Spencer’s jaw clenched. If Tom said one thing—just one thing—to make Jamie feel small again, Spencer wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold back. He was driving to protect him too. To remind him he wasn’t alone anymore. That someone would fight for him, no matter what.
The snow kept falling, thick and fast, but Spencer didn’t slow down. He just kept driving, heart in his throat, eyes locked on the road ahead. Jamie was out there, and Spencer was going to bring him home.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Spencer
Sure enough, just down the road, Spencer spotted him. Jamie was walking alone, head down, arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to hold in all the pieces. Spencer pulled over fast, barely putting the truck in park before jumping out.
“Jamie!” he called.
Jamie looked up, startled, eyes red and puffy. Spencer didn’t hesitate. He crossed the distance in a few long strides, wrapped his arms around him, and pulled him in tight. Jamie didn’t resist—he just sagged into him like he’d been holding himself up too long.
Without a word, Spencer scooped him up, tossed him gently over his shoulder like he weighed nothing, and carried him back to the truck. Jamie didn’t protest. He just let himself be held.
Spencer opened the door, set him down in the passenger seat, and buckled him in like he was something precious.
Because he was.
Spencer sat in the truck with the engine off, the heater humming low as snow drifted softly outside. Jamie was besidehim, small and quiet, his shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear into the seat. Something inside Spencer had cracked wide open when Jamie’s suffering became his. He hated seeing Jamie like that—hurt, shaken, carrying the weight of people who didn’t deserve him.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with Billy,” Spencer said, watching Jamie’s profile in the dim light. “Whatever he said was a lie. The little bastard is a professional liar, cheater, and asshole all rolled up into one.”
Jamie didn’t look at him right away. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I saw Tom.”
Spencer’s heart sank.Of course, he saw Tom. He reached over, took Jamie’s hand in his own. “And… do you want to talk about it?”
Jamie shook his head, then whispered, “I want to go to the cabin.”
Spencer squeezed his hand. “You mean our cabin, right?”
That’s when the tears came, slowly at first, and then steadily, streaming down Jamie’s pale cheeks. Spencer’s chest tightened. It about killed him to see Jamie cry like that, so raw and vulnerable. He didn’t start the engine. He didn’t rush him. He just leaned in, kissed Jamie softly, and brushed his fingers along his earlobes, the way he knew calmed him down.
Jamie cried quietly, his breath hitching, and Spencer held him through it, letting the silence speak for them. No fixing. No rushing. Just being there. Spencer grabbed a tissue from the glove compartment and wiped Jamie’s tears.
Eventually, Jamie pulled back, his eyes still wet but his lips curled into a soft smile. “You’re so good to me,” he said. “No one ever cares about me like you do. And I didn’t have to do anything for it.”
Spencer’s throat tightened. He cupped Jamie’s cheek. “I fell in love with who you are. I want you as is.”
“I need you, Daddy Spencer, not because I can’t live on my own, but because I love how you make me feel. I don’t want anything to happen to you because I want you to be my daddy.” Jamie pulled out his binky and sucked on it.
Spencer leaned in, their bodies close, and kissed Jamie, their hearts pounding in unison. “You’re my boy now.”
“You’re the best daddy ever.” He lifted his binky and stuffed it into his mouth again.
Spencer kissed the top of Jamie’s head, lingering there for a moment longer than usual. The scent of Jamie’s shampoo—pine and something warm—grounded him, but it didn’t soften the knot of anger tightening in his chest.
“We can head for Brentwood tonight and get your things,” he said quietly, trying to keep his voice steady. “You don’t need to see Tom at the mixer.”
Jamie didn’t answer right away. He just sat there, small and quiet, letting the silence stretch between them. Then, slowly, he reached up and took his binky out, slipping it into his pocket like he was packing away a piece of comfort.
“Tom took my key,” Jamie said, voice low.
“He took your key?” The words hit like a slap. He felt his pulse spike, a hot rush of disbelief flooding through him. “Are you serious?”
Jamie shrugged. “I don’t care anymore.”
But Spencer did. He cared a lot. Too much. The idea of Tom—cold, controlling Tom—stripping Jamie of access to his own space, his own things, made Spencer’s blood boil. It wasn’t just petty. It was cruel. It was calculated. And it was exactly the kind of thing Tom would do to remind someone they were disposable.
