened. His suitcase, backpack, and wallet, every bit of him that mattered was still in Daddy Tom’s back seat. He told himself Daddy Tom must’ve gotten caught up, maybe dropped his phone, maybe got lost in the maze of holiday traffic. But as minutes bled into an hour and the lot emptied, that small thread of hope felt thinner, like it could snap with one more breath.
Remaining where he stood was pointless and, as his shame grew stronger with his stillness, he decided to leave the dark parking lot. His wet shoes crunching in the snow, arms hugging himself for warmth, he followed the main road out of town. His breath came out in clouds, harsh against the night air. Hetried not to think about how stupid he’d been leaving everything in the Jeep, trusting someone so completely, and believing Christmas in a cabin could erase the ache of his past. Daddy Tom not only ignored his needs, but he also didn’t love him and probably never had.
With each step, the snow deepened. His jeans clung wet and heavy to his legs, his fingers stiff in his sleeves. Fear crawled up his throat. This wasn’t just being forgotten—this was being abandoned. Again. Just like before. First his brother. Then his parents. Now Daddy Tom.
By the time his legs gave out, he stumbled to the side of the road and sank down into the drift. He pressed his forehead to his knees, chest heaving with shivers. Tears stung, but he swiped them away before they could freeze on his skin. He hated crying, hated how small it made him feel.
The snow kept falling, soft and endless, like the world was trying to bury him in silence. And maybe that’s what hurt most—that no one even knew he was out here. He could disappear tonight, and it would take days before anyone thought to ask where he’d gone.
