by Aiden Bates
“How can I help?” I asked immediately, feeling my own stomach leap up toward my throat. Call me a man of action, but I saw problems like nails in a board—and I was nothing more than a big, overeager hammer.
“Just… Bear with me, pretty much, I guess.” Anders reached up, touching the scruff on my cheek with his fingertips. “This isn’t your fault. This isn’t anyone’s fault but the stalker’s. But at the same time…”
“You need space?” I blurted out, trying to anticipate his needs via guesswork. “Breathing room? You want me to go?”
“No. Please…don’t go.” Anders closed his eyes for a moment, his dark golden eyelashes closing in over his baby blues. “I want you here. I want to be with you. And more than anything, I want to make this work. But I guess what I’m saying is…I’ve got baggage, Blake. I know earlier, we both said we’d try harder. I just want you to be able to understand that I’m also working through some other stuff right now. Stuff that was weighing me down long before your tall, handsome body came barreling through my door and changing my locks.”
“Right.” I nodded, furrowing my brow. “Earlier at the club, Noah was hinting at…”
“Noah helped me get my head straight when I first came to the Ballroom,” Anders confirmed. “He probably wanted to tell you, just—”
“Didn’t want to betray your trust. I get that. Good man, Noah.”
“He’s a good dad, too,” Anders said, cracking a smile. “You should see his baby—chubbiest, happiest thing in the world.”
“Until he pops out the next one.”
Anders cringed. “Oof—I don’t even want to think about anyone popping out babies right now. I don’t know if I mentioned, but I do still feel kind of…sick.”
“How can I help?” I asked again. “Right now, I mean. Ginger ale? Saltines? Back in the SEALs, before we shipped out for a mission, I used to put Icy Hot on my wrist, smell it when I was feeling like my guts were going to turn themselves inside out…”
I glanced down at Anders’ face, watching him cringe at my use of metaphor.
“Sorry. Seriously though—anything you need, I’ve got you.”
“Honestly…can we just go to bed? Maybe you could…I know it sounds pathetic, but maybe you could just hold me?”
A laugh escaped my lips—a big, barrel-chested belly laugh that left my whole body shaking. “Anders, that doesn’t seem pathetic. That’s all I’ve been wanting to do all fucking night.”
I helped him up off the couch, which seemed relieved to be lightened of our load for the night. Was half-tempted to spend tomorrow morning dragging it out to the dumpster outside and ordering a new one from the furniture store from down the street—but of course, that would probably be another imposition of Anders’ space on my part.
I didn’t want to impose on Anders’ life at all—I just wanted to keep him safe. Help him heal the same way he’d already been helping me do the same. Maybe find him a piece of furniture that didn’t act like two full-grown, muscle-bound men sitting on it was some kind of Atlas-holding-up-the-world task… But we could tackle that later. Together.
For the night, all I wanted was to be with him.
Our bodies curled around each other on the bed, the breeze from the street outside sending the blackout curtains bellowing as it swept over our bodies.
“You know, all this shit I’m doing… I’m only doing it because it fucking scares the hell out of me, the idea of someone hurting you. The idea of you being hurt,” I whispered against his ear.
“I know, Blake. And I’m… I’m still doing my best to be okay with that. Growing pains, you know?”
“But you believe in me? Believe in us?”
Anders smiled gently, his eyes already closed as he nestled more firmly against my body. “I love you, Blake.”
A warmth rushed through my chest, leaving my heart pounding so hard he must have been able to feel it against his shoulder blade where it pressed against my chest. “Yeah. Yeah, I love you too, Anders. Just…I’ll try to back off on the guard dog stuff if you can try to keep me posted on where you are, what you’re doing. Okay?”
“Yeah. Of course,” he agreed sleepily. “We’re going to make this work.”
I smoothed down his hair, leaving a trail of kisses along his hairline. Kisses that, I hoped, would make him feel better. Even just a little bit. For just a little while.
Not that it seemed to matter. In the morning, when I pried my eyes open, the bed was empty—and so was the rest of the apartment.
And so were Anders’ shoes.
So much for helping each other. So much for making things work.
By morning, he was already gone.
14
Anders
The sleep was nice, for as long as it lasted.
After everything we’d been through together over the last few weeks, I was tired enough and comfortable enough in Blake’s arms that night to stay curled up in them for weeks. Hell, I would have settled for months. The presence of his body next to mine was soothing, like a weighted blanket wrapped around me to protect me through the night.
But no matter how close to a true, deep sleep I got, I couldn’t seem to fully manage it. I woke up again and again, feeling more and more sick to my stomach every time I thought I might finally be edging towards a nice, soft dream. The fourth time it happened, I felt something slick and nauseating roll in my gut, sending me stumbling up out of bed and sprinting down the hall with my hand clasped tightly over my mouth.
Spending the night praying to the porcelain god wasn’t exactly how I’d wanted to recover from my spat with Blake, but what my heart desired apparently wasn’t anything that my stomach agreed with. The nausea I’d been feeling was finally coming to fruition in the worst possible way—and by the time I finally pulled my head away from the bowl, I realized from the crack of light peeking out from the edge of the bathroom’s blackout curtain that I’d managed to dry heave my way to sunrise.
Shit. That wasn’t how anxiety worked. Stress had left me nauseated before, but never so bad that I spent an entire night sweating and gagging on the cool tiles of my bathroom floor. I could still feel my stomach churning, coupled with a tightness in my lower abdomen that refused to go away.
There was something wrong with me—and a quick set of calculations left me fearing the worst.
I ran my thumb across the lump in my bicep, wondering if it was even possible. My birth control implant was supposed to keep me from any pregnancy scares for years and years—but, to be fair, I’d had it put in years ago. In the absence of any horny Alphas in my life before Blake had come crashing into my bedroom, I guessed I’d kind of forgotten it was something an Omega of my age even had to worry about. But he’d come inside me—over and over again, without a condom. Without anything more than a little lump in my arm to prevent his seed from taking in my womb.
When I pulled my hand away from my bicep, my fingers were trembling. It shouldn’t have been possible…but I’d seen enough pregnant Omegas coming in and out of the Ballroom over the past few years to know that, when it came to breeding, it wasn’t always so much about possibility as it was inevitability.
“Fuck,” I swore softly, holding onto the edge of the sink and the bar of the towel rack to pull myself to my feet. Being upright left me dizzy for a moment, with little black spots speckling my vision and leaving me reeling.
I took in a deep breath, holding myself steady until the dizziness subsided. Possible or not—there was only one way to be sure.
I tiptoed back to the bedroom slowly, keeping one hand on the hallway wall just to make sure I stayed upright. I knew what I’d promised Blake—that I’d keep him posted on my movements. Let him know where I was going, when, and with whom. But as I pulled on some clothes and glanced over at his peacefully sleeping body, I knew that this was one instance of that promise that I was going to have to break. He looked so calm, so unworried and relaxed as he slept in my bed, I couldn’t bring myself to wake him just to send his sen
se of protectiveness shooting back into overdrive all over again.
Keeping me safe from my stalker was one thing—and even then, I knew that worrying about me had already sent whatever fears Blake had brought back with him from the Middle East spiraling into high alert any time he thought I might be in danger. The possibility that he’d be protecting me and his baby in my belly?
I didn’t want to put that on him. Not yet.
Not until I was sure.
I crept back down the hall, careful to dance around all of the creaking parts of my floorboards as I went to grab my shoes. There was a corner store just down the block that I knew would have exactly what I needed. And after all—at 6:00 a.m. in broad daylight, how dangerous could a two-minute walk to a convenience store really be?
A few minutes later, I was basking in the cold breeze of an open cooler as I reached for a frosty bottle of Gatorade, letting the icy air wash over me and blow the uncomfortable heat off my face. Just going down the block had left me sweating, despite the fact that it wasn’t even all that hot out yet, and every strange smell—from the dumpsters in the alleyway to the strong scent of lemon and bleach from the mop bucket by the front counter—had left my stomach bucking up in revolt.
Gatorade in hand, I wandered through the aisle of condoms and tampons, lubricants and maxi-pads, until I found what I was looking for. I’d never taken a pregnancy test before, but I picked up the most expensive one and studied the instructions on the back with care. Spending a few extra dollars for something that I was just going to end up peeing on seemed kind of silly—but the test promised to be errorproof. Able to detect pregnancy within three days of conception. If Blake really had knocked me up, I was only fourteen dollars and a few minutes away from knowing for sure.
The mere thought of learning the results made my heart feel like it had lodged itself in my throat. Before I made my way up to the counter, I swallowed hard and closed my eyes. Pregnancy wasn’t anything I’d ever wanted. Ever even imagined for myself. Back when I’d been a wiry, low-body-fat ballet dancer, I’d known that it wasn’t even possible for me to carry a child when I was so underweight. Ever since I’d put on the muscles that had made my career at the Ballroom, I’d never dreamed of giving up control of my body ever again—especially not to give birth to a baby that I didn’t even know if I could handle. Between my helicopter mother and my absent father, bad parenting ran in my genes. If I was pregnant—so help me, God—would I even be able to be a good father to my child? Love it the way I knew a child needed to be loved? Give it the life it deserved?
But then another possibility hit me. I’d seen exactly how not to raise a child. My own parents had practically written the book on that subject. Maybe…maybe if the test came up positive, this would be a chance to right all the wrongs of my own screwed-up childhood. Be better than my parents were. Break the cycle. Rise up, rise to the occasion and give the baby that may or may not have been growing inside me the kind of childhood that I’d always wanted for myself.
It was a nice thought, sure—but would I really be able to handle it? And furthermore…would Blake even want to go down that path with me so we could find out?
I let out a deep, shaky breath, feeling the panic in my chest rise and fall like a changing tide. Either way, there was only one course for me now: forward. Only one way to find out what my future would hold. No other way out.
But as I took a step toward the register, I felt a heavy hand fall on my shoulder. When I looked down, I saw the black leather-gloved fingers of a man’s hand curl deep into the muscle there, digging painfully around my collarbone from behind. My breath caught in my chest, an icy cold stab of fear shooting through my entire nervous system, freezing me mid-step.
“Hello, Anders,” a toneless man’s voice breathed in my ear. His breath should have been hot, with how close he was to my skin, but somehow it felt chilly. Eerily cool against my skin. “I thought it was high time we finally, properly met.”
I looked to the register, hoping for some kind of salvation from beyond the front counter. But the man behind the register was oblivious to what was going on three aisles away from him. Headphones on, pumping out rap music so loud even I could hear it. Eyes glued to his phone. And even if I could have yelled out for him, when I opened my mouth only a dry rasp creaked out of my throat. My vocal cords were just as paralyzed as the rest of me.
No escape. No way out. No way to fight him—not when turning to take a swing at him might have put the child that might have been in my womb in danger. And thanks to the way I’d disregarded the promise I made to Blake, no big, burly Navy SEAL to save me. Not this time.
“Pregnancy test, huh?” the voice said, reaching around me to pluck the cardboard box from my stiff fingers. “Shame…I knew you and that big blond idiot who’s been hanging around you were getting a little too close. But don’t worry—I’ll take care of that.” Suddenly, he paused. When he spoke again, I could hear the tint of a cruel smile in his formerly lifeless voice. “I’ll take care of everything from here on out.”
“You don’t scare me,” I lied, my voice a harsh, forced whisper. “You won’t get away with this.”
Then, I felt it—the cold tip of a pistol, pressed up beneath my shirt right at the base of my spine.
“On the contrary, Anders…” He shoved the pistol hard against my skin, pressing me forward. “It looks like I already have. Come on—let’s take a little walk.”
15
Blake
I let fifteen minutes pass. Fifteen anxious, yearning minutes, all spent pacing so hard in front of the door I wouldn’t have been surprised if my boots wore the varnish off the wood floor beneath me. Fifteen minutes of worry and wonder. Of hope—that maybe, he’d just stepped out to grab the mail. A coffee. Anything that would leave him bursting back in through the door at any second. Coming back to me. Back to the promises we’d made each other and the life I’d believed he was willing to share.
They were fifteen minutes wasted. Anders was gone, and I had no one to blame but myself. Had it been the way I’d held him that night in bed, just a little too tight, for a little too long? Or had I already ruined things long before that—ruined them when I bought those stupid curtains that he’d hated so much, with the way I’d been so overprotective. When I’d forced dinner on him then bitched about how little he’d eaten of it. When I’d tracked his phone.
Maybe I’d done something in the night that had changed his mind. Had some kind of flashback dream so deep in my own subconscious that I hadn’t even remembered waking from it. Hadn’t even remembered rolling over, scaring him, hurting him and driving him away, only to fall back asleep before I even realized what I’d done.
Or maybe…maybe he hadn’t really meant it. The I love you. The promises we’d made each other.
Maybe, this whole thing had just been doomed from the start.
Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. My options were few, and the amount of time I had to carry them out was getting fewer by the second. His phone, his keys—those were gone. If he’d packed a bag along with them, he could have made his way to the bus station already. Picked a city. Booked, boarded, and said bon voyage to this life. With everything he’d been through here in New York, I could see how that would be an attractive option. He’d be able to get away from both his stalker and me for nothing more than a hundred-dollar ticket and a five-hour ride.
Furrowing my brow, I pulled out my phone and let my thumb hover over the Find my iPhone app. I’d promised not to—but then again, Anders had promised not to leave. Not without telling me where he was going. Certainly not for good—or without saying goodbye. But another thought struck me: what if he hadn’t meant to leave? What if somehow, despite the lock on his door, the curtains over the windows and every other measure I’d taken to try and ensure his safety, that bastard who’d been looming over Anders’ life all these years had found some way in anyway? Taken him. Whisked him away. Stolen him right out from under my nose to make good on all those awful pro
mises of his own.
That, I decided, was the worst possible reality. That despite my best efforts, that bastard had finally won. Anders just leaving in the night was a fairytale ending by comparison to that. If he was on a bus to Chicago or Atlanta or Los Angeles, at least he was safe. If he was bound and gagged in the trunk of that fucker’s car, though…
Christ. The mere thought made my blood boil so hot and so fast, I was about five seconds away from putting my fist through the wall.
I wanted to be with Anders. Wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, if he’d give me the chance. If he’d left me of his own accord, I’d find some way to live with that. But if he was in danger…
My boots carried me out the door before I even knew what I was doing. Where I was going. Whatever Anders wanted, I’d give it to him.
But before that, I had to know.
Heaven’s Ballroom was empty by morning. No bartenders polishing glasses to a backdrop of shimmering liquor bottles. No dancers doing their stretches beneath the low lights of the stage. But at the bar, as I suspected, I found Noah sitting with his paperwork like always. When he caught sight of my clenched jaw and furrowed brow, the lack of surprise on his face told me that he’d been half-expecting me.
“Anders been in?” I asked, cutting right to the chase.
Noah nodded, looking grim. “Guessing that talk didn’t go so well.”
“It did, actually. Or…I thought it did.” I raked my fingers through my hair, not wanting to pry. If Anders had been in with a gun to his head, Blake would’ve mentioned it. If Anders had been in on his own…it just about ruled out the possibility of a kidnapping, at any rate. Which meant that Anders had left me on his own, too. No prompting. No violence. Just wanted to be gone. But I quickly found that I couldn’t help myself. I was too desperate to know more. “He say anything to you while he was in here?”
