Page 72 of Thor

We stopped at the door, solid oak with a simple silver lock. Nothing special to look at, nothing that would make anyone think twice about what might be behind it. That was the point. I reached beneath my shirt collar and pulled out the silver chain I always wore—the one everyone assumed carried dog tags or some other macho bullshit. The small silver key dangled from it, catching the light.

"You wear a key around your neck?" Mandy asked, her green eyes widening slightly.

I nodded. "Every day. For years."

My fingers trembled as I removed the chain from my neck. The key felt unnaturally heavy in my palm, weighted with significance rather than metal. I'd carried this secret for so long that sharing it felt like cutting open a vein.

"There's something I need to show you," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. "Something no one else has ever seen."

Mandy's eyes locked with mine. "You can trust me, Thor."

"I know." And I did know. That was the crazy thing. I'd known her for such a short time, but deep down inside I felt something.

She was my forever girl.

I took a deep breath and slid the key into the lock. The mechanism clicked softly, and I pushed the door open, revealing what lay beyond. I didn't enter, just stood in the doorway.

The room was bathed in warm amber light from vintage lamps with stained glass shades. Unlike the rest of my house with its masculine, spartan decor, this space was different. Handcrafted wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with classic children's books arranged by color and size. Vintage teddy bears in hand-stitched outfits sat in careful arrangements—not the cheap carnival prize kind, but high-quality, collectible ones with detailed features and soft, premium fur. In one corner sat a reading nook with a plush oversized chair big enough to hold my frame comfortably, with a handmade quilt draped over it—something I'd found at an estate sale and restored myself, though I'd never admit that to my brothers.

A low cabinet displayed premium art supplies: colored pencils, markers, and paints, all neatly arranged by shade. A wooden train set, carefully restored and polished to a warm glow, circled a child-sized table. Everything was meticulously clean, lovingly maintained. Everything was waiting.

In the center of it all was a large, soft area rug with a pattern of stars and moons that I'd special ordered from a craftsman three states away.

Mandy stood frozen beside me, her breathing shallow. I couldn't speak. My throat had closed up tight, like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. I'd never felt so exposed, so fucking vulnerable, not even when I'd taken bullets for the club.

She stepped into the room past me, her movements slow and reverent. I remained rooted in the doorway, watching her explore. She touched nothing at first, just looked. Then her fingers reached out to brush against the soft fur of a teddy bear dressed as a motorcycle rider—one I'd custom ordered and never showed a soul.

"Thor . . ." she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

I cleared my throat. "I built this over the years. Piece by piece." My voice sounded strange to my own ears, stripped of the gruff authority I maintained with everyone else. "Waiting for someone I could trust with . . . this side of me."

The words hung in the air between us. I'd never said them aloud before. Had never admitted, even to myself, that I was waiting for someone specific, someone who would understand.

Mandy turned slowly, taking in every detail. Her eyes lingered on a shelf containing coloring books and a box of brand-new crayons still sealed in their package. Then she noticed the doorway to the connected bathroom, where the edge of a large clawfoot tub was visible. Her gaze finally returned to me, and I saw tears glistening in her eyes.

"Is this . . . for me?" she asked, her fingers brushing the soft fur of the teddy bear again.

My chest tightened painfully. The question hit me like a physical blow because it was too close to the truth I'd never admitted. This room had been my secret, my sanctuary, but it had also been a dream. A place I'd created for a fantasy I never thought would materialize.

"It always was," I replied, the words scraping my throat raw. "Even before I knew you existed. I had faith that I would find you."

I watched the impact of my words on her face. The slight parting of her lips, the flush that rose to her cheeks. For a moment, I thought I'd said too much, gone too far. Then her eyes softened, and I saw understanding dawn across her features.

"You're a Daddy," she whispered, not a question but a revelation.

I nodded, unable to speak. The label had always felt both right and terrifying—a contradiction I'd never reconciled until this moment.

"And you knew somehow that I'm a Little." Her voice was filled with wonder.

"I hoped," I admitted. "There were little tells."

A small smile played at her lips at my unintentional pun. "Little tells," she repeated. "That's exactly what they are."

She moved further into the room, trailing her fingers along the spines of the books. "These are all in perfect condition."

"Never been read," I confirmed. "Not yet."

The unspoken implication hung between us. I'd been collecting, preparing, waiting for someone to read them to. Someone to share this with.

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