Page 46 of Wings
"I knew it! It’s Gabe, isn’t it?"
My face flamed. "You remembered!"
"Ki, of course I remember!" She leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity. "So? Details. All of them. Now."
I took a shaky breath. Stephanie had been my safe person here, the one who'd noticed when I came in with bruises I couldn't explain, who'd slipped me pamphlets about domestic violence that I'd been too scared to read. If anyone would understand . . .
"It's more than just dating."
Her eyebrows rose. "More how?"
The words stuck in my throat. How did you explain something like this? How did you tell your normal friend that you calledyour boyfriend Daddy, that you had rules and consequences and a nursery full of stuffed animals?
"He's my Daddy," I whispered, the words barely audible.
Stephanie blinked. "Your what now?"
"My Daddy. It's—God, this is hard to explain." I pressed my palms against my eyes. "It's not weird sex stuff. Well, not just that. It's this whole dynamic where he takes care of me and sets rules and I can be..." I swallowed hard. "Little."
Silence stretched between us. I kept my eyes covered, not wanting to see disgust or confusion or worse—pity. The break room's fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and somewhere down the hall, a monitor alarmed.
"Ki." Stephanie's voice was gentle. "Look at me."
I dropped my hands reluctantly. Her face held no judgment, just that same steady warmth that had gotten me through so many bad shifts.
"Is he good to you?" she asked simply.
"So good." The words tumbled out in a rush. "He makes sure I eat three meals a day and get enough sleep. He holds me when I have panic attacks. He bought me coloring books and doesn't think I'm broken for needing them. He has rules, but they're all about keeping me safe and healthy. And when I mess up, there are consequences, but then it's over. No grudges, no throwing it in my face later."
"That sounds . . ." She paused, choosing words carefully. "Like exactly what you needed."
"Really?"
"Ki, honey, I've watched you run yourself into the ground for three years. Forget to eat, live on coffee, jump at shadows. If this man is making sure you're taking care of yourself, if he's giving you structure and safety . . ." She shrugged. "Then I'm team Daddy all the way."
A laugh bubbled up, surprised and relieved. "I have a collar," I blurted, then immediately covered my mouth.
"A collar?" Her eyes lit with interest rather than horror. "Can I see?"
With shaking fingers, I pulled the collar out from under my scrubs. The butterfly caught the harsh fluorescent light, transforming it into something softer.
"It's beautiful," Stephanie breathed. "And it locks?"
I nodded. "He has the key. It means—it means I'm his. That he's responsible for me. That I'm protected."
"And loved," she added softly. "I can see it all over your face, Ki. You're loved."
Tears pricked my eyes. "It shouldn't work. He's my ex's twin brother. I'm probably too damaged for anything healthy. But—"
"But nothing." Stephanie reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "You survived Alex. You rebuilt your life from nothing. You get to have something good now. Something that makes you glow like this."
"The rules help," I admitted. "Having someone else make some decisions, having structure—it's like I can finally breathe. Like all that anxiety about whether I'm doing enough, being enough, just . . . quiets."
"Then he's giving you exactly what you need." She studied the collar again. "And the fact that you can wear it here, have that reminder while you're saving lives? That's pretty perfect."
"I was so scared to tell you," I confessed. "Thought you'd think I was sick or weak or—"
"You're the strongest person I know," Stephanie interrupted firmly. "And if being Little sometimes, having a Daddy, wearing a collar—if that's what gives you peace? Then rock that shit, babe."
