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It takes me hardly any time at all to clock what’s going on. As a Daddy, I’ve seen my fair share of wiggly little boys. Not that Kamden is a little. I really can’t start to see him that way on top of everything else.

As expected, even as his squirming grows more insistent as the minutes crawl by, he doesn’t call for my help.

I give it a few more minutes, my patience and restraint finally snapping at the small droplet of sweat that appears on his forehead.

The boy is going to hurt himself holding it in like that.

I leave the couch and return quickly to his room. As I unlock and open the door, his head rolls toward me immediately, his expression changing from startled to mortified so fast that I know I’m right. He needs to pee. Now.

“I said I wanted to be alone,” he says, voice ragged and tight.

“I know,” I say softly.

“Then why are you back?”

“You need the bathroom.”

Color rises in his face, reaching his ears. “No, I don’t.”

I meet his gaze. He looks away, jaw clenched.

“No?” I ask.

“No.”

“You’ve crossed and uncrossed your legs about fifteen times.”

His jaw drops. “You were watching me?”

“Through the camera.”

“That’s creepy,” he mutters.

“So you don’t have to go?”

“I don’t,” he says adamantly.

“Fine.” I tap my fingers on the doorframe, feigning exasperation in case it masks the flicker of concern I feel. “But if you wet the bed, I’m out of clean sheets. You’ll have to sit on the bare mattress while I run a load, and that’s not my idea of fun.”

Kamden’s mouth falls open, then snaps shut again. “I—” He can’t meet my eyes. “I wouldn’t wet the bed. I’m not a baby,” he mumbles.

I arch an eyebrow, hand on the door. “Could’ve fooled me with all that squirming.”

“I…” He clenches his thighs tight. “I do need to go.”

I nod, pride and relief warring in my chest. “Alright. Let’s go.”

I cross the room and unlock the cuff. Before he gets any ideas, I keep a firm grip on his wrist, and before he can protest, I swap his hands to the small of his back and fix the cuffs there. I catch the faintest flash of panic in his eyes.

“It’s alright,” I soothe. “Nothing bad is going to happen. You understand why I have to have you cuffed, don’t you?”

He nods, lips forming a thin, pale line. I guide him off the bed, holding his cuffs with one hand and his elbow with the other, and lead him into the hallway. He’s so unresisting, so docile, even when I angle us into the narrow bathroom and nudge the door mostly shut behind us.

His eyes dart to the toilet, then to his bound hands behind him, then back to me. “I, um—” His cheeks are hot with color. “How am I supposed to…?”

I shrug, half-smiling, and try to keep it casual. “I’m going to help you.”

Kamden’s mouth opens, then closes on a soundless protest. His shoulders creep up toward his ears. “Oh.”