Omega Teacher’s Secret

by Anna Wineheart

  “I won’t tell.”

  Brad curled his hand around Ian’s wrist, nuzzling the scent gland there. “Have I ever told you how good you smell?”

  Ian blushed. He wanted to lean in, bury his face in Brad’s shoulder, and just forget about everything else.

  He’d done that, a long time ago.

  Then he’d gotten pregnant, and Gwen—Gwen was still in the lab, June probably trying to call Ian on his phone.

  Ian swore, horror whispering through his chest. He’d forgotten about Gwen. How could he even forget about her? “I need to go. What time is it?”

  Brad fished in his pockets, frowning. “Don’t know. Think my phone’s in my bag.”

  “Fuck.” Ian shuffled to his bag, digging through it for his phone. The phone’s glow burned into his eyes. 2 missed calls, 4 unread messages.

  He was fifteen minutes late, and that was after he’d extended June’s babysitting hours.

  Ian quailed, shoving his phone into his bag. He turned to grab his laptop off the desk. Swiped at the stray droplets of come he’d left across his papers. Gods, Gwen, I’m so sorry.

  “Will I see you again?” Brad asked.

  Ian hesitated. “No,” he said before he allowed his emotions to interfere. “I’m not getting involved with you. I’m sorry.”

  Brad exhaled, his disappointment clear in his eyes. “Okay. But before you go—” He touched Ian’s bare hip, his fingers hot on Ian’s skin. “What’s this?”

  He brushed his fingers down Ian’s thigh, right where the scars were. Ian froze, looking down. Please don’t let him see…

  Except Brad was touching those silvery cut scars, frowning. “You cut yourself?”

  Ian’s skin grew cold. “It’s none of your business.”

  But Brad had already found the two new scabs, tracing his finger down them. “Why’d you do that? I thought… I thought it was just teenagers who do things like cutting.”

  “Please stop asking.” Ian crouched, yanking his pants and underwear up his legs, hiding the scars from Brad. It was personal. Not something Brad should find out about. Why did you let him see? Why can’t you do anything right?

  He shoved the last of his things into his bag, then slung it over his shoulder, his movements clumsy. He needed to get out before Brad discovered everything ugly about him.

  You’re ugly enough as it is, Ian’s mother had told him. No one likes ugly things. The only reason I feed you is because your father asked me to.

  Brad was frowning, like he was regretting the things he’d done with Ian. “I don’t remember seeing that.”

  Ian shrugged. He’d pressed his hands over those scars the last time. Of course Brad had missed them.

  He hurried to the door, unlocking it. Needed to leave before Brad came to the conclusion that Ian was some attention-seeking fool.

  He threw the door open. Squinted at the bright fluorescent lights in the hallway, checking his clothes to make sure he looked presentable.

  Then June rounded the corner, her lab coat fluttering. Ian’s heart stopped.

  “Ian? Where the hell were you?” June frowned, slowing when she neared the classroom door. Then her eyes drifted past Ian’s shoulder, and her eyebrows rose.

  Brad had paused just by Ian’s shoulder, his heat radiating into Ian’s body.

  There was no question that they smelled like sex. The musk billowed out of the classroom, and Ian had no excuses for himself. Gods, why couldn’t he stop fucking up?

  He ignored his burning face, ignored June’s rising eyebrows, grabbing her elbow. Then he dragged her away from the classroom, leaving Brad behind. June watched him from the corner of her eye.

  June was his friend, but he was also her superior. For her to catch him with his student…

  “Ian,” June said slowly.

  “I’m not talking about it,” he muttered, striding down the hallway, then up a flight of stairs. “Is Gwen all right?”

  “Yeah, she’s fine.” June pried his hand off her elbow, her eyes burning into him. “So when you said something came up…”

  “It’s complicated,” Ian said, his eyes still on the tiled floors. “Don’t ask.”

  “I assume you want me to take over the next class,” June said dryly.

  “If you can, yes. Please.” Ian’s entire face burned. “I hope you, uh, gave Gwen more stickers to compensate. I didn’t expect to be gone that long.”

  “I did. At least tell me he was worth your time.”

  Brad was. Ian couldn’t meet her eyes; his cheeks scorched. He still remembered Brad inside him, Brad’s lips hot on his skin. Brad sucking on his scent gland, like maybe he wanted to mark Ian. “Nothing happened, and you saw nothing.”

  June snorted. “All right, I saw nothing.”

  Ian bit his lip hard, wishing the pain stayed. Wishing he hurt enough that he’d remember before he fucked things up again. He never did manage, though.

  They strode through the hallways in awkward silence, until they reached the lab. Ian brushed down his clothes, trying to get rid of the musky scents. Didn’t want to think about Brad, didn’t want to know if Brad was still standing in the hallway, or in the classroom, realizing just how depraved Ian had been. Gods, if anyone else found out about tonight…

  Ian swallowed, opening the lab door. Pasted on a smile when he saw Gwen napping on the desk, other students on the computers around her. The students looked over at the musk; Ian kept his face straight, crouching beside Gwen.

  “Hey, Gwen,” he whispered, squeezing her shoulder. “It’s time to go home.”

  Gwen stirred, squinting at him. “Daddy?”

  Ian smiled and rubbed her back. Wondered at what point Gwen would grow up, and start to see all his mistakes, too.

  June paused next to him, handing over a stack of stickers. “Here’s the rest of them. She really likes the trucks.”

  “Thanks,” Ian said.

  He tucked the stickers into his bag, glancing up when June didn’t move. She was staring at Gwen, then Ian, and Gwen again. “Hang on,” June said, her expression calculating. “Those eyes. You never mentioned an alpha.”

  She glanced at the lab door, and Ian realized with a sinking heart, that June had figured out who Gwen’s other dad was.

  “Does he know?” June asked, her forehead wrinkling in concern.

  Ian shook his head, needing to get out of here so he wouldn’t combust on the spot.

  “Holy hell, McMillan.”

  “Yeah,” he said tiredly. Harold’s orders.”

  June looked incredulously at him. “So this will go on forever?”

  Ian grimaced. “No. I ended it tonight.”

  “Didn’t seem to me like you were ending things.”

  It wasn’t as though Ian had much in his control, when his heat had descended upon him out of nowhere, and the alpha from his past had shown up in his class, right at the moment when Ian had been most vulnerable.

  He’d told Brad he wouldn’t see him again, though. That had to count for something.

  Ian scooped Gwen to her feet, packing up her color pencils. “Let’s get going, hon. It’s bedtime for you.” To June, he said, “Thanks for watching over her.”

  June looked dubiously at him. “That isn’t much of a coping mechanism.”

  “I know. I try.”

  “Well, try harder.”

  Ian smiled tiredly. He wasn’t sure how to answer, or how to deal with this. Coping wasn’t his strong suit. At least he wasn’t drinking, or snorting coke. His body ached, though, still hungry for Brad’s presence.

  “I’ll see you next week,” he said. “Say goodnight to Aunty June, Gwen.”

  Gwen rubbed her eyes, waving at June. “Night night, Aunty June.”

  June waved, and Ian looked away so he didn’t have to see the pity in her eyes. He was still keeping afloat. Gwen was still healthy, she was happy, and as long as she was okay, it didn’t matter what Ian did to maintain the status quo.

  As long as he didn’t burn him
self to the ground… things would be fine, wouldn’t they?

  4

  Ian

  A week later, Ian discovered he was pregnant.

  The honey scent was faint at first, barely-there, so Ian had missed it for a whole two hours.

  He was sitting with Gwen, watching her open her presents, when she stopped. “Smells like honey.”

  “What smells like honey?” Ian asked, gathering the pieces of torn wrapping paper around the Christmas tree. “The kitchen?”

  Gwen frowned. Then she crawled toward him, sniffing. “No. Smells like you.”

  Ian stared, then sniffed at himself. He smelled like rose, and that was sweet enough. But when he sniffed again, he realized Gwen was right—there was a faint, underlying sweetness on him, more apparent now that the musk from his heat had faded.

  He’d smelled that honey scent before, once upon a time. After he’d been in heat, and he’d conceived Gwen.

  It couldn’t be possible, though. He was forty-seven. He was getting on in years, and his body shouldn’t be able to support another life.

  You want my cock, Brad Saxon had said last week, in the dimness of the classroom. You want to be thoroughly fucked.

  Ian stopped breathing, staring down at his belly.

  It couldn’t be happening again. Gods knew Ian was too old to bear another child.

  He looked up at the windows, squinting at the bright morning light. He smelled the dish soap from the kitchen, heard the TV blaring from the apartment downstairs. He was over-sensitive to light and sound right now, and he’d thought he’d merely been falling sick.

  What if I’m pregnant again?

  Ian stared at Gwen, the possibilities crawling through his mind like molasses. Gwen was unwrapping the biggest gift of all—a light-up rainbow truck. She was smiling the widest he’d ever seen, and Ian could barely focus on her delight.

  He hadn’t used a condom with Brad last week. Hadn’t been on BC, hadn’t done anything to try and stop a pregnancy. What was I thinking?

  Had he really thought he wouldn’t get pregnant, fucking Brad like that?

  His body warmed at the memory. Ian bit back his groan, pulling up his shirt. His belly had never returned to being completely trim after the birth, but that had been okay. Ian hadn’t thought another alpha would be interested in him.

  And now… there was a growing clump of cells in his body, a fusion of his DNA with Brad’s.

  Ian panicked as Gwen pried open the truck box. What do I do?

  He didn’t have the funds to support another sick child. But if the baby turned out healthy… Ian still had some of Gwen’s baby things. It wouldn’t be terribly expensive to raise a second child.

  And that child was Brad’s, too.

  Ian bit his lip, his face growing hot. What are the chances that my second child is yours, too?

  Am I keeping it?

  If he did, Ian couldn’t tell Brad about it—Brad didn’t ask to be a father. It wasn’t as though he’d slept with Ian, knowing that there would be a child resulting from it. Having one child—much less, two—seemed like a huge bombshell to drop on him.

  “I made a present for you,” Gwen said suddenly, setting her truck down. She crawled behind the Christmas tree, pulling out a floppy, flat present that Ian had missed. “For you, Daddy.”

  She thrust the messily-wrapped present at him, a shiny blue bow stuck right in the middle. It seemed like she’d taken one from the bag of bows Ian had kept around, but Ian didn’t have the heart to chide her for it.

  His throat tight, he picked open the gift—it felt as though there was a sheet of heavy paper within. “You made it yourself?”

  Gwen nodded. “I did it at art class last week.”

  Ian slid the paper out. It was a crayon drawing of two stick figures—Ian with his hair colored yellow, and glasses on his face. Gwen, with two ponytails and a big smile. They were holding hands in the picture, birds soaring in the sky, the smiling sun shining down on them.

  “I asked Aunty June about the picture,” Gwen said worriedly. “She said it’s okay not to have two dads. The other kids in my class have two dads.”

  Ian stared, his throat growing tight. He leaned in, cradled Gwen’s messy hair, and kissed her forehead. She smelled clean, like soap and hot chocolate, and Ian couldn’t believe she’d done this for him. “Thank you, hon. I love this. You did great.”

  Gwen beamed.

  “Is it okay if you only have one dad?” Ian croaked.

  Gwen nodded. “Daddy is the best! I love you.”

  Ian couldn’t help the tears that welled in his eyes. He set the drawing carefully aside, then scooped Gwen into his arms, hugging her close. “And you’re the best, Gwen. I love you.”

  She smiled, dropping a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “Why are you crying?”

  “Because I’m so happy to have you,” Ian answered truthfully. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  Gwen grinned.

  And maybe a second child wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe Ian could support two children, and they would love him unconditionally, even if he wasn’t the greatest at everything.

  He held Gwen close, cradling his belly with his other hand. Maybe this second child would look more like Brad. Maybe Ian could have his own family, and everything would turn out okay.

  Merry Christmas to me.

  Gwen tugged on his sleeve after a few moments. “My truck doesn’t light up. There’s no batteries.”

  Ian sighed, some of his joy seeping out of him. It figured that he’d forgotten something important amongst Gwen’s presents. What was the use of a light-up truck if it didn’t light up?

  “There should be a store or two open, I think. Want to go see if we can find some batteries?”

  Gwen brightened, bouncing on his lap. “Sure!”

  It wasn’t as though they had anything planned—Ian’s Christmas traditions involved keeping Gwen entertained and fed, and them watching a movie on TV.

  The Christmases from Ian’s childhood had been so different—he remembered his mother dishing food to his plate last, always with the worst cuts of meat.

  Ian loved poultry thighs—he’d had them the first time when his father brought him and his brothers to a restaurant, and he’d ordered fried breaded chicken—the chicken thigh had been juicy and tender; it had become his favorite thing.

  The moment Ian’s mother had learned he liked chicken thighs, she’d promptly given those pieces to his brothers, shoveling the overcooked breasts onto his plate.

  Someone like you, you should be grateful to have food on your plate, Yvette McMillan had said. You’re scrawny and lazy, you good-for-nothing child.

  Ian couldn’t remember ever being lazy, but nothing he’d done had changed his mother’s mind about him.

  He shoved those memories away, breathing out. I’m not good for nothing. Gwen needs me.

  “We may as well head out,” he told her. “Do you want to wear the hats from Aunty June?”

  “Uh-huh!” Gwen leaped to her feet, racing across the tiny living room to retrieve the winter beanies. June’s wife, Cher, had knitted them.

  Gwen hurried back, handing the larger pink-and-blue hat to Ian.

  When they were both dressed in the matching hats, Ian grabbed his phone and wallet. “C’mon, let’s get going.”

  Gwen skipped down the stairs with him, counting out every step like they always did. Then they climbed into the car, and Ian drove to the few malls in Meadowfall, searching for an open store.

  The first two malls were closed. At the third, cars were parked in the parking lot, and Ian brightened. “Look, I think we’ll find your batteries here!”

  “Yay!” Gwen kicked her feet, and Ian pulled into the parking lot.

  When he opened the door, the first thing he heard was the high, bright note of an electric violin.

  Ian paused, blinking. That was new.

  It wasn’t just a simple violin tune, either. Thumps punctuated the lively string notes; t
he tune began to loop, multiple melodies playing at the same time, weaving together to form a complex piece. It was as though an orchestra had come to play right there in the parking lot.

  The notes slid into Ian’s ears, racing down his spine. It was amazing.

  When he and Gwen were out of the car, Ian locked it, holding Gwen’s hand as they crossed the asphalt. Gwen bounced to the violin’s tune.

  “It sounds pretty,” she said.

  “Let’s take a look at who’s playing,” Ian said, checking for cars before they crossed the road.

  On the other side of the mall’s main entrance, there stood a lone man dressed in warm clothing, accompanied by a couple of speakers and a pedal-board at his feet. He swayed to the music, flicking the violin’s bow deftly across its strings. Despite the passers-by dropping notes into his violin case, the violinist seemed to play in a world of his own.

  Ian smiled, envious. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been wrapped up in anything so thoroughly.

  He followed as Gwen dragged him over, her curls bouncing in the chilly breeze. The violinist looked like an alpha—broad shoulders, muscular frame. He was downwind, though—Ian couldn’t catch his scent.

  Feet away from the alpha, Gwen slowed, and the man looked over.

  Honey-brown eyes, strong jaw, tanned skin. Ian’s stomach flipped.

  What were the chances that you’d meet this very same alpha, here in a parking lot on a Christmas morning?

  How did you even begin to say, Hello Brad, this is your daughter?

  There was nowhere for Ian to hide. He couldn’t do an about-turn and stride away. Not when Brad’s gaze flicked up, and locked with his.

  Ian stopped breathing. Brad’s bow faltered. Then Brad looked between Ian and Gwen, back and forth, like he wasn’t sure he should believe what this looked like—a father and his daughter on a trip to the mall.

  Brad stopped playing. He tapped the pedal-board with his foot so the looping music stopped.

  And now Ian couldn’t run, because Brad’s full attention had locked onto him. He grimaced. “Merry Christmas? Fancy seeing you here.”

  Sounded like the lamest greeting ever.