“So, he plans to keep your things?” Spencer asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it.
Jamie nodded. “He packed my stuff and said he’ll ship it out.”
Spencer clenched his jaw. “Where is he shipping it out to?”
“Nowhere,” Jamie said, eyes flicking away. “He told me to email him my new address.”
Spencer’s fists curled in his lap. The audacity. Tom had boxed up Jamie’s life like it was a return-to-sender situation, like Jamie was just another item he’d grown tired of. Spencer wanted to drive to Brentwood right now, kick down Tom’s door, and make him understand exactly what it meant to mess with someone Spencer loved.
“Then I’ll give him our Montana address,” Spencer said, voice tight. “If that’s okay?”
Jamie nodded, and Spencer saw the flicker of relief in his eyes. That was all he needed. Tom might’ve taken Jamie’s key, but he hadn’t taken Jamie’s worth. Not anymore. Spencer would make damn sure of that.
“I want to go to the mixer. With you at my side. I’m proud to be seen with you.”
Spencer smiled, heart full. “Can we stop by Nathan’s to get your things?”
Jamie nodded.
Spencer wiped his tears away with a tissue again.
They drove in comfortable silence, the kind that only comes after shared pain. When they arrived at Nathan’s cabin, Alfie met them at the door. He said little—just pulled Jamie into a hug, holding him tight like he understood everything with no need for words.
Spencer watched them, grateful. Jamie had people now. Real ones. Ones who stayed.
The cabin smelled of pine needles and dust, a smell Spencer loved. He hauled in Jamie’s backpack and suitcase, dropping them by the creaky bedframe. “Okay, those are your things for now,” Spencer announced, grinning.
“Thanks.” Jamie was lying naked on the bed.
Spencer grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the small bathroom. “C’mon. We need to get clean before the main event.”
The shower was a tight fit, but that was the point. The water hit hot and steady, steam quickly fogging up the glass door. Spencer leaned back against the tiles, letting the heat soak into his shoulders, watching Jamie get his hair wet. It was a simple thing, but it made his chest feel tight in the best way. He reached out, tracing the line of Jamie’s jaw, his thumb smoothing over a drop of water on his cheekbone.
Jamie’s eyes met his. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, yourself.”
Spencer pulled him closer, the water sluicing between them, and kissed him. It was slow and deep, unhurried. There was no rush. Jamie’s hands came up to cradle his face, his thumbs stroking his temples. They stood like that for a long time, just kissing under the spray, the world outside the foggy glass completely forgotten. It was less about getting clean and more about this: the private intimacy, the slide of skin against skin, the simple, profound comfort of being together.
Eventually, the water cooled down. They reluctantly turned it off and stepped out, grabbing towels. Spencer ruffled his own hair dry and then did the same to Jamie, who laughed and batted his hands away.
“Okay, okay, enough,” Jamie chuckled, his cheeks pink from the steam and the attention.
Spencer, feeling a flutter of nerves, went to his closet. He took a deep breath and pulled out the new outfits, laying them side-by-side on the quilt.
Two pairs of dark denim jeans. Two blue denim button-ups. Two pairs of scuffed, honest-to-god cowboy boots. And finally, with a flourish, two crisp, new cowboy hats.
Jamie stared, his mouth slightly agape. Then, a slow, brilliant smile spread across his face. “You did not.”
“I did,” Spencer said, his own grin a little wobbly. “We’re gonna be the best-dressed guys there, and there won’t be any doubt about who is a couple.”
“I love it.” Jamie picked up the smaller shirt. “We’re gonna look like a couple of ridiculously handsome twin cowboys.” He ran up to Spencer, wrapping him in a hug and giving him a sweet kiss. “Big thank you, Daddy Spencer.”
“Just getting my boy used to dressing like a cowboy when we’re back home in Montana.”
Getting dressed felt like preparing for battle, but a fun one. They helped each other with the stubborn snaps on the cuffs and debated the angle for the hats. Staring at their reflection in the dark window glass, a matched set, Spencer felt a wave of affection so strong it almost knocked him over.
The truck cab was filled with the scent of clean denim and the low hum of the engine as they started down the dark, winding road toward the mixer.
