If only my Secret Santa could also be Simon, then everything would be perfect.
CHAPTER
TEN
Simon
The weight of Tanner in my arms felt like coming home.
I’d found him tucked away in that corner of the stable, clutching a thermos like it was a lifeline, and something in my chest had cracked wide open. The sound of his sobs had drawn me like a magnet, pulling me away from the fence I’d been mending without a second thought.
Now, kneeling in the hay with him trembling against me, I understood what Wren had been trying to tell me all those months before he passed.
“Love doesn’t end. It just makes room for more.”
Tanner’s breathing eventually steadied against my chest, his fingers still wrapped around that thermos. I didn’t ask him to explain. Didn’t push for details about what had broken him open. Sometimes words weren’t what a person needed.
Sometimes they just needed to be held.
“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered, voice hoarse and small.
I pulled back enough to see his face, keeping my arms firmly around him. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, tracks of tears cutting through the dust on his cheeks.
He’d never looked more beautiful.
“None of that,” I said gently. “You don’t apologize for having feelings, bud.”
He bit his lip, and I watched him war with himself—that part of him that wanted to be strong, that lawyer persona he wore like armor, battling against the softer parts he kept hidden away.
“It’s just soup,” he said, but his voice broke on the last word.
“It’s notjustsoup.” I brushed my thumb across his cheek, catching a stray tear. “Someone made sure you had something warm when you needed it. Someone paid attention to what you like. That matters.”
His breath hitched. “Why does it feel so big?”
“Because you’re not used to being taken care of,” I said simply. “And because you deserve it more than you know.”
The way he looked at me then—damn, it did something to my insides. Like he was seeing me for the first time, really seeing me, and deciding whether he could trust what he found there.
I wanted to tell him everything. Wanted to confess that I’d been the one leaving him gifts, that every thoughtful detail had been me trying to show him what it could be like to have someone care for him completely. But the words stuck in my throat.
Not yet.
Not when he was this vulnerable, this raw.
“Come on,” I said instead, getting to my feet and offering him my hand. “Let’s get you somewhere warm where you can actually eat that soup.”
He took my hand without hesitation, letting me pull him up. He swayed slightly when he stood, and I steadied him with a hand on his waist.
“When’s the last time you ate?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Breakfast,” he admitted quietly.
I shook my head, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. Not frustration with him—with myself for not paying closer attention. “That’s not acceptable, bud. Your body needs fuel.”
“I know, I just—there was so much to do, and I lost track of time.”
“Which is exactly why you need someone to help keep track for you.”
