by Aiden Bates
“Then give me a chance to prove myself to you. We’ve had so little time together…I get it, Riley. I really do. But a week from now—a month—”
“That’s all you think it will take to fix this? A month of my time?”
I took a step toward him. It was all I could do to stop myself from claiming every inch of space between my body and his—from sweeping him up in my arms and holding him so tight, he’d have no choice but to believe that when I said shit like I love you, I meant it. Every damn time.
I’d settle for his hand. I reached out to him, palm facing upwards, hoping that he’d place his fingers over mine.
“I don’t know what it will take to make you trust me,” I told him. “But whatever it is—I’m all in, Riley. I’m game.”
He looked at my hand for a few long, lingering seconds. They felt like years to me. Time slipping through the cracks in my fingers and trickling down onto the street beneath my shoes.
“I don’t know, Max. I…I need to get my head straight. Figure some shit out for myself.”
My hand fell back to my side in defeat. “And you can’t do that with me.”
He shook his head slowly, his voice full of regret as he spoke. “I don’t think I can, no.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets, running a thumb over the screen of my phone when I found it there. “You’ve got my number. Will you call me? When you’re ready?”
“I might.”
“I can’t settle for might, Riley. Christ—you’ve got no idea what you’ve given me. Don’t take it away like this.”
His hand ran over his stomach a final time before he turned away. “I’m sorry, Max. Right now, maybes are all I’ve got.”
I watched him ascend back up the steps to his apartment building. Suddenly, I knew how the apostles must’ve felt after they’d touched their Lord and Savior for the last time.
“I’ll wait for you,” I called after him.
The only answer I got was the sound of the door closing behind him, shutting me out of his life.
I waited around for longer than I should have. Felt scummy doing it—like that ex of Riley’s, lurking around his apartment building, hoping for mercy that I still wasn’t sure I deserved.
I crossed the street and settled down on a park bench. Felt a little less scummy that way. Kept waiting for the door to open again—for Riley to come rushing out toward me while I fended off the cabs and the gridlock so I could kiss him in the middle of the street like the characters always seemed to do in those movies he liked so much.
I waited there until the sun started sinking beneath the buildings. My phone buzzed twice—work, probably. Maybe Ethan, as if the universe hadn’t already fucked me over enough for one day. It didn’t matter. I didn’t check to find out for sure. I had Riley’s number set to a ringtone in my cell, that Sinatra song we’d danced to on the night of the gala.
It was funny—or it would’ve been, if it wasn’t so sad. I could remember my mom singing me Sinatra songs before I fell asleep at night as a child, cold Midwestern winds blowing in through the space where the window didn’t quite meet the wall. Curtains fluttering as she tucked the blankets around me, like a few layers combined with the sound of her voice could warm away the night.
I thought growing up poor like that was the coldest I’d ever be in all my life—but sitting there across the street from Riley’s apartment, I felt even colder still. He’d taken the goddamn sun with him when he’d closed that door on me. Didn’t matter what my watch said; I didn’t think it’d rise again until I had him back at my side.
When Riley’s door finally opened again, my heart skipped three beats and rolled around in my chest like it was being rocked by the tides. But it wasn’t just Riley that came out through it. Two of his friends—coworkers, if I had to guess from the way they were already made up for work—came out before him, with Riley lagging behind carrying a duffel bag. They hailed a cab headed in the direction of Heaven’s Ballroom. Must’ve been a working night.
An awful thought struck me as I watched Riley climb into the backseat with them. If he wasn’t letting me support him anymore, then it only made sense that Riley was going back to work. As a dancer? A cocktail waiter? A bartender, maybe? It didn’t matter. I didn’t care.
I watched the love of my life disappear down the pothole-riddled street along with the red of the cab’s taillights. With a pang in my chest, I hailed a cab of my own.
He said he’d needed time—not space. It was a loophole I was willing to take advantage of. The last time I’d let Riley out of my sight, I’d regretted it with every fiber of my being.
I wasn’t about to let it happen again. Not to my Omega. The father of my child.
Not tonight.
15
Riley
“So I finally finish my audition and the asshole that owns the Backdoor is just like, ‘Okay, but can you lose twenty pounds or so? You’re looking a little fat up there.’”
Anders poked Damon in the stomach and gave a disbelieving laugh. “I’m calling bullshit. You don’t have a pound of fat on you.”
“That’s what I thought! So I ask him, ‘Okay, where are you seeing all of this fat?’ And you won’t fucking believe where he points.”
“His own over-inflated ego?”
“Nope—my abs. He’s like, ‘All of that fat there! Your stomach is so…bumpy!’”
Anders roared with laughter from the backseat. “Oh my God. No. He didn’t.”
“He did,” Damon assured us. “So I’m just standing there like… ‘Bumpy? What the fuck? This guy works with nude male dancers day and night…has he seriously never seen a six-pack before?’”
By the end of Damon’s story, he even had our cab driver in hysterical tears. I chuckled along, but my heart wasn’t in it.
If anything, I’d left my heart on the front step of my apartment as I’d walked away from Max and closed the door.
We all had horror stories from the other clubs in the city—even Anders, who was about as ornamental and universally adored as they came. It reminded me once again how lucky I was to have my gig at the Ballroom. I’d sent a text to Foster before we left, asking if he was cool with me coming in for a shift, and he’d promptly given me a spot at the ticket booth just inside the front door.
You going to want to come back to dancing after you give birth? No shame in being a working daddy, Ry, he’d texted me.
It was a generous offer. More than generous—when the Omegas at the Backdoor got pregnant, I’d heard of them being thrown out on their asses as soon as they cleared two lines on the pregnancy test.
Not sure, I’d texted him back anyway. Now that I had my baby to think about, I knew that dancing at the Ballroom couldn’t hold me over forever. It wasn’t the dancing that turned me off—it was the scene itself. Could I really call myself a good role model for my child when I made all of our money grinding on strange businessmen every night? Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you.
Heaven’s pearly gates are always welcome to you, Foster had messaged in reply.
But as the cab pulled up to the club, where Manhattan’s richest Alphas were already lining up outside the front doors, I was suddenly relieved that I wouldn’t be dancing tonight. I needed to remember to thank Foster for his generosity—taking tickets felt like a much safer way to spend my time.
“Can we grab you anything, Ry? A soda or anything?” Damon asked as I settled into my seat in the ticket booth.
I handed him his duffel bag and forced a smile. “If you wanted to send someone over with water, I wouldn’t be opposed.”
“You’ve got it.”
I gave him a little wave as he disappeared toward the bar. “Break a leg tonight!”
A few minutes later, our bouncer for the evening arrived. Blake was handsome enough and built enough, he could’ve made it as a dancer himself if he wasn’t so obviously an Alpha—or if he was a little lighter on his feet.
“Looks like you’re my right hand tonigh
t, then,” he said to me as he lumbered over, black shirt stretched tight across his chest. His blue eyes were paler than Max’s. Brighter. Less serious. “Or, maybe I’m yours. You ready for a big night?”
“Not really,” I said honestly. “I’m hoping it will be a quiet one, at least.”
“Quiet?” We both glanced out at the line of Alphas just through the door. “Probably not. But it’ll be an uneventful one if we’re lucky. Just flag me if they give you any trouble. I’ll check the IDs, you take the money and stamp the hands.”
We processed nearly fifty Alphas in the first half hour. Some of them had Omegas of their own already on their arms—they wouldn’t tip well, but they’d make up for it buying drinks at the bar. Most came alone, though. Those ones, I was sure to seat toward the front of the house.
It wasn’t glamorous work, but at least it didn’t involve sitting on anyone’s lap. The most I’d be touching the customers tonight was when I grabbed their wrists to give the back of their hands the club’s stamp—a shimmering halo sat atop two golden angel’s wings. Still, when I heard the choir pick up for the opening number, I felt a tug of wistfulness on my heart. Even if I never came back to work at Heaven’s after my baby’s birth, I’d miss the dancing. My foot tapped to the beat as I stamped the last few hands, running the steps over in my head despite the fact that I wouldn’t be moving and grooving with the rest of the Angels on this particular night.
Halfway through the opening number, disaster struck. I could hear it from the ticket booth—shouting and shoving. An unexpected crash of cymbals that told me someone must’ve stumbled into the orchestra pit.
A few moments later, Carlos came running out, his perfectly waxed mustache comically crooked as his eyes scanned for Blake.
“Two of Anders’ admirers are trying to beat each other to death with the timpani mallets,” he panted. “We’re gonna need backup.”
“You good here?” Blake asked me as he rose from his stool, knuckles cracking.
I cast a glance outside and nodded. “Looks like the house is probably full for the night.”
Blake followed Carlos out onto the floor in an urgent jog, leaving me alone to deal with any stragglers—and worse, my own thoughts.
The outside of the club was quiet without all of the horny guests crowding in. The marquee lights flashed gently, lighting up the sidewalk outside, but beyond the ruckus near the stage, there wasn’t much to pay attention to—which was a problem.
Without anything distracting me, my brain naturally drifted back to Max. When I’d spoken to him at my apartment earlier, he’d seemed so genuine. So sincere. It felt like I was breaking his heart when I told him I needed time to think. Hell, maybe I had. But I was honest with him, too. I wasn’t any good at telling lies from the truth. It had fucked me over in my relationship with Kevin, and now it was fucking me over with the father of my child.
There wasn’t any way around it. I didn’t need proof that Max wasn’t cheating—we obviously both had heartache in that department in spades. It was his comment about never wanting to be a father that was digging its nails under my skin. Even if he did care about me—it was our baby that I needed to focus on. I wasn’t going to strap my child with a father that didn’t want her. Not on my life.
Suddenly, I felt a flutter in my belly. Her. I’d thought it with such natural ease. Like a premonition that I’d pulled from the air straight into my heart. It was too early to tell for sure, but some part of me was so certain that the baby was a girl. A daughter with my soft brown hair and Max’s intelligent blue eyes.
“Ticket for one, sweetheart.” A familiar male voice startled me from my daydreams of tying little pink shoelaces and braiding hair. I’d been so caught up in the joy of knowing—even though I still didn’t know how I knew—that I hadn’t even heard him come in.
“ID, please,” I requested, blinking up across the counter to get a look at the man’s face.
As soon as I did, my throat tightened. My heart thudded to a halt.
“Well, would you look at that. Riley, wasn’t it?” Malcolm Hayward gave me one of his eerily toothy smiles as he slid his driver’s license across the counter. “Funny seeing you here. Without your Alpha, no less. Back at the grind, huh?”
“Just taking tickets,” I muttered, checking his ID. It was an obvious fake. I could tell without even comparing it to my own. Not because it was a cheap knock-off—no, he’d probably dropped at least a grand on it, if not more. But the age on it read thirty-seven, which was laughable. Hayward couldn’t have been a day younger than fifty-five.
“Problem, Riley?”
“I can’t accept this.” I pushed the ID back at him. “We don’t accept fakes here.”
“Oh, come on, you little shit. Is this because of the other night at the gala?”
I fought back a laugh. “Not at all, Mr. Hayward. But if you’re thirty-seven, then I’m Harrison fucking Ford.”
A snarl pulled at the corners of Hayward’s lips. “You know, Riley, your bastard of an Alpha isn’t here to protect you this time. It’d be a shame if I fired him over something so silly as you being a nasty little prick, don’t you think?”
I swallowed hard. It was a low blow and Hayward knew it—but he wasn’t the kind of man who had any aversion to punching below the belt. Foster would have my hide if the Ballroom started getting the reputation of accepting fakes. But at the same time, I didn’t know if it was honestly worth putting Max’s job on the line.
“I just need a real ID, Mr. Hayward. Then you’re welcome inside.”
“Maybe I’ll just stay out here, then.” His snarl shifted effortlessly back into a cruel smile. “Maybe I don’t need to go inside to get my kicks for the night.”
He reached his fingertips out to me, running them lightly beneath my chin. It made my skin crawl, being touched like that by a man like him. My mouth tasted metallic and bitter like bile. I glanced around for Blake, praying that he’d return from the scuffle and throw this handsy asshole out onto the curb—but as Hayward saw me looking for a savior, he took my chin between his index finger and thumb, pinching it tight as he pulled me toward him.
“There’s no one coming to save you this time, Riley,” he sneered, his breath reeking of rum. “Why don’t we go out to my car for a little bit and get better acquainted. I—”
Hayward stopped his sentence abruptly, a flash of fear running through his eyes. His head jerked back like he’d been possessed by the devil himself. He let go of my chin in an instant; the next moment, his face was slamming down against the counter, the sick crumbling noise of broken cartilage and bone breaking the silence with a crunch.
Blake came rushing through the doorway, skidding to a halt as Hayward crumbled to the ground.
“Ry? What the fuck—”
But my attention wasn’t on Blake in that moment. It wasn’t on Hayward either, or on the wet, pathetic snorting noises he was making from the ground.
It was on a pair of icy blue eyes set beneath an Alpha’s heavy brow, staring me down like I was a missing piece of a puzzle he’d been trying to finish for a long time.
“Max…” I breathed—but every breath in my lungs was suddenly coming up short. “When the hell did you get here?”
He shrugged nonchalantly, like breaking his creepy boss’ nose on the countertop was the most natural thing he’d ever done. “I told you I’d protect you, Riley. Breaking promises—not really my style.”
16
Max
Cracking Hayward’s face on a counter like that had been a long time coming. I should have done it the first night I met him—although, I guess I’d always had 20/20 vision when it came to hindsight. If I had, I might have never gotten a job with the asshole. Might’ve never stayed in New York. Met Riley. Set into motion this chain of events with him that were going to forever change my life.
But I’d known he was a dick then. He’d never given me a good reason for my certainty of his character to waver. I’d be out of a job now for sure, of
course, but somehow, it didn’t seem to matter.
Fate had brought Riley into my life. If I hadn’t used up all my lucky charms in that twist of chance, I figured it might do me a solid again when I started handing out resumes tomorrow.
Hayward was on his hands and knees, still recovering from the blow to the face. But while he might’ve been down, he wasn’t quite out yet. As he struggled to his feet, I caught eyes with the man I recognized as the club’s bouncer and we moved together like old comrades, catching him beneath his armpits and hauling him to his feet.
“You’re a fucking cunt, Griffin. Do you have any idea who I am? Who my family is?” he barked as the bouncer and I dragged him out onto the sidewalk. “I’ve got a fucking pedigree, you witless little prick! And you? You’re just a goddamn bastard!”
“That’s true,” I agreed. With a nod to the bouncer, we let him go at the same time. He fell on his ass where we dumped him, the blood from his broken nose waterfalling down his chin and staining his white button-down crimson. “But if being a bastard has taught me anything, it’s that a pedigree doesn’t mean shit if you don’t have any goddamn manners.”
“We’ll see about that.” He scrambled to his feet, leveling his fists up like he was ready for a fight. “You’re finished in this city, you hear me? Canceled. You’re through.”
The bouncer and I exchanged another look. His said, You want help taking care of the waterlogged thesaurus? And mine said, Nah. Thanks, but I can handle this.
Hayward’s first swing was so wild, he nearly fell over. His second—another haymaker—sent him stumbling back down to the ground again.
“I’ll call a cab,” the bouncer said helpfully. “You’re Max, right?”
I nodded.
He cocked his head toward the door. “Why don’t you come back inside?”
It was hard to say how long Hayward stood outside the club hollering expletives. Ten minutes, maybe. Twenty at most. It was easy enough to drown out the sound of his voice; I’d been doing it for my whole career so far. Didn’t see any good reason to start listening to him now.
