by Aiden Bates
Ozzy shrugged and glanced around. "Parents do that sometimes. Does she make a habit of that? With the baby on the way, I mean?"
Pete grabbed his coat from the closet. "Not so much. Mom was always a little… distant, I guess. Which is fine. She is the way she is, and I love her. It's not like I'd ever change her." He chuckled and shrugged his way into his jacket. "I guess she must have been pretty worried because of the robbery, though."
"Oh." Ozzy followed Pete out to the car and opened the passenger side door for him. "That's sweet, I guess. A little awkward, though." He closed the door once Pete's coat and limbs were clear and circled around to the driver's side. "We had a little bit of an incident yesterday. Nothing for you to be worried about, but I'd probably try to avoid mentioning it to anyone who tended to get all that anxious."
Pete played with the seat belt. "What happened?"
Ozzy sighed. "I went to interview someone, a possible witness in the cold case attached to the gun, and we were attacked. Like I said, it's not something for you to be worried about. You would have been maybe ten at the time of the murder, and that's kind of pushing it. The attacker lawyered up, but we're working on him anyway. There's no connection that we've found to the robbery, so it shouldn't affect you." He flexed his hand, which looked bruised.
"So wait, the guy just tried to punch a witness in the face?" Pete tried to turn to look at Ozzy, but the belt was in the way.
"Er, not exactly?" Ozzy winced. "Look, it was yesterday, and it all worked out. The job can be a little dangerous sometimes, but that's something we all knew when we signed up, right?"
Pete settled back into his seat. It was true, the job was dangerous. And all of the cops did know that when they agreed to the job. Still, the idea of Ozzy putting himself into danger sent chills up Pete's spine. "Doesn't it bother you?"
"What, a little bit of danger?" Ozzy laughed. "No, I've been in worse situations and come out fine. This wasn't even really a blip on the radar." He blinked. "I mean, maybe it should have been, but I didn't even really register that there had been a gun until after everything was over."
Pete shivered. "Wow. I know that the police have dangerous jobs, but I never really think about it until one talks about taking down a gunman like it's just a normal, everyday thing." He forced a chuckle.
Ozzy tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Yeah, well, maybe not normal everyday thing, but yeah, it does happen. But it's still better than what I used to do, I guess."
"What's that?" Pete looked back at his escort for the evening.
"I was in the Army. Infantry." Ozzy swallowed. "Trust me. A bank robber in Framingham, no matter how nasty he is, has nothing on insurgents in Fallujah or the Taliban in Kandahar."
"I suppose not." Pete could see how tight Ozzy's eyes had gotten. The grim set of his companion's jaw didn't exactly speak to a joyful mindset, either. He let the matter drop and instead focused on enjoying a night out.
They weren't going far, only to a tiny little Indian place on Boston Post Road. The host took one look at Pete and seated them right away, which made Pete chuckle. Maybe there were some advantages to his burgeoning belly after all. "So how are you doing with little Osmundia?" Ozzy asked with a grin. "She still doing okay?"
Pete rubbed at his belly. His daughter kicked at his hand. "She's grand. I'm still getting her room set up, you know? It's weird."
"How so?" Ozzy looked into Pete's eyes, and Pete wanted to melt right there into the vinyl upholstery.
"Well, you're decorating for someone who doesn't have any preferences. I know I'm having a girl, right? So everything's pink. Pink as far as the eye can see. Everyone wants you to get pink, ruffly sheets, and to fill her bureau with pink, frilly dresses. But who knows if she'll even like that stuff? It's like you're trying to force that kind of thing on her, the hyper-femininity, before she can even open her eyes." Pete squirmed under the alpha's gaze and reached for his water. "I'm probably overthinking it."
"Maybe a little." Ozzy wrinkled his nose. "What do I know, though? I've never thought about it and I've never had to. I could get her a pink parasail, but I think adding ruffles would affect the aerodynamics too much to make it usable."
Pete glowered. "You said that just to get my goat."
"I did say that just to get your goat. I'm pretty sure that you'd have to be at least fourteen to go parasailing. Maybe sixteen?" Ozzy grinned, a sexy grin that went straight to Pete's gut, and Pete had to laugh.
They enjoyed their meal together as the restaurant filled up. Pete tried to eat slowly, and not just because his stomach capacity was limited by the space taken up by his daughter's growing form. He didn't want the evening to end. Even though he dragged out the meal as long as he could, they couldn't keep the table forever. Ozzy paid the bill—he insisted, which made Pete blush like a traffic light—and then they got up to leave.
As they inched their way through the crowded dining room toward the exit, a thin hand caught Pete around the wrist. He jumped and turned. An older man, maybe in his fifties, had grabbed him. The man's pale face had a few lines, not many, and his brown hair was more faded than gray at this point. It was his hands that betrayed his age more than anything else, with a few brown spots already.
Pete's eyes narrowed. "Can I help you?"
One corner of the stranger's mouth quirked up. "Yeah. Sorry. Your boyfriend dropped this." He pressed a piece of yellow lined paper into Pete's hand, folded so often that it was stiff and the edges sharp. "Better catch up now; don't want to slip and fall on the ice."
"Okay. Um, thanks?" Pete frowned at the man, took the paper, and left.
Ozzy had just reached the exit. He'd turned around and was staring at the stranger with the kind of malevolence reserved for prey animals. "What was that all about?"
Pete passed him the note. "He said you dropped this."
Ozzy stared at the man for another long minute, but then he shrugged and slipped the note into his pocket. "Okay. Come on, let's head out."
Once they were in the car, Ozzy took the note out and read it. "Interesting."
"What is it?" Pete buckled his seat belt.
"According to this note that I dropped, we shouldn't operate under the assumption that Harbaugh was some kind of saint. This guy says that Harbaugh got exactly what was coming to him. Interesting." He took a deep breath and folded the note back up. "You know what, though? Harbaugh's not going to get any deader. Tonight's my night off, and I'm spending it with you, not a cold case."
Pete's heart fluttered in his chest. He knew that Ozzy couldn't really mean that, not the way that it sounded, but that didn't change the fact that his words excited him. "Thanks," he murmured as Ozzy turned the car on.
They headed back to Pete's place, and when Pete shyly invited Ozzy in to watch a movie, Ozzy accepted. Ozzy didn't even pretend to keep his distance, but sat right up against Pete and wrapped an arm around his shoulders as the opening credits began. Pete had started a fire in the gas fireplace underneath the wall-mounted TV, just for ambiance, and now sat there letting himself enjoy the comfort.
How long had it been since anyone had wanted to give him this? The politician who had given him his daughter hadn't been about affection or comfort. He'd been about sex, and Pete had been hard up enough to take him up on it. His previous encounters hadn't been much better, not going back for a good long time. He'd contented himself with more or less anonymous sex, because that was all he could get, and he'd more or less forgotten what it was like to be on the receiving end of plain, basic affection.
When Ozzy kissed him, it wasn't desperate. He didn't claim ownership of Pete's mouth or overwhelm him with a sudden surge of passion. He simply leaned in and joined their lips together like it was the most natural thing in the world, and Pete's whole body suffused itself with warmth in response. He held onto Ozzy and opened his mouth, letting Ozzy in and surrendering to the gentle touch.
Safe. It made no sense. That word, that feeling, shouldn't come anywhere near popping into Pete
's head when he was making out with a man whose idea of a good time was jumping out of an airplane or jumping off a cliff with synthetic wings attached to his back like Icarus, but here he was. He felt safe in Ozzy's arms, like nothing could touch him or his daughter.
He wanted more, of course. The callused fingers that crept just under the hem of Pete's shirt felt amazing on his skin. They would feel even better on his nipples, or on his hard cock, or deep inside of his body preparing him to receive Ozzy. It wasn't urgent. Pete wanted more, but he could also stay right where he was and be content with Ozzy's kisses until the day he died.
The thought terrified him, just a little. He wasn't used to that kind of strong emotion. He wasn't used to waiting, either. He was used to instant gratification, but Ozzy was different.
When Ozzy did pull away, long after the movie had ended and Netflix's welfare check flashed onto the screen, he licked his lips. "I could do that all week," he said with a sigh. "But I need to get going. I promised my dad I'd do some family time with him tomorrow. Can we get together again sometime this week, or maybe on the weekend?"
"Absolutely." Pete smiled and struggled up to his feet. He kissed Ozzy again at the door, and watched him drive away.
He needed another shower. Now that Ozzy wasn't here anymore, Pete realized that the warmth his date had created had left him with an uncomfortable layer of sweat that he needed to remove sooner rather than later. The hard-on that had been noticeable but not unpleasant when he'd been safe in Ozzy's arms now ached and required attention, too. He could ignore it and hope that it went away, but he didn't feel compelled to subject himself to any more discomfort than strictly necessary in his current condition.
He locked up behind Ozzy and retreated to his room. If nothing else had come of the date with Ozzy, he'd learned one thing. He'd proven, if only to himself, that Ozzy was at least attracted to him, baby bump and all. It was a good feeling, if one he was unaccustomed to, and he smiled to himself as he headed toward the shower.
...
Ozzygave some serious thought to skipping services the day after his date with Pete. The last thing he wanted to do after spending an evening inhaling Pete's incredible citrus scent was to sit there in an old wooden church and breathe in the much less enticing scent of cheap furniture polish. He went anyway. If he'd torn himself away from Pete—and all of the things he wanted to do with Pete— he might as well go all out.
He sat with his mother and his younger brother in the front row and let his mind wander. He had two things on his mind right now: Pete and the Harbaugh case. The two shouldn't be joined, but it didn't seem to be possible to separate them. Last night some creeper had grabbed Pete—put his dirty little meat hands on Ozzy's omega—and given him a note about the case.
Ozzy knew he shouldn't be thinking about Pete as his omega. Not yet, anyway. They barely knew each other, and surely the father of his child would come back into his life once he understood that the most amazing omega on God's earth was going to give birth to a beautiful baby girl that they had created. Ozzy could feel his entire body going soft just at the thought, and it wasn't even his kid!
Before he knew it, services were over and the family was ready to hit the slopes. He extricated his father from a knot of fussy parishioners and herded him out toward the cars. A quick drive back to his parents' place let them change their clothes, and with that they were ready for the half hour drive out to Wachusett Mountain.
"Wanna race?" Ozzy waggled his eyebrows at his brother, Zack.
Zack scoffed and picked up his carefully polished skis. "I'm not racing you, idiot. I have an actual job, with actual responsibilities. I can't take time off for a broken leg."
"Chicken." Ozzy snorted. "That was one time, and it was a hairline fracture that you've been crying about for years."
"There will be no racing." His mother, Linda, elbowed Ozzy in the ribs. She wasn't gentle about it either. "If you can't just be good and enjoy a quiet day on the slopes, Ozzy, then we won't bring you skiing with us anymore. Family day will just be spent sitting around and drinking tea after services."
Ozzy rolled his eyes and grabbed his snowboard. His mother could threaten all she wanted, but she knew exactly how often he would show up to sit around the house and drink tea.
They spent a few hours on the slopes, each enjoying trails suited to their talents and interests. Ozzy liked speed. He found the steepest, fastest, most dangerous trails that he could, and zipped down them as fast as he was able. His brother took more moderate slopes alongside their mother, while their father—who had been skiing for just as long as Ozzy—stuck to beginner slopes.
By the time they were ready to leave the resort, all four had worked up an appetite. They stopped at a little cantina-type place in Leominster for dinner. Ozzy was pleased to note that they weren't the only skiers in the place.
His father smirked over at him across the table. "So, Ozzy. Tell me who has your head in the clouds during what was probably the best sermon I've given in ten years?"
Ozzy had been reaching for his margarita, but he pulled his hand back. "Seriously?"
"I'm your father, Ozzy. And a minister. I know that look on your face. That wasn't some musty cold case you were thinking about. Come on, who is she?" Gary waggled his eyebrows at him.
Linda sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "He, Gary. Ozzy's an alpha. He'd only be mooning around after a man."
"My apologies." Gary sipped from his sangria. "So who is he?"
Ozzy thought about lying. It might be a better plan. At the same time, he hated lying to his family, especially to his dad. Ever since his dad had gotten ordained it felt like he got the double whammy of lying to a man of the cloth and his dad. "His name is Pete. We've had one date, so don't get too excited."
"We'll get just as excited as we please, young man." Linda shook her finger at Ozzy. "You're in your thirties. It's high time you got serious about someone, so the fact that you're mentioning this Pete at all is a big deal."
Zack's lip curled. "Oh my God, Mom. It's one date. Who in their right mind would want to see Ozzy for more than that?"
"Shut up, punk." Ozzy elbowed his brother. He nailed Zack right in the funny bone and gave himself two thumbs up for the accomplishment. "As it happens, we've had one date but we've met up a few times before that. So he knows more or less what he's getting into."
Dad pursed his lips. "That's good, son. Does he know about your service record?"
Ozzy did reach for his drink now, mostly so he would have something to do with his hands. "The subject has come up. Not in depth, but it has come up. Why?"
"It just seems like he should know what he's getting into, doesn't it?" Gary fixed him with a firm stare. "I'm sure he's a great guy, but he should have the chance to decide for himself if he can handle everything."
"I'm fine. Pete knows enough." Ozzy clenched his jaw.
His father looked away. "I'm just trying to help you, son." He looked up with a cheerfulness that seemed forced. "So tell me about this guy. Is he another cop?"
"No. He's a photographer." Ozzy forced himself to rein his temper in. He knew that his father meant well. "He was a witness at a crime scene, actually, and we hit it off."
"Oh my Lord, Ozzy, you don't mean the bank robbery, do you?" Linda put her hands to her cheeks. "I'm pretty sure that it's just not done to pick up dates at crime scenes."
Ozzy had to chuckle at that one. "It's a little unusual, but he's not involved with my current case. I'm not investigating the robbery, so it's all good." He sipped from his margarita.
His brother wrinkled his nose. "Okay. So tell us more about him? Is he The One? Is he going to make you lots of little weird babies, or is he not even an omega?"
Ozzy scowled at his brother. "Oh my God, are you for real? He's definitely an omega, because he's pregnant."
"Already?" Linda had paled, and Gary had to help her keep hold of her drink.
Ozzy shook his head. "Not by me. He was six months along when we met. T
he father isn't in the picture anymore." He shrugged. "Anyway, he's a pretty well-known photographer, as it happens. I looked him up. Did you know that he's won—"
"Wait a minute." Gary held up a hand. "You're sitting here mooning around over a guy who's carrying a baby that isn't even yours?"
Ozzy froze. A feeling of calm suffused his body. He recognized the tone in his father's voice. He recognized the judgment. "Yup." He picked up his drink, met his father's eyes, and took a long, deliberate sip.
Linda frowned and leaned forward. "Oh my God, Ozzy, what are you thinking?"
"Ozzy," Gary said. He reached out and took Ozzy's hand, and said it again. "Ozzy, I know you probably think there's something very special about this young man, but I'm sure you can see where there's probably something wrong here. I mean, I'm sure that you can see where an alpha with a good job, with good benefits, would be very appealing to a person who was pregnant with no father."
