But the first one. What he’d called me. I swallowed hard, trying not to let my emotions take over. But my eyes misted a little until Damon said, “Robbie? Don’t think you can play Patrick like that. If you want something, ask, without trying to trick him, and if it’s reasonable, maybe you’ll get it.” Over Robbie’s head, he mouthed, “No. Say no.”
I shrugged, a little disappointed, but not entirely sure Robbie hadn’t meant it. We’d been hanging out a lot, the three of us, and it felt more like a family than I’d ever experienced even with my own. I’d gladly call him son.
But he arched a brow, the little demon, and tapped a finger on his cheek. “Is it reasonable to want age-appropriate furnishings for a room where I spend more than half my time?”
I nodded. “Go on.”
“Is it reasonable to have a bed of a size where I won’t disappear because it’s at least four times too wide.”
“Three bears time, huh?” I chuckled.
“And the desk and chair, just what leading experts recommend for effi...effi...efficient homework doing.” In conclusion, the bare necessities for a student trying hard to make his dads proud of him.
By now I was laughing so hard my side hurt, and despite Damon’s obvious effort to keep a straight face, he joined us with a stifled guffaw. Robbie had won, and we all knew it and I didn’t even mind. The guest room he occupied when they stayed over was intended for adult visitors. At Damon’s, Robbie had a serviceable bedroom set, but one that had been used by the other kids Damon had cared for before he came along. Wiping tears of laughter, and a few surreptitious ones in my ineffable grief that this charming, sweet, diligent boy had never had a room just for him with things nobody had ever used before. His dad was pressuring the county to regain custody of Robbie, and the only thing stopping him from succeeding was that he currently lived in a halfway house for convicts on parole, he hadn’t managed to find work yet, and had no stable environment for a child.
We didn’t know how long we’d have our little guy.
It was the least I could do and very reasonable. “Agreed. But we’ll need to get sheets and blankets, too. Maybe pillows. I don’t have any twin beds in my house.”
We were exiting the store, pushing a flat cart piled with boxes of furniture we’d spend the rest of the weekend putting together, sheets, towels—to match the sheets—comforters, and pillows along with a few other items when Damon stopped and clapped a palm over his mouth. His face paled, and when he dropped his hand, his lips were nearly white. “Damn flu. Must not be all the way gone. I’ll meet you at the car,” he choked out and dashed back inside.
Robbie, froze, staring after him, and I stuffed my own desire to race after him because someone had to stay with the little guy and the cart. But I swore, if he wasn’t back in five minutes, I’d abandon everything except the boy and find out what the heck.
I settled in to entertain Robbie, telling him a story about a rabbit I’d seen while walking home from work the other day. When Damon returned, looking a little better, we headed for the car without discussing his illness. Robbie was already worried, and we had an appointment with a doctor for later in the week. Flu my ass. While my omega continued to insist the nausea, dizziness, and other symptoms matched the current influenza profile, I was afraid it was something worse.
The virus sweeping the town was a forty-eight-hour variety, and we were into our third week. And the doctor’s visit couldn’t come soon enough for me. I bundled them both into the car and loaded the bulky, awkward items in the back myself. Although it wasn’t late, the sun was setting and a chilly breeze kicking up. I just wanted to get my family home and into pajamas. I’d serve them soup and toast, and we’d all cuddle on the couch and watch a movie while I tried not to worry too much about what was wrong with Damon.
It couldn’t be too serious, could it? He was young and until this virus or whatever hit, he’d been healthy. He’d be fine.
But driving home, I couldn’t shut off the voice in my head insisting there was something bad wrong. Names of unspeakable diseases ran through, stories I’d heard about men cut down in the prime of life…
As I turned into the driveway, Damon’s phone rang and he tugged it out of his pocket and checked the screen. “Damn.”
“Daddy Damon cussed,” chirped the profanity police from the back seat, but for once I wasn’t worried about that.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” I asked in a low voice.
“Yeah. And he says he wants to talk.”
Chapter Sixteen
Damon
“It’s getting better. This is ridiculous,” I complained and set my warm face on the cool counter. I had puked again right before Patrick got to my house. I didn’t even know he was coming to the doctor with me until he showed up at my house minutes before. He’d taken the day off to take me. It was unnecessary.
And the truth was, I thought all the stress with Robbie was what was making me ill. Scott tried to see Robbie several times and when the foster system denied him, he requested a hearing. That meant my chances of losing Robbie were great. The system generally returned kids to their parents even if the circumstances were bleak.
I couldn’t lose my boy. And the thought of it kept me up at night.
“It’s not getting better, Damon. I bet you’ve already puked this morning.”
I turned and groaned instead of answering. The answer would be yes, but he didn’t have to know that.
“I ate toast this morning,” I moaned, trying to cover.
“Why? To stop your stomach from getting sick? My love, please. Just indulge me. If the doctor says it’s a virus, I won’t make you go again.”
“Fine. When do we need to leave?”
“In five minutes.”
I wore a V-neck T-shirt and jeans that I picked up from the bedroom floor after I puked, but it would have to do. I had zero energy to impress the damned doctor.
And my alpha didn’t need to be impressed. He liked me just the way I was.
Loved me, even.
I pulled myself from the stool and put on my shoes. Patrick got my wallet and phone and let me lean on him without a word about me being weak, but when we got into the car, I could see the worried look on his face.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, patting his thigh. He took my hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing the palm several times, inhaling my scent.
“I know you will.” His confidence surprised me. Before backing out of the driveway, he leaned over to kiss me, so slowly and passionately, I became light-headed. What had gotten into my alpha? Whatever it was, it was welcome.
We got to the doctor and waited to be called in. Dr. Allen went over my symptoms and nodded and scribbled things down like he was supposed to.
“I’d like to run a quick blood test. You can go down the hall and get the blood drawn, and we will do the lab work right here.”
I rolled my eyes. Who does a blood test for the flu? He was probably just running my insurance bill up on purpose or something.
I complied, going down the hall and getting my blood taken and then returned to the room as told. Patrick and I waited in the tiny room for about twenty minutes before Dr. Allen came back in, a big smile on his oily face.
“What is it?” I asked, wondering why my illness was making him happy.
“You’re expecting, Mr. Wright. And you, I’m assuming?” Patrick nodded, and the smile on his face was one I’d never seen.
“I’m expecting what?” I asked, looking back and forth at them.
Patrick wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close. “You’re expecting our babe, Damon.”
I looked down and put my hand over my stomach. “They said I couldn’t. They said everything was messed up. I had internal bleeding.”
The doctor shrugged. “I’d like to do an ultrasound today. Can the two of you take a stab at the date of conception? Your hormone levels suggest you’re about twelve weeks along.”
“Twelve weeks? That would be the first t
ime…”
The doctor chuckled. “First time, last time, it only takes one time. That’s what I always say. I’m going to have you lie back, and let’s get a machine in here to see if everything is fine. Then I’ll refer you to an obstetrician, and we can get you on some vitamins.”
Patrick shook the doctor’s hand, and then Dr. Allen bustled out, whistling.
And here I was, still not believing.
“You don’t look happy,” Patrick said as he popped out of his happy bubble and really looked at me.
“I don’t know what the hell I am.” At least I was honest.
My alpha breathed out a long sigh and then came over to hug me. “You’re shocked. I knew you would be.”
I pulled away from his embrace and held his shoulders. “You knew? And didn’t tell me?”
He nodded. “I knew you were pregnant. The symptoms fit, and your scent has changed. But I also realized that if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. Hence, my insistence on seeing a doctor.”
I buried my face in my hands. “I’d given up on that part of me, the one who wanted to be a father.”
Patrick wrapped his arms around me. “It’s our miracle baby. You’re going to be a papa. We made this. You and me and our love made this baby. Please don’t be upset. I’ve already bought baby clothes.”
I almost broke my neck looking at him.
“You did what?”
He nodded. “They’re at the office in my personal desk drawer. I’d been searching for baby and pregnancy information, and then social media started showing me ads for baby clothes and before I knew it, I’d clicked the hell out of all of them. Don’t you want this? Me? Our family?”
The doctor came back in wheeling a big machine, and we went through the motions that I’d seen my mother go through. The gel stuff—the blobby forms on the screen.
“There she or he is. Looking healthy, and from the weight and progression, I’d say twelve weeks is about right. Looks like you’re having a summer babe.”
“Can we hear the heartbeat?” Patrick held my hand and squeezed it a little tighter as he asked.
“Of course. Let’s find it.”
He ran another little wand up and down my belly until a rapid whooshing sound filled the otherwise barren room.
“That’s it. Sounding strong and healthy.”
“That’s our babe,” Patrick whispered, leaning down to kiss my forehead, one of his tears plopping on my face.
“I’m gonna be a dad,” I murmured back, numb. “We have to tell Robbie.”
That, I wasn’t looking forward to. To Robbie, it might look like we were starting a new family of our own, one that had a kid biologically ours. But to us, Robbie already was our son
Chapter Seventeen
Patrick
Nerves over Robbie’s status muted our joy of the holidays, but we hid it from him, at least we hoped we had. The highlight was a very special surprise on Christmas Eve. Unbeknownst to our little guy, I’d gone through the process to have me and my home certified for foster care. With all the chaos surrounding Scott’s attempts to get to Robbie through legal or, we suspected, other means, we had been assigned a new social worker, Edward Raleigh, who had more experience with difficult cases and who highly approved our plan to move in together at my home with its state-of-the-art security system and two-parent household.
That’s what we’d be—a two-parent household. My practice was not only thriving, but Hal had caught a number of underpayments by insurance companies, including the state system, that had made me so tight for funds. At this point, I had the money to make a heck of a Christmas celebration for him as well as my omega.
Christmas Eve, Damon drove up my driveway, and he and Robbie let themselves into the house. We’d long since passed the key-exchange stage, and so far Robbie had keys to their apartment on the ring clipped to his jeans. He never came home to an empty house, but it made him happy to have a symbol of his responsibility. And belonging. Always belonging.
Our tree soared to the high living room ceiling, decorated within an inch of its life with ornaments and lights, candy canes, popcorn chains, and real gingerbread. Damon had been afraid of ants, but I was willing to take the chance for the scent and the ability to snag a reindeer off the tree and eat it. I might have already done that a few times.
“Wow!” Robbie cried out, running a circle around the tree with its piles of gifts surrounding it. “This is the most beautiful Christmas ever. Can I stay up late and wait for Santa?”
I chuckled and winked at my omega. “Certainly not. Santa never comes to houses where little boys aren’t in bed yet.”
“Then can I go to sleep now? So Christmas will come sooner?” His eyes sparkled like only a child waiting for Santa’s can do.
Damon laughed aloud. “We haven’t even had dinner yet, and then we are going to sing carols and look for Santa’s sleigh in the sky.”
Robbie plopped down among the wrapped gifts. “Then can I go to bed?”
“I never thought I’d hear a boy want to go to bed without opening his one Christmas Eve present, Damon,” I tsked.
“It is kind of a house rule to open one.” He shrugged. “But, that’s okay. He can wait until to—”
“Nooooo,” wailed Robbie. “I don’t want to break any rules.” He stood before us, arms akimbo, legs apart at shoulder width like a tiny pirate on a tossing sea. “Can I open it now?”
“Right before bedtime.” Damon shooed him toward the stairs. “Go wash up and we’ll bring out the food.” We’d contemplated a fancy dinner but decided to put our efforts into enjoying the evening and had sent out for Robbie’s favorite. Pizza.
I suppose it was a little evil of us to string the boy along, but we were so full of excitement ourselves about our big surprise, we wanted to ride the wave. And sadly, we also liked thin crust pizza with extra cheese, olives, pepperoni, and bacon. Our family choice. And since it seemed Damon had hit the end of morning sickness a few days after our first doctor’s appointment, he was able to gobble his full share and maybe a little more.
None of us knew all the words to any carols, as it turned out, but we turned on the TV, found a holiday program we could all agree on, and snuggled down to watch it. Robbie curled between us, one little hand on Damon’s belly because his “little sister” liked to know he was close by.
If we lost him, would we ever recover? But I shoved that thought down, as the credits rolled and little cartoon animals crooned their wishes for our holiday season.
Nobody was ruining our first Christmas as a family.
Clicking off the TV, I stood, bringing Robbie with me, and we all bundled up and trooped out onto the patio by the—not properly fenced as per the social worker’s instructions—pool. “What do you think, omega, see Santa up there anywhere?”
“Not yet,” Damon replied.
The sky was the clearest I’d ever seen it, with only a tiny sliver of a moon to take away from the bowl of sparkling stars. I set Robbie on his feet and tipped my head back. We all did, watching the skies, and I paused a moment to think of what we were celebrating this beautiful night. The birth of a babe, just like we were awaiting. A babe special to so many, who grew to be a man the whole world knew by name. One day Robbie would grow to be a man. And the baby, whether “little sister” or brother, would as well. What would they bring to the world, to those around them?
What an honor to be part of their lives. My throat swelled with the joy of it as I caught sight of a particularly bright star. Was this the one the Wise Men followed? Or one like it? I made a wish on that star. Simple, heartfelt, and a greater desire I’d never felt.
I wish for us all to stay together as a family.
I would prostrate myself before anyone who could make it happen, but the answer, when it came, thrummed through my body, my soul… A Christmas wish, from the pure of heart, will not be denied.
I turned around and around looking for the source of the words, until finally Damon grabbed my arm. “Are yo
u all right?” He shook me. “You almost fell there.”
I shook my head. “Did you hear that?”
An ambulance siren sounded in the distance. “That whine? Yeah. But it’s far away.”
“No, I mean…” I meant the wishful thinking. Because that was what it had to be. The magic of the night interfering with my brain processes. “Never mind. Is that Santa up there?” I pointed to what I was fairly sure was a jet, but it was enough to get Robbie bouncing up and down and agreeing that we were seeing the sleigh and reindeer and jolly old Saint Nick himself. We had to drag him back into the house and send him up to change into pj’s, assisted by the reminder that he had a present to open.
While he was gone, I found the red-foil wrapped box and put it on the coffee table then we settled down and waited. “Do you think he’ll be disappointed?” I asked. “It’s not a toy or anything.”
“I doubt it. I only wish it was more.”
Robbie tumbled down the last few stairs then, and we raced over and dusted him off and chided him over not being careful enough. “Do we need a baby gate now?” Damon asked, and Robbie sniffed back his tears and shook his head.
“Okay,” I said, “then let’s see what this gift is.”
Damon and I stood close together, watching our little guy approach the box as if he were a tiger stalking prey. “It’s not very big,” he said doubtfully.
“No,” Damon replied, squeezing my hand. “But good things come in small packages.”
“My teacher says that.” He closed in on it and picked it up, shaking the box. “And it doesn’t weigh much. She also says you have to always say thank you for gifts even if you don’t like them. There are a bunch more with my name on them…” he said hopefully.
Now I squeezed Damon’s hand. We wanted to give him forever, but in lieu of that, everything we had. “Those are for tomorrow.”
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