But deep inside the locks were still bolted.
And as the boy in his lap sighed and let go, Easton finally realized he hadn’t.
So Easton had made an appointment.
The hallway outside Sam Denten’s office was quiet, which wasn’t usual at Rawhide Ranch. The silence magnified the click of Easton’s loafers on the floor and the slow drag of breath through his nose.
He stood there with one hand curled in a loose fist, not quite raised, staring at the door.
The woodgrain of the door was smooth, polished and normal. It was just a door, just a therapist’s office, and just a conversation.
But it might as well have been Fort Knox.
Taking a steadying breath, he tried to find his calm, but his heart beat a fraction too fast. It wasn’t quite panic but had enough of an edge to make his breath feel tight. His spine straightened out of habit, and he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin like he was prepping for surgery or walking into a boardroom.
All bluff.
Because underneath, his stomach roiled.
He wasn’t sure what terrified him more. The prospect of talking and unraveling or that he wouldn’t talk at all.
What right did he have to be someone’s Daddy when his own emotions were still locked behind steel doors? When he hadn’t let go of the one person who’d ever seen him? How could he hold someone else’s grief when he still hadn’t finished carrying his own?
He flexed his fingers, loosening the tension in his fist.
Being a Daddy wasn’t about perfection. He knew that. He taught that. But knowing and believing were two different things.
And there was that guilt again. That twist in his gut that said if he let himself want this, really want Danny, he’d be betraying Wilbert.
His best friend and his former lover. The man who’d died too soon and left behind a boy Easton couldn’t stop thinking about.
Easton stared at the door a beat longer. He could walk away. Make some excuse. Tell himself this was a private thing he could sort out alone.
But the truth was, he didn’t want to do this alone anymore.
He raised his hand.
Three knocks.
“Come in.”
Easton stepped into the small office and closed the door behind him.
The room was calm in the way a forest clearing opened for you after a strenuous hike. Wooden panels lined the lower walls, a plush rug softened the tiled floor, and the bookshelves were dotted with leather-bound journals, psychology texts, and a few sensory toys that invited idle hands to explore. The scent of pine lingered and enhanced the forest feeling. It was balanced. Just like Sam.
The therapist sat in a leather armchair by the window, legs crossed, tablet idle in his lap like he’d only just set it down. His expression was neutral but welcoming. Patient, as always.
“Easton.” A nod. “Have a seat.”
He sat. Not on the couch but in the other armchair across from Sam. He rested his forearms on armrests, leaning slightly back. A posture intended to exude serenity, control, and confidence.
He didn’t feel any of those things.
“I’ve been meaning to come sooner.” He willed his hands to stay loosely curled around the armrests. “I needed time to think, I think.”
Sam didn’t press. He simply waited, giving him space.
Easton looked around, trying to find his starting point. “It’s not about Danny,” he said finally, even though they both knew it kind of was.
