Under Siege: A Contemporary Mpreg Romance Bundle (Omega's Under Siege)

by Aiden Bates

  We held our breaths as we verified that Juan was out like a light and then Dad, Dad, and Dad, could head back out to the party and have a few drinks, since Juan would not be joining us for a while.

  Before we started the process of sneaking back out, though, we all traded glances with one another as none of us moved a muscle to leave.

  “It’s nice,” Mitch said. “The quiet. Just for a minute.”

  “I thought Pedro was going to be overwhelmed. He’s out there loving it, and I’m the one who’s overwhelmed,” Marcos replied in a whisper.

  “Well, we’ll just take a minute in here before we have to go back out and face the crowd,” I said, and the three of us stood silent, watching Juan breathe in his crib, subconsciously timing our breaths to his.

  As we watched Juan, Mitch drifted closer to me and laid his head on my shoulder. I slid my arm around his waist to hold him, and Marcos moved behind us to encircle us in a loose, open hug.

  This. This was our family. My omega, my alpha, my child and me. This was the only configuration that would fill this house so completely, not just with pealing laughter of my son and my husbands, but with the love we all felt for one another.

  Every one of us had walked a hard road to come home, but coming here, and the coming together made every bit of that road worth it.

  Overcome with love and appreciation for my family as we watched our son sleep, I raised myself on my tiptoes ever so slightly to peck first at Marcos’s lips and then at Mitch’s, or at least that was my intention.

  While I went up my tiptoes, I failed to notice that Mitch was doing the same, all while Marcos was bending down to kiss god-knows-which one of us first. Unable to tear our eyes away from Juan for too long, the three of us wound up not looking in which direction we were each moving, until we all found each other face to face, somewhere in the middle of our embrace, each about to kiss the other two.

  Mitch huffed with a soft laugh, and of course, decided to go for it. He pushed us all together and kissed Marcos and me almost simultaneously, and then stepped back and laughed in a hushed whisper.

  Marcos arched an eyebrow, and I rolled my eyes at Mitch, but we began giggling, albeit quietly.

  “You know…” Marcos said, looking around conspiratorially at Mitch and myself. It was the same look any of the three of us gave the other two when someone was about to propose a crazy idea or a brand-new scheme, an addition to the house, a party for Pedro, or a present for one of the three of us.

  “Yeah?” I whispered back, skeptical but too in love at the moment to worry too much. “What is it?”

  “With Pedro being back and all, I don’t know, I’ve just been thinking,” Marcos said with a shrug that was trying too hard to be nonchalant.

  “Uh-huh.” Mitch eyes twinkled in anticipation.

  Marcos jerked his head toward the crib to indicate Juan who slept on, sound asleep as his parents plotted together.

  “Every kid could use a sibling.”

  Book 4

  Omega’s Secret Heartache

  Omega’s Under Siege: Book 4

  Aiden Bates

  © 2019

  Disclaimer

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are all fictitious for the reader’s pleasure. Any similarities to real people, places, events, living or dead are all coincidental.

  This book contains sexually explicit content that is intended for ADULTS ONLY (+18).

  1

  Charlie

  “Zimmerman, your prescription is ready.”

  The tinny voice interrupted me as I contemplated soaps. I liked drug stores. They were always so neat and organized. Any time my life seemed to be in shambles, I’d come here and wander the aisles of tidy boxes and rows. In the last four years, there’d been more than one time I’d needed that distraction. It made me believe, for just a short time, that my own life was together.

  “Hi, I’m Charlie Zimmerman,” I said to the bored pharmacy tech.

  “Date of birth?” she asked.

  “June thirteenth,” I answered.

  She popped her gum at me. I guess that could be interpreted as a positive response? A moment later she returned with the small white bag. The doctor had promised this was guaranteed to fix my heats once and for all, and I was more than ready for it. It was strange the things that changed with grief.

  You started having fond feelings about chain drug stores, and you started to hate your heats with a passion.

  I’d started using heat suppressants when Jason had gone to war. It had made sense. No point in having them if my alpha wasn’t here to help me through them. It had been temporary; the whole thing was supposed to be temporary. Jason with his wide smile and soft hands wasn’t made for a career in the military. It was meant to give us an easier path in the future. We’d had plans and dreams and…

  Remember, breathe. Accept reality. Acknowledge the grief, but don’t lose yourself to it. One, two, three…

  Therapy was a trip.

  Anyway, between the eating everything and then the eating nothing and the sleeping for two days straight and the not sleeping for a week at a time and the feelings of absolute numbness and total panic, my cycles had been all over the place. My older birth control and heat suppressant combo wasn’t able to stand up to all the upheaval. And, the only thing worse than mourning the love of your life was doing so while in the middle of a heat that never seemed like it was going to end.

  Now, it just seemed more practical. In Fort Greene, everyone in town knew everyone else, and it seemed impossible that anyone would ever see me as anything other than Jason O’Rourke’s fiancé. Even now, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to be anything else.

  The house was empty when I got home, and I was thankful for some time to myself. I loved my dads, but after living with them for nearly four years, I was starting to crave more and more time to myself.

  Before the incident that killed Jason, we had found an apartment of our own. I was going to school, working on my bachelor’s degree, and when he was able to get leave and come home to me, we didn’t have to worry about anything other than being together. After? God, I couldn’t look at any part of it and not see him. Mourning was a combination of confused emotions. One part of me didn’t want to let go of anything that belonged to him, another wanted to set everything on fire. I wanted to live in that place forever because it was the only place where Jason and I had ever been, would ever be, as a couple on our own. In the same instant, I never wanted to be there ever again.

  About three weeks after Jason’s death, I’d woken up one morning to find both of my dads in my living room. I hadn’t had the energy to feel embarrassed about Papa washing the moldy dishes or Dad having to wash every piece of clothing in the house before they could gently pack all of it away.

  “You’re coming home with us,” Dad had said. He was an alpha and not given to a lot of displays of emotion, but I could remember how sad he’d been, how his tone hadn’t left any room to argue. Not that I was in any shape to do that.

  I owed the two of them so much. They’d helped me even when I hadn’t wanted to help myself. How many times had Papa held me when I cried and screamed and wished I was dead? How many times had he stayed with me the next day, stating he just wanted to spend time with me, but was really there to watch me, just to make sure I didn’t do it? How many times had Dad driven me to therapy, and then waited outside because even the idea of driving across town was too much for me?

  And now, I felt…better. Not good. Not normal. But so much better. Like I’d walked out of a fog. I was aware enough to realize that while they loved me, they
wanted me to start regaining those last steps toward independence. About nine months ago, I’d started working with a comic company. Nothing approaching full-time, but I did commissioned pieces for them, and I was slowly but surely getting more and more work.

  I sat down, turned on my tablet and started working on the last panel of my latest commission. Just a few more details and a final pass through, and I’d be done. Just in time for the dinner I’d invited my parents to.

  The time felt right. I was nervous, but excited. It was time for me to re-enter the world.

  I met Dad and Papa at the restaurant at six, like we’d agreed. I looked around for a second before I spotted them at the corner table. Dad was doing his very best to get Papa to laugh, just like always. And, just like always, he was succeeding. Papa threw his head back at whatever joke Dad had whispered in his ear, and Dad looked at him like he’d hung the moon. Dad always looked at Papa like that when he thought Papa couldn’t see, and Papa always pretended like he couldn’t. Their hands were twined together on the table, Papa’s left gleaming with the ring I’d never once seen him without. They were amazing. Chasing a love like theirs had always been my dream.

  Papa finally stopped laughing and looked over to where I was standing. He shot me a broad smile, waving me forward.

  “Charlie! Your Dad was just reminding me about that time we went to the lake. Do you remember?” Papa asked as soon as I got settled in across from them.

  “How could I ever forget? You were red as a lobster for a week afterward.”

  “And just as…crabby,” Dad added lamely. This led to another peal of laughter from Papa and a groan from me at the bad joke.

  “Ugh, that’s horrible,” I said, scrunching my face.

  “And I made you go out and get aloe…” Papa said to Dad.

  “Which for some inexplicable reason no one had,” Dad added, as if I hadn’t been there as a twelve-year-old and didn’t remember the whole thing firsthand.

  “And then he comes back with the plant! ‘What the hell am I supposed to do with a plant, Hank?’ I’d asked him.” Tears began to roll down Papa’s cheeks.

  “And Daddy said, ‘How the hell do you think they make Aloe Vera, Morey?’” I smiled at the memory.

  Papa nodded, his blond hair falling in his face as he continued to laugh. Dad rolled his eyes good-naturedly, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth.

  The waiter came and took our drink orders, and then my parents filled me in on their respective days.

  “How’s the comic going, sweetheart?” Papa asked.

  “I finished!” This one had been long. It was a superhero comic. They were all the rage right now, but not really my favorite thing to illustrate.

  “That’s great, son,” Dad said.

  “Right? I’m just happy it’s finally off my plate.”

  “Oh, speaking of things to get off one’s plate. I finally talked to that contractor, Hank. He thinks he’ll be able to convert the bedroom and deck into a sunroom without too much trouble,” Papa said.

  “Good, you need a place for all your houseplants, honey. It’s like a jungle when I get home,” Dad replied, trying to pretend he was anything other than besotted with Papa. I knew, and he knew, and Papa knew that if Papa wanted to cover the whole house in ficus and pothos, Dad would be the first one in line at the greenhouse the next morning.

  “Only when you don’t need the space anymore,” Papa said to me. I knew it was something they’d discussed before I’d moved back in with them, but I also knew Papa had shelved the idea to give me my old room. So I was surprised he’d been getting quotes because, since the incident, he’d been careful about making me feel less than completely welcome. He’d actually handled me like I was fragile. Probably because I was.

  “Well, that’s actually part of what I wanted to talk to you about.” I hesitated as the two of them looked at me, Papa concerned, and Dad skeptical. “I’ve decided. I’m moving out. I’m going to start looking for a place next week.”

  “Son, that’s amazing!” Dad said.

  Papa’s smile seemed smaller, more brittle.

  “Papa…”

  Dad’s eyebrows furrowed. “Morey…”

  “No, no. Sorry. I’m just…worried. I know we’d talked about it, but it’s sudden. Isn’t it sudden?” he asked, looking back and forth between the two of us.

  “Papa, it’s been four years. I don’t think anyone would call that sudden.”

  Papa bit his bottom lip, his eyes filled with uncertainty. Dad clasped his hand over Papa’s on the table.

  “Son, I’m really proud of how far you’ve come. After Jason’s funeral…” Dad’s voice grew rough. “I wasn’t sure we’d ever get our son back. It felt like both of you had died. You’ve fought hard to get to where you are now.”

  Papa didn’t look convinced, and putting myself in his shoes, I could see why. There was genuinely a point in my life where I wasn’t capable of taking care of myself.

  “Papa, I have to see. I have to try.”

  “Are you sure, honey? Are you absolutely sure?” he asked, wide blue eyes searching my face for doubt.

  I couldn’t lie to Papa. I’d never been able to. There was never any point in it, anyway. He always knew.

  “Honestly, no. I’m not. But, Papa, don’t you see? If I wait until I’m absolutely ready, I’ll probably never leave. I have to get used to what life, my adult life with all those adult struggles and realities, will look like without Jason. Because, as much as I wish it was different, that is reality.”

  Papa looked like he was going to cry, but he nodded.

  “Besides. What’s the worst that happens? If I try it and it’s too soon and I can’t cope, I can always come back…right?”

  They looked at each other and Papa nodded. “Honey, of course. We love you, Charlie. You’ll always have a home with us if you need it.”

  “You’d have to get used to sleeping with the plants, though,” Dad quipped. Papa chuckled, and the mood at the table lifted considerably.

  “Could be good for me. Lots of air filtration, I’m told.”

  The rest of dinner passed without incident, and by the end, Papa was talking about going shopping for all the things I’d need, and what furniture I could take with me from the house.

  When I got home, now full of cautious optimism, I was again pulled toward my work bench. I opened the file on my computer that I’d hidden under the title “Bills.” Who I was hiding it from, I wasn’t sure. But it felt too personal otherwise. Even after all this time.

  It was one of the few things I’d had the energy to do. I hadn’t known how to even begin to cope with what had happened to me. The pain had felt like it would never end. People kept saying it would eventually get easier, but day after day felt just as wretched as the one before it. I’d done the only thing I’d known to, and turned to my art. Four years later, and I was still working on it, still trying to complete the story of the main character, Rig.

  I picked up my stylus and tried, but it was impossible. At this point, I knew Rig’s story was taking him toward meeting a new alpha. I’d been trying for weeks to draw the panel as I saw it in my mind, but every time I put pen to paper, I stopped. I’d thought that being cheered up by my parents’ response to my news would be enough to jump start things, but no luck. Things still felt too…something.

  I gave up and went to bed instead, and then stared at the ceiling waiting for sleep to come. God, four years. It seemed impossible. How had it been four years since I’d heard Jason’s voice? His laugh? Even longer since I’d seen him in person, felt his lips on the back of my neck, his arms around my waist. Four lonely years. But, the idea of being with someone else? God, how? How?

  But Dad was right. I’d come too far to step back. I should be proud of myself.

  I hoped Jason would be, too.

  2

  Pedro

  “Alright. That’s probably good for today,” Camden said.

  I nodded but ignored him, pushing
myself on and making myself take just another step. Another step after this one. One more.

  “We’re good. You’re all done,” Camden said, a little louder and a little more insistently.

  I nodded a little harder, keeping my head forward and trying to fight the smile that was threatening to form. Sometimes, if I played my cards right, Camden would let me get away with pushing myself a little harder than I was supposed to.

  Sometimes he’d let me. But I always tried, regardless.

  “Pedro! Pedro! Enough. Really. Come on now.”

  I sucked my teeth like a kid who was being called indoors for dinner but gave up and unclipped my harness from the treadmill. Camden groaned in exasperation and dialed the treadmill down from its lowest setting to a complete stop. We’d talked about staying clipped to the machine until it came to a full stop, many, many times, but, well, old habits die hard. It used to be that when I was done with a run, I just pulled the clip, hopped off, and then got into the shower. That was back when treadmills were for cool-downs after a real workout. Now, doing two miles an hour on a flat treadmill was my workout. I had to ask to go a bit faster, and Camden, my poor physical therapist, had to weigh the pros and cons of every step I took.

  “Two thousand, five-hundred,” he said, clocking my steps and recording them on his tablet. “Pretty good.”

  “More, if I could’ve kept on going,” I grumbled as I stiffly made my way to the patient couch with Camden hovering close by.

  “But less next time if you wound up hurting yourself.”

  “There you go, sounding like Marcos again,” I said as I slowly turned myself around and finally edged onto the side of the couch.