Page 52 of His for Hanukkah

It was still nearly 7:40 when he got home.

“Adam, baby?” he called out immediately. No answer.

He almost walked past the kitchen, not seeing Adam’s form, but then he paused to survey the destruction.

A whole pot of tomato sauce was upended on the floor. The spatters covered the cabinets and reached out into the hall.

On top of it was a handful of cooked spaghetti, though the rest of it seemed to be rapidly drying out in a colander in the sink. What in the world had happened?

He turned around. Adam wasn’t in the living room. He was suddenly worried that he wouldn’t be in the apartment at all.

A scrap of white paper fluttered on the floor of the hallway. He looked in the bathroom to find torn bandage wrappers. Was Adam hurt?

The only room remaining was his bedroom. He wanted to charge in, but he forced himself to slow down. Either he was in there or he wasn’t, but he didn’t need to scare him.

His heart started again when he saw his baby curled up on the bed. He was wearing a loose pair of shorts and his hair seemed to be wet from the shower. One foot was bandaged, but he seemed alright otherwise. At least physically.

Then, he saw the cock cage on the dresser. He wouldn’t mind if Adam had removed it because it was hurting him. Or even if he just said that he didn’t want to use it again.

But this wasn’t right. Not right at all.

“Sweetheart?”

Adam didn’t answer.

“Little Star? I’m really sorry that I’m late. I can’t apologize enough.”

Adam grunted noncommittally.

“Can you please tell me what you’re thinking, my brave boy?

Adam whipped his head back and forth, his shoulders shaking.

“You can’t tell me? Can you at least come here so I can hold you?” Tate settled onto the bed, almost touching but leaving the last inch for Adam to complete.

“I can’t!” he finally wailed. “I can’t do it!”

“You can’t let me hold you? What can’t you do?”

“I just can’t!” He was screaming now.

Tate finally stepped up and pulled him to his chest. He couldn’t bear to have him even an inch away while he was suffering.

For a long time, he didn’t try to make him talk, just rubbed his arms and petted his hair. It was strange how this whole thing had started with Adam sobbing in his arms and here he was again. Like he’d come full circle.

Was the spaghetti mess in the kitchen like the incident with the Christmas packages? The sauce could have been an accident, but the pasta looked like it had been thrown.

He really did believe, though, that Adam wasn’t a naturally violent person.

Finally, his sobs started to quiet.

“Are you ready to talk now, sweetheart?”

Adam shook his head, his face buried in Tate’s armpit. Then he turned. “Let’s just light the candles.”

“What? Little Star, I can see you’re upset, and whatever it is, we can talk about it. We’ll light the candles after we figure everything out.”

“No,” he argued. “I want to light them now.”