“No. But there’s more.” Sam lowered his arm and leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on his knees. “Yesterday, while we talked, I noticed him fixating on my hands. I wasn’t sure at first if it was anxiety or avoidance. I wrote it down and decided to ignore it but today I noticed it again. He was staring at my hands almost longingly.”
Derek finally moved, resting one hip against the edge of his desk. “He’s grieving. We all know that. But what Sam’s suggesting… it isn’t just talk therapy.”
Easton’s brow furrowed, unease prickling along his spine. “What do you mean?”
“We’re thinking the boy needs discipline and a guiding hand.” Sam gave a small nod. “Not as punishment, he isn’t a bad boy but as a reminder someone cares.”
“Maintenance spankings?”
“Exactly.” Sam leaned back and sighed. “I could have handled it myself, but I don’t think that’s what he needs from me. And honestly, it’s not how I operate. I’m more of a nurturer than a disciplinarian. I always have been. Most of my patients just need space, tools, and someone who listens. But Darian…” He leaned forward, folding his hands over one knee. “He’s different.”
Easton stayed silent.
“There’s a tension in him,” Sam continued. “Something is wound too tight, too long.”
Easton’s jaw ticked. “Wilbert used to spank him.” He looked down at his own hands. Big, capable hands. “Regularly. Not to correct, but to release. Danny was always the type to bottle things up until they came out sideways, usually in the form of snarky remarks, forgetting meals, or lapsing into silence. A firm hand… tears… they cracked something open. Afterward, he could talk again.”
Sam nodded, unsurprised. “That fits. Yesterday but also today, there were moments when I could see him almost wanting to say something, but he couldn’t get it out. And more than once, his eyes drifted to my hands.”
Easton’s brows drew together. “He misses being seen. Held.”
“Exactly,” Sam repeated as he let out a slow breath. “He needs someone who isn’t afraid to push and to pepper his butt. Someone he trusts enough to surrender to.”
Derek’s gaze flicked to Easton. “And that’s you, if you’re willing.”
Easton let out a breath, but the knot in his chest didn’t ease. “Even if I were willing… this isn’t something we can just spring on him.”
“Of course not,” Sam agreed. “Consent comes first. Always. That’s non-negotiable.”
Derek gave a small nod. “Which is why I plan to speak with him first. Alone. No pressure. Just a conversation to let him know he’s not in trouble, and that there’s support available if he wants it.”
Easton crossed his arms, unconsciously rubbing a thumb along the side of his forearm. “He’s still raw. I mean, grief like that… it rewires you.”
Sam’s voice was quiet. “I know. Which is why we tread carefully. But it’s also why I’m worried. He’s isolating himself, like he’s trying to vanish.”
“He used to do that, too,” Easton murmured. “Disappear into himself. Especially after an argument with his parents or a tough week at work. Wilbert would find him curled up somewhere, quiet as a mouse. Not Little, not adult. Just… retreated inside himself.”
Derek pushed away from the desk and crossed to the arched window, staring out at the fields stretching behind the lodge. “We have to offer him something more than just giving him space to spiral.”
“But,” Easton cautioned, “we also can’t overwhelm him. If I show up in that conversation, it might look like a setup. Like we’ve already decided what’s going to happen.”
Sam nodded again. “Then you stay out of the room. Let Derek talk to him, lay the groundwork. If—and only if—Danny expresses interest or gives permission, then we can go from there.”
Derek turned, his expression thoughtful. “There’s a risk either way. Wait too long, and he might retreat so far we can’t reach him. Move too fast, and we push him deeper into that shell.”
“I’d rather wait than force something,” Easton said, more to himself than anyone else. He dropped his gaze to the woodgrain of Derek’s desk. “But if he asks for me… I’ll be there.”
There was a long beat of silence, filled only by the quiet tick of the clock on the bookshelf.
Then Derek nodded. “I’ll speak to him after afternoon quiet time. We’ll see where he’s at.”
The bench was hard.
Too hard for anyone who’d done nothing wrong. But that wasn’t him. He sat stiffly, hands clenched in his lap, spine ramrod straight. Every now and then, he shifted, trying to find a less punishing angle. There wasn’t one.
I deserve it.
His eyes stayed locked on the grain in the opposite wall, tracing the dark whorls like they might lead him somewhere better. They didn’t. He’d been summoned here. Although he didn’t know why, he had a few guesses. None of them were good. The weight of his failure pressed against his chest like a boot.
