Page 35 of Master Daddy

I’m wearing my favorite baby-blue board shorts, the ones with the little cuts at the legs that make me feel extra cute and Little as my thighs get just that extra exposure.

Taron’s in a bright green Speedo, and Milo’s rocking a sporty red swimming trunk that shows off the tan he got on his road trip.

We link arms as we walk inside, giggling like we’re twelve instead of grown dudes with jobs and very real boy problems.

The center is gorgeous as ever. Warm cedar scents, soft lighting, and that peaceful hum of water features. We check in, grab fluffy white towels, and head straight for the changing area to put our bags and phones away.

I think of Mason and a fresh wave of sadness hits me.

But I push it down.

Today is for fun. For resetting.

We start in the medium sauna, the three of us spreading out on the upper bench, towels under us, the dry heat wrapping around our bodies like a big hug. Sweat beads on my skin almost immediately. It feels good… cleansing.

Milo leans back with a dramatic sigh. “Okay, but real talk… whoever wins our cold plunge contest is going to have the psychological edge for bench press competition. I can already taste those victory pancakes.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Cool.”

I smile, but it feels a little forced.

The heat is supposed to relax me, but my mind keeps drifting back to last night. To Mason’s clenched jaw when I said Patrick’s name. To the silent walk home. To the way he drove off without turning around.

Aaarrgh. I hate this.

Milo notices first. He tilts his head and arches his eyebrow. “Luke? You okay? You’ve got that sad-puppy face.”

I swallow hard, staring at the glowing rocks in the heater.

“It’s Mason,” I begin. “Last night at the Lantern… I told him about Patrick’s text. About maybe meeting for coffee to get closure. He got really jealous. Not in a hot, possessive way… at least not the good kind. He just shut down. Got all stiff and quiet. Walked me home like I was a stranger. He barely kissed me goodnight. And this morning I got a text saying he has a cold and we’re skipping training.”

Taron’s eyes widen. He scoots closer on the bench, his bare thigh pressing against mine. “Oh no. That sucks. What did he say exactly?”

I recount the whole evening. The vibe shift, his words about not trusting Patrick, the tension on the walk home. By the time I finish, tears are pricking at the corners of my eyes from the heat and the hurt.

“I think… I think he might not want to be my coach anymore,” I say, somber. “Or anything else. Maybe this was all too much too fast.”

Milo wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a sweaty side-hug. “Hey. No way. Mason’s crazy about you. We all see it. He’s just… a big grumpy mountain man who’s never had to share his Little before. Not that he even has to share you with Patrick. But you know what I mean, jealousy hit him hard.”

Taron nods, squeezing my hand. “You need to have an honest conversation with him, babe. Tell him straight up that he doesn’t need to be jealous… you’re with him. And that he needs to learn to express his feelings instead of going all quiet and broody. Daddies aren’t perfect. They need reminding sometimes.”

I let out a shaky laugh, wiping sweat from my forehead. “You guys make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Milo says gently. “But you two have something real. Don’t let one bad night ruin it. Talk to him. Today, if you can.”

Their words settle some of the knot in my chest. I hug them both, sticky and hot and grateful. “Thank you. I needed this. Needed you two.”

We sit in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, letting the heat do its work.

Then Taron claps his hands. “Enough moping! Time to test ourselves in the coldest plunge. Winner gets bragging rights and extra sprinkles on their next milkshake.”

We laugh and head out, towels wrapped around us.

The coldest plunge pool is set at a brutal two degrees Celsius—metallic and intimidating, with steam rising where the icy water meets the warmer air.

Taron goes first, lowering himself in with a dramatic shriek.

“Mother of all popsicles!” Taron yelps, teeth chattering almost instantly. He lasts maybe forty-five seconds before bolting out, gasping and laughing, skin bright red.