I don't know what happened, St. Croix had said, but Baxter knew exactly what had happened. He'd gotten lightheaded during kneeling, his body protesting the strenuous position because it was running on no sleep and not enough food. No wonder, after what happened to his trailer.

He should've canceled today, should've called St. Croix and told him he couldn't make it. But he hadn't been able to come up with an excuse that sounded plausible enough to not get fired without divulging the truth. And now, he'd made things even worse.

"What happened, Baxter?" St. Croix asked.

He wasn't Sir anymore, was he? Baxter closed his eyes, allowing himself one more minute of pretending that everything would be okay. He knew better, but it was nice to avoid reality for just a bit longer. And for once, St. Croix waited patiently for Baxter to answer, probably because he thought Baxter was still half out of it. That wasn't far from the truth, as he still felt dizzy.

When he knew he couldn't postpone it any longer, he opened his eyes. "I wasn't feeling well," he said, deciding on a half-truth. "But I didn't want to cancel out of fear you would fire me. I should've stayed home, I'm sorry."

He met the man's gaze, realizing at once that St. Croix had seen more than Baxter had expected. There was a calculating look in his eyes that told Baxter it wasn't going to be this easy.

"What's wrong with you?" St. Croix asked. "I mean, are you sick to your stomach? Do you have a fever? Because I don't see you coughing or showing flu-like symptoms."

He would either have to tell an outright lie or somehow evade the question, but how? He didn't want to lie to him. Baxter had always hated lying, and even more after what Robert had done to him. But how could he get this man, who was way too perceptive, off his back without arousing his suspicion?

He bit his lip, St. Croix’s inquisitive gaze heavy on him, until he saw no other way out. "Red," he said. "I'm calling red. I want to leave."

St. Croix couldn't have looked more shocked if Baxter had slapped him across the face, that he was sure of. But true to what he had promised him when they had discussed safewords, he backed off immediately.

He pushed himself to his feet, then reached out a hand to Baxter to pull him up, which he accepted after a short hesitation. St. Croix was gentle with him, not letting go until Baxter nodded he was solid on his feet.

"This was a mistake," Baxter said, and once he started talking, he needed to say more. "I should've never accepted this job, not with you, not for what you were looking for. You're…" He swallowed, searching for words to describe the vast difference between them. "You're you and I'm me, and never the twain shall meet. We're too different. You need someone who is at your level of sophistication, of elegance and class. That's not me, and it never will be. I'm the guy who works at the gas station, not someone who is a worthy companion to you."

St. Croix stared at him as if he was speaking a foreign language, and then a long sigh erupted from him. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Baxter, but I respect you safewording. Are you okay to drive home?"

Baxter hadn't realized he'd hoped that St. Croix would try to persuade him to stay until he didn't. It didn't make sense, that he almost wanted the man to talk him out of his objections. It had to be because he was just so damn tired, so overwhelmed with what had happened.

"I'm fine," he said automatically.

With one last look at St. Croix, he trudged back through the kitchen and the hallway, where he put on his coat and shoes. St. Croix had followed him and watched him silently, an inscrutable expression on his face.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out," Baxter offered, and when St. Croix still didn't say anything, his shoulders dropped. "Bye, Professor."

He opened the garage, got into his car and backed out. By the time he had reached the end of the driveway, St. Croix had already hit the button to close the garage. Apparently, it was easy for him to see Baxter drive off, even if Baxter felt the exact opposite.

It was a short drive home, but Baxter took it slowly, not only because of the icy mess on the roads but also because his reflexes were still delayed. He needed something to eat, so hopefully he could salvage something from his trailer. God, how much food had he lost? His stomach soured as he thought of the mess he’d left behind that morning. He should've called off, should've prioritized saving whatever he could from what was left, but all he could think of was that he couldn't lose this job, that he couldn't lose St. Croix. In the end, he'd lost both.

The trailer stood as he had left it this morning, except for two work vans being parked right next to it. Jim, the owner, stood outside as Baxter pulled up.

"I thought you'd be gone all day," he greeted Baxter when he got out of the car.

Baxter shrugged. "I figured this was more important now. Any news?"

"They think they can lift off the roof without causing more damage," Jim said. "But not until the day after tomorrow."

"The day after tomorrow?" Baxter said, his voice dangerously close to breaking. "What am I supposed to do in the meantime? Everything I own is in there, and you told me not to go in again."

"I don't want the whole thing to collapse on you," Jim said. "I can't guarantee the safety of the structure. With the roof half-collapsed, the whole thing could come down."

"That's why I want to get my stuff out before it does. Don't you understand? Everything I have is in that trailer. You have to let me in there to salvage what I can," Baxter pleaded with him.

Jim put a strong hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, kid," he said in his gravelly voice that betrayed a two pack a day habit. "There's nothing we can do. They won't come today because of the icy roads. All they can do is pull a tarp over it to avoid more snow and sleet coming in. I promise you, as soon as they can get in, they'll pull your stuff out."

Baxter's head felt light again. "What's left of it," he mumbled, then had to swallow back bile.

He'd been asleep, early that morning, when he'd woken up from a loud crash. At first, he didn't understand what had happened, but when he went to look—having to use the light of his phone since the power was off—he'd realized with horror that the roof of his trailer had collapsed on the bathroom side, and the heavy load of wet snow had made its way inside.

Out of instinct, he'd put clothes on and had grabbed his backpack with his laptop and put it in his car. He’d turned on his car lights to get a better look, and he had gasped. A big branch had come off the tree right next to his trailer, smashing in his roof, and the tilted angle of the roof suggested the whole thing could come down any second. He hadn't known what to do, other than to call Jim, the owner of the park. He lived two blocks away in a house that showed he made a good living off renting out trailers, but the guy had always been decent to Baxter. He’d picked up the phone after a few rings, and he'd been on the premises within ten minutes.

The whole thing was a nightmare in itself, but Jim telling him he didn't have access to any of his things till the next day at the earliest was the worst news so far. It meant no clean clothes, no place to sleep, and worse, no food. And with the power off, everything he had in his fridge and freezer would go to waste. Granted, it was freezing outside, so that would help it keep for a little bit, but this was disastrous on every level.

"Do you have a place to stay, Baxter?" Jim asked.

He would have to call Denise and ask her if he could stay with her for a few days. It would be cramped, since she rented a single room, but he didn't know where else to go. How would he even be able to finish his assignments? He had a few big ones that were due this week, but all of his books were still inside. He had his laptop, but that was about it.

"Please, Jim, let me go inside and grab a few things. You don't understand, I can't wait until they've secured the roof. I need my things now. I don't have clothes, food, nothing."

"Sorry, kid," Jim said, and Baxter heard the finality in his voice. "It's not gonna happen. If something were to happen to you, I would be liable. I can't allow you in. I can lend you some money in the meantime, if you need it."

"Lend me?" Baxter said, his throat closing up. Somehow, he had thought Jim would be responsible for replacing what had gotten damaged. That had been his only consolation, that whatever had happened, it hadn't been his fault. Surely, that meant the owner was liable, right?

"It's an act of nature, Baxter. If you have renters’ insurance, they'll cover the damage to your property. The outside damage is my problem, obviously, but anything that got damaged of your personal belongings, that should be covered by your insurance."

Baxter had trouble even hearing his last words, the ringing in his ears so loud it was hard to hear Jim's voice. Renters’ insurance. Sure. As if he'd ever had the money for something as frivolous as that. Which left him with nothing, didn’t it?

"I’ll have a new trailer for you available by the end of February, since Ruby from trailer thirteen is moving out. I'll give you a discount on the first month’s rent. And of course, you don't have to pay for the remainder of this month."

Hagen was angry. No, strike that, he was livid. What the hell had happened? How had things gone off the rails so fast and with such a disastrous result? One moment, he'd been staring out the window, reminiscing about the bad weather and how much he hoped Baxter would fit in with him, and the next Baxter had been gone.

And he hadn't just left. He had safeworded, had made a goodbye speech that had hit Hagen deep in his heart. How had Hagen gotten it so wrong that Baxter had concluded he wasn't good enough for him? That was on him, Hagen knew. Somehow, he’d fueled insecurities Baxter had struggled with, and he hadn't even known.

Moreover, Baxter hadn’t trusted him. That line he'd sprouted about not feeling well, that had been a partial lie, if not an outright one. Baxter had been hiding something, and yet Hagen wasn't upset about that. Well, he was upset, but not at Baxter. It was his fault, Hagen's fault. He had failed to build the trust between the two of them to the point where Baxter would confide in him. And as a result, the boy had walked out.

He had never had a sub safeword on him. He wasn't even sure why Baxter had done it, since Hagen hadn't even put that much pressure on him, he felt. But maybe Baxter had experienced it differently. Hagen had no clue what had transpired inside Baxter's head, but if this was the result, it couldn't be good.

And so he was left by himself, stewing on the couch while sipping his fourth cup of coffee of that day. And it wasn't even ten o'clock yet. What a disastrous start of what was supposed to have been a perfect Sunday with his new boy.

God, Baxter had shocked him with that simple word. Red. Hagen had to respect it, had to let him go, even if it went against all of his instincts. Not just his instincts, his needs as well. It had almost hurt him physically to watch Baxter drive away. Sure, he'd closed the garage right after him, not wanting the boy to see him watching him. But then he'd hurried to his study, where he'd stood in front of the window until he could see that beat-up Toyota no more.

And it had stabbed him in his heart, watching him drive away, knowing he was far from okay. But what could Hagen do? You couldn't argue once someone had safeworded. You couldn't try to stop him. It went against everything that had been hammered into him in his training. And yet… And yet, his whole being protested.

He emptied his coffee cup, then plunked it down on the table with so much force it wouldn't have surprised him to see a chip flying off the porcelain. Something was wrong with Baxter. He looked like death warmed over, so pale, so horribly fragile. God, he looked like he hadn't eaten in…

Hagen jerked upright, his mind latching onto that word. Eating. If Baxter was working three jobs to pay his tuition, if he needed money so badly he'd started dating for money, how dire were his circumstances?

And then it hit him, the casual fashion Baxter had asked that first evening if he could grab something to eat. Hagen closed his eyes, had to close them, as a wave of guilt and shame rolled over him, making it hard to breathe. He'd totally read that wrong. He'd thought Baxter had been talking about a snack, not a full meal. Hell, he'd told him to prepare Hagen's meal, and he’d never even thought of offering him something to eat. In his defense, he had assumed Baxter had eaten before he got there, as eating would be a waste of his training time, but what if he had been wrong?

No, not what if. He had been. Baxter had asked him for food, and he had pointed the boy toward a bowl of fruit. My god, the poor boy had resorted to eating an apple while he must've been starving. How long had he been going hungry? And what other signals had Hagen missed?

Dammit, Baxter had been so right. Hagen was living in an ivory tower. It hadn't even occurred to him that Baxter might be going hungry. He'd never been in that situation. That had to be why Baxter had fainted this morning, his body too exhausted from lack of nutrition to hold that position that long.

But something else had been going on as well. Baxter had been distracted, late, with no real excuse why. He’d said he had something to take care of at home first. Had something happened? He didn't even know where Baxter lived, Hagen realized. He'd never thought to ask, since they had agreed to meet at Hagen’s place.

Before he could even think about the ethical considerations, he rushed over to his study and booted up his laptop. Minutes later, he had logged on to the college's website, and since Baxter was his student, Hagen found his address with a few clicks. He put it into Google maps, then zoomed in when it resulted in a hit.

A trailer park. Baxter was living in a trailer. That in itself wasn't bad, he told himself. Sure, in comparison to his house, a trailer was a few steps down, so to speak. But if you took into consideration that most students lived in a single room or a dorm, Baxter would have it better than others. The difference was that Baxter wasn't eighteen or twenty. He was twenty-seven, and he'd been in a long-term relationship, probably living together in a house or apartment. For him to go from that to a trailer must've been a huge adjustment.

Still, it didn't explain what had happened that morning to make him so flustered and distracted. Had something happened to the trailer park? A Google search yielded no results, at least nothing recent.

Hagen leaned back in his chair. It was time to let it go. Baxter would either come to him, or they would have to return to being professor and student. There was nothing else he could do… Except there had to be, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't let it go. He paced back and forth in his study for a full ten minutes before he came to a decision.

"Screw it," he said to himself, then grabbed his keys, his phone, his wallet, jerked on his jacket, and hurried outside to his car.

The trailer park was only a few minutes away, and he had driven past it countless times, he realized, never even noticing it was there. He hadn't seen how big it was on the map, but when he entered the driveway, he saw there were at least twenty-five trailers. How would he ever find Baxter's?

He parked his car in a visitor spot near the entrance and decided to walk around to see if he could find him. As it turned out, Baxter wasn't hard to find. When Hagen turned the first corner, he came to a full stop as he was confronted with the view of a trailer, half collapsed with a massive branch on top of it that had clearly been ripped off a tree. And in front of that trailer, on the cold, snowy ground, sat Baxter, his head resting on his arms.

Next to him hunched an older man, his bony hand on Baxter's shoulder as he spoke to him, too soft for Hagen to hear. White hot jealousy blazed through Hagen. That guy had to get his paws off Hagen's boy and fast. What did he think he was doing?

His shoes crunched on the gravel road, and both men looked up. The sheer hopelessness and exhaustion on Baxter's expression almost caused Hagen to trip. There was no longer any doubt in his mind he’d done the right thing by coming here. His boy needed him, whether he realized it or not and whether he was officially Hagen's boy or not. Baxter needed him, and Hagen would be there for him.

Baxter's "What are you doing here?" mingled with the other guy's "Who are you?"

He addressed the guy first, to make sure he understood how the lines were drawn. "I'm Hagen, a close friend of Baxter's."

Understanding lit up in the man's eyes as he let go of Baxter's shoulder and rose to his feet. Hagen closed the distance between them, and by the time he had reached them, the man had extended his hand. "Jim Caffey, I own the park."

"Hagen St. Croix. What happened?" He figured he'd better ask this guy, since it seemed more likely he'd get a straight answer from him than from Baxter.

"The heavy snow caused that branch to snap off, and it crushed straight through the roof of Baxter's trailer. He's fine, but his trailer is too dangerous to enter since we can't assess if the rest of the roof will hold. I called in guys to lift off the branch and the roof and see what they can salvage, but it'll be two days because of the icy roads."

Hagen looked from Baxter to the trailer and back. This time, he needed no one else to paint the picture for him. Everything Baxter owned had to be in that trailer, so if he couldn't access it, and he had no money, he had nowhere else to go.

"Okay," he told Jim. "Thanks for bringing me up to speed. I'll take care of Baxter. Here, let me give you my phone number so you can call me if you have any updates."

The look Jim gave him was relief mixed with gratitude, as if he was both happy and relieved someone else was taking Baxter off his hands. They exchanged numbers, and all that time, Baxter sat on that icy lawn, barely moving.

Hagen waited till Jim had waved goodbye at them both, though Baxter didn't even respond to him, and had walked off. Then he crouched down in front of Baxter and reached out with his index finger to tilt his chin upward. "Let's go, boy."

Something flashed in Baxter's eyes, the first reaction he’d had since he'd asked Hagen what he was doing here. "Go where?" he asked, but it wasn’t defiance in his voice. It was wariness, exhaustion, and Hagen's heart filled with something warm and fuzzy.

"You're gonna come home with me, Baxter. Let's get you warmed up, fed, and maybe allow you to catch a nap. What do you say?"

"I can't pay you back," Baxter whispered, barely audible. "I have nothing left. Nothing."

Hagen understood they weren't just talking about money. "It's okay, baby boy," he said, the endearment rolling off his lips as if he'd never called him anything else. "Let me take care of you."

That's when lightning struck in his brain. He didn't want Baxter to serve him and take care of him, like CJ and Jake had done for him. They had been his boys, his subs, and he had been their Dom. Sure, he'd been responsible for them and he’d made sure they lacked for nothing, but they had served him.

But now, with a blinding clarity that ached in his heart, he realized everything was different with Baxter. He didn't want Baxter to take care of him. He wanted to take care of Baxter. He didn't want to be his Dom. He wanted to be his Daddy.