Omega Teacher’s Secret

by Anna Wineheart

  Not something I should be doing.

  Brad turned back to the stove, his pulse racing. Even if Ian didn’t want to see him again... maybe he was still fond of Brad. Maybe Brad could catch a last glimpse of him, just because. Just so he could remember what Ian smelled like.

  He set the pan on the stove, harder than he should. Couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop wishing he hadn’t fucked up everything in his life.

  The only things that had ever gone right... were Gwen, and the omega he’d given his heart to.

  29

  Ian

  Ian watched as the last of the children trotted out of Meadowfall Tots, his heart heavy.

  “Settling in okay?” Dale asked with a smile.

  Ian forced himself to nod. “I think I am. Thanks.”

  “No worries.” Dale crouched beside him, peering at Ian in concern. “You’ve been looking down all week.”

  I can’t help it.

  Ian looked around the childcare center, at the colorful rainbows on the walls, the curtains with little stuffed animals clipped onto them. The plastic trains they were in the middle of cleaning, and the coloring books full of half-colored drawings.

  He’d found a job here last week, after he’d had no luck with the other businesses. He’d sent out job applications to colleges around the state, then desk jobs where he could be a secretary.

  He’d tried for more exhausting jobs, too, like bakeries and sales positions, but the hiring personnel had taken one look at Ian’s belly and shaken their heads.

  Out of options, and reluctant to leave Meadowfall, Ian had come to the childcare center, where he’d only been a client in the past. He’d gotten the job the same day he interviewed.

  “I know I shouldn’t pry,” Dale said. “But... do you need to talk? I’m around to listen. June told me about you.”

  Ian grimaced. June had? “You’re still keeping in contact with her?”

  Dale gave a wry smile. He was a slim omega in his late forties, with green eyes and a hibiscus scent. “Just to know what goes on in the lab,” Dale said. “That was my baby.”

  Ian sighed. He’d been part of another lab in the college before he was transferred to the nanoparticle lab. So Dale had been a coworker he’d seen around, and talked to on occasion. Ian hadn’t thought he’d end up working at the same place as his ex-colleague, though.

  “I think it’ll flourish in June’s hands,” Ian said. “I trust her.”

  “Same here.”

  “What did she tell you about me?”

  “Just that you were seeing a younger alpha.” Dale shrugged and smiled. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t supposed to know that.”

  “We’ve broken up.”

  That hurt to say.

  Dale’s face fell; he glanced at Ian’s baby bump. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  Ian rolled his shoulders. “That’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  He couldn’t help touching his belly, though, feeling Xavier kick against his palm. The results from the amniocentesis had turned out okay. Ian had read the email, and he’d been tempted to forward it to Brad. In the end, he never did it. Brad hadn’t asked, anyway.

  They fell into silence, Ian wiping down the toys they’d just rinsed. He thought about the times Gwen was here, Brad coming to pick her up. Earlier today, she’d asked where he was working. He’d told her.

  It wasn’t like Brad would ask, was it? Brad had stopped trying to contact Ian, and that was probably for the best.

  “Greg’s coming by to pick me up later,” Dale said. “If you’d like us to drop you off anywhere...”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” Ian forced a smile.

  He’d sold his car so he could make the advance payment for rent. It was a one-room place in a dingy building, worse than the one he’d lived in with Gwen.

  The Fernleaf apartment complex had narrow corridors, hallway lights that were barely lit, and bulky furniture that the residents had left in the corridors. Brad would probably shudder if he saw it—the entire place was a fire hazard.

  By himself, Ian didn’t need much space, though. Just somewhere he could shelter for the night.

  Someone knocked on the front door. Dale and Ian both looked up.

  “That must be Greg,” Dale said with a frown. “I wasn’t expecting him this early, though.”

  Then the door opened, and instead of an unfamiliar alpha, Ian saw dark hair and honey-brown eyes.

  Brad stepped through the doorway, his eyes locking onto Ian.

  Ian’s heart stopped.

  “That’s...” Dale trailed off, glancing sidelong at Ian. “Do you need me to stay?”

  Ian gulped. Then he shook his head, hoping it wasn’t the wrong move.

  “All right.” Dale stood, squeezing Ian’s shoulder. “I’ll be cleaning the bathrooms if you need me.”

  Dale padded away, leaving the two of them alone. It was far too quiet. Brad’s gaze burned across Ian’s skin, and Ian knew Brad was looking at him, even if he couldn’t meet Brad’s eyes.

  He wanted to retreat. How had Brad tracked him down?

  Where do you work now? Gwen had asked this afternoon. Ian had answered, not suspecting a thing. That had been Brad asking, hadn’t it?

  I should’ve known better.

  Ian bit down his groan, reaching for the scabs on his hip. He barely stopped himself. Didn’t need Brad coming closer to stop him. Except Brad shut the front door, and Ian couldn’t get up from where he was sitting next to the cubbyholes.

  “You aren’t—aren’t supposed to be here,” he croaked.

  Brad didn’t stop until he was right in front of Ian, his shirt clinging to his biceps, his pants wrapping around his thighs when he knelt.

  “How’re you doing?” Brad asked, his voice low and achingly familiar in Ian’s ears. His eyes raked over Ian’s face, hungry.

  Ian sucked in a deep breath. “I’m doing okay.”

  “Yeah? You sleep all right?”

  This close, Ian could almost feel the heat from Brad’s body. He shuffled backward, his skin burning for Brad’s touch. It had been two weeks, and Ian wanted to lean in, wanted to breathe Brad’s scent off his skin. “I’m fine.”

  “How’s Xavier?”

  Ian swallowed hard. His chest ached, and he wanted Brad so much he couldn’t move. Could only sit and tremble, waiting to feel Brad’s hands on him again. “He’s—he’s okay. He started to kick.”

  “He did?” Brad’s eyes lit up. He reached over, hesitating when his fingers were a few inches from Ian’s belly.

  Gods, Ian wanted to lean forward, wanted to bury his face into Brad’s shoulder, and forget the shambles his life was in. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Then tell me to leave.”

  Ian opened his mouth. He couldn’t make his vocal cords work.

  Brad touched his fingertips to Ian’s belly, faint, blunt points of pressure. Then he cupped Ian’s belly with his palm, and his warmth soaked into Ian’s skin.

  “He’s not kicking,” Brad murmured. But he looked into Ian’s eyes, and pressed their foreheads together.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Before Ian could react, Brad tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss to Ian’s lips. Ian’s breath shuddered out of him. And Brad kissed him harder, nipping at him, his touch so familiar that Ian wanted to close his eyes. Except Brad was still looking at him, and Ian could scarcely believe this was happening.

  Brad wasn’t supposed to kiss him. He was supposed to leave and find a better life.

  “Gwen misses you,” Brad whispered, brushing his palm against Ian’s nape. “And so do I.”

  “You need to leave,” Ian croaked, his heart twisting.

  Brad nudged Ian’s mouth open, sliding his tongue inside. He felt so familiar, so good, that Ian almost cried.

  For one surreal moment, Ian gave in. He touched his tongue to Brad’s, just to taste him, feel what it was like to have an alpha again. Brad deepened the kiss, his lips hot against Ian’s, his wrist dra
gging down Ian’s belly. Ian’s toes curled. His lungs filled with walnut.

  Brad wasn’t supposed to return.

  “Stop,” Ian gasped, shoving him away. And his skin grew cold, needing Brad’s warmth.

  Brad stared, reading far too much of Ian. “You still love me.”

  Ian looked away. Couldn’t answer the question. “Please leave.”

  “Answer me, damn it!”

  “No, I don’t love you,” Ian said. “Go away, Brad. I left for a reason. You’re—you’re not good enough.”

  It was a lie, but Brad flinched. Ian looked at the tiled floors. He wanted to apologize, take it back. Except Brad needed to move on with his life. He needed to see what was out there. Ian would only drag him down.

  “I’m no longer your omega,” Ian said. The words fell off his tongue like jagged stones, ripping his heart to shreds.

  Brad withdrew his touch, his eyes full of glass. “Okay. I understand.”

  Ian swallowed. He kept his gaze on the floor as Brad rose to his feet. Ian listened to every footfall, then the quiet click of the front door closing.

  Outside, Brad’s car started. Then he pulled out of the parking lot, and the engine’s rumble trailed into the distance.

  Ian closed his eyes, his ribs squeezing so tight he thought they might shatter. I’m sorry.

  It felt like he was cutting Brad out of his life, all over again.

  Ian scratched at the scabs on his hip, losing track of time. When Dale touched his shoulder, Ian jumped, looking up. He rubbed at his wet eyes, before meeting Dale’s sympathetic gaze.

  “He seems like a good person,” Dale murmured.

  “He is,” Ian said. “I’m just... not good enough for him.”

  “Oh, Ian.” Dale sighed, pulling Ian into a hug. “I’m sure you’re good enough.”

  Ian didn’t believe him. And Dale’s hug felt nothing like Gwen’s, or Brad’s.

  Ian’s chest collapsed, but there wasn’t family to hold onto anymore.

  * * *

  A week later, Ian trudged home, his ankles aching.

  At twenty-four weeks, his belly had grown heavy. It stretched most of the shirts Ian had, and he was starting to wish he hadn’t given away his pregnancy clothes after Gwen’s birth.

  The bus trundled away on the street behind him, leaving silence and a handful of other passengers. Ian wiped off the sweat from the warm summer air, glancing at the dim apartment building in the distance. It was tucked away behind newer buildings; in the day, the building looked decrepit, gray and dusty. With Gwen to care for, Ian had been reluctant to live there.

  Now, though, there was only him. All he needed was a place to sleep, somewhere to shelter for the night.

  It took long minutes of walking to get there. By the time Ian reached the grungy front door, his clothes were damp, and he was panting. He skirted around the alphas crouched by the corner of the building, ducking through the drab entryway.

  A couple of times, he had to ease around ripped couches on the stairs, or bags of junk that no one had bothered to clear. Ian held his breath at the musty air, unlocking the door to his new home.

  It was a joke of an apartment, really—a thin mattress, paint peeling off the walls, a stove and sink and some shelves crammed together on one side of the room. There was hardly space to move; Ian kicked off his shoes, walked the few steps to his bed, and sank down onto it.

  He turned and buried his face into Brad’s pillow, cradling his belly.

  Three weeks after the breakup, Brad’s scent was gone. The only item that smelled like Brad was Ian’s shirt from last week—Ian couldn’t bear to wash it, for fear of losing that walnut scent.

  Brad had looked handsome then, his touch filled with care. Ian’s throat grew tight. He closed his eyes, pretending Brad’s hands were dragging down his belly, Brad’s lips feather-light on his shoulder. Brad had smiled at Ian once upon a time, and he’d said, I love you.

  Ian’s heart squeezed. He’d had it all, and he’d given up everything he had.

  Why can’t I do anything right?

  He unlocked his phone, rereading the messages Gwen had sent today. Then he opened his voicemail—there was only one he’d kept on his phone. Ian hit Play.

  “Hey, Brad said on the recording, his voice tinny. “I miss you. Nothing’s the same without you around. I tried texting but you didn’t answer. I’m sorry, okay? I wish you were back. I wish I were better for you. I just—I don’t know. Will you give me a second chance?”

  “You need to move on,” Ian told the recording. “Otherwise you’ll end up spending another hundred grand on me.”

  His stomach twisted with guilt. Despite his new job, he wasn’t making quite enough to pay off his debt. The wages from the college had been decent enough, and that was five times what he made at the childcare center now.

  If Ian managed to keep this job... it would take another two decades to pay off the debt. Probably more, with the new baby on the way.

  What if Xavier needed special care, too?

  Ian bit his lip, his throat tight. He’d found a pack of razors last night, and he’d escaped into the pain. If Brad found out... he’d be disappointed.

  Brad wouldn’t find out, though. Ian would make sure he wouldn’t. He reached for the razors again.

  Somewhere further down the corridor, someone yelled. A man yelled back. Then a volley of insults followed, and it reminded him far too much of his mother.

  “Useless omega,” someone spat.

  Ian winced, pulling Brad’s pillow over his head. He didn’t need to hear that.

  The walls were thin, though, and the argument grew, angry voices that he hoped didn’t pass through his belly. Ian curled up on himself, huddling around his baby. His heart pounded. I’m not useless.

  When the voices didn’t fade and his fingers weren’t enough to shut out the sounds, Ian fumbled for Brad’s iPod. He plugged the earbuds into his ear, and hit Play.

  The violin’s song glided into his ears, slow and calming, bright notes that reminded him of the spring sunshine, and fawns frolicking in a meadow. He thought about Xavier’s smile and Gwen’s laughter, and between them, Brad playing on his violin, his lips curved in a slow smirk, his eyes warm.

  Ian relaxed, and fell asleep.

  He dreamed of Gwen building sandcastles in the sunshine, Brad on his knees helping her. Then the sun grew warmer and warmer, until it was sweltering, and the heat almost bowled him over.

  Ian woke to high-pitched screaming, his clothes too tight, damp with sweat. The air burned through his nose.

  The front door was on fire, bright orange flames that licked up the walls. Smoke billowed above him.

  At first, he thought it was a nightmare. Then the flames leaped at him, scorching his feet. Ice-cold panic set in. Ian whimpered, scrambling away from the door. How bad was the fire down the corridor? Was it a path of flames?

  The only other escape was the window; he lived on the third story.

  Can I jump out and still survive? He looked down at his round belly, then at the fire creeping across his walls, devouring dry wood. The noxious paint fumes choked him. Ian staggered to the window, throwing it open.

  The ground was such a long ways down.

  Smoke seeped out through the window. Eyes watering, Ian crawled to the sink. He wet a dishcloth, holding it to his nose. Then he crawled back to the mattress where his phone and iPod were.

  He didn’t have anything important—just his phone with all his pictures of Gwen and Brad, and his wallet. And there was Xavier, too. I don’t want either of us to die.

  He looked out through the window, his eyes watering, his lungs burning. Couldn’t risk jumping down, couldn’t run out through the door, either. But the flames were only yards away, and Ian’s skin stung, too hot from the sheer heat.

  Afraid of closing his eyes, he clutched his phone to his chest, thinking about Gwen. Then, Brad.

  At least Gwen would be safe. She wasn’t here, and Brad would care for her. If
Ian couldn’t see them again... he would miss them. Gwen, with how she’d always been there, how she’d always loved him. And Brad...

  Ian wanted to touch his alpha again, just one more time. To say I’m sorry, and I love you. But it was too late, wasn’t it?

  In the distance, the siren of a fire engine wailed. Ian pressed himself beneath the window. If the flames got any worse, if there was no other choice...

  He would jump out through the window, and hope for the best.

  30

  Brad

  “Those apartments should’ve been pulled down a decade ago,” Harris muttered beside Brad, barely audible above the siren. “Seems like the only code they aren’t flouting is the one that keeps the building upright.”

  Brad kept silent. He’d learned his lesson. Wasn’t going to get distracted by anything else on the road. All he needed was to get the truck to the scene, and go save some lives. Whether the apartments met building safety codes... that was out of his control.

  Still, it didn’t help when he pulled the truck up in front of the Fernleaf apartments, and half the building was swallowed in flames, thick smoke rising into the inky sky. Which landlord would allow this to happen?

  Residents were leaping out of the second-story apartments, some crumpling onto the ground. Those who managed to escape had crowded around the building, their faces lit orange by the flames.

  Then there were the people on the third story, some silhouettes by the windows, trapped in their apartments.

  Brad swore. He parked the truck as close as he could, then extended the ladder. “I’m heading up with Roger,” he told Harris.

  Harris nodded, his shrewd eyes taking stock of their men, the other station trucks pulling up, and the situation at hand. He was good at that. Brad left his team leader, strapping on his oxygen tank and mask.

  He climbed the truck, then the ladder. Needed to focus on not slipping, and getting in and out in one piece so he could do his job.