“He’s mine,” Kade says, advancing on him. The manager holds his hands up, still smiling. Kade wants to punch him in the jaw. “I mark him however I want.”
The moment it leaves his lips, he knows the reaction Felix will have: glowering, frowning. They aren’t together anymore. Kade doesn’t have the right to even lie about him.
But pink sweeps up Felix’s neck. Kade stares. What?
Kade fishes some change from his pocket, dropping it into Felix’s outstretched palm. His fingertips skim Felix’s skin, sending a thrill down his nerves.
Felix shivers. He counts the coins, drops them in the register, then presses a nickel of change into Kade’s palm. His fingers linger warm against Kade’s skin. “Four,” Felix says, glancing at the clock just above the counter. “Thank you.”
“You know how to keep him disciplined, of course,” the manager says behind Kade. “He’s a rude one. I almost regret hiring him.”
Kade whirs on the manager, glaring, and the other alpha backs down, lowering his stare.
“Touch him, and I’ll break your neck,” Kade growls. He stalks out the door, the manager’s stare an itch on his skin.
He spends the next hour regretting his words. Felix has always let him stake his claim in front of the other alphas, because that’s what it is—protection. A defense mechanism to stop people from pestering them. Now, Kade isn’t sure. They aren’t together anymore, and maybe Felix wouldn’t be okay with him saying that.
Once he refuels the bike, he rides down the street, taking a long loop to kill the minutes. His uncertainty dulls along the way; Felix agreed to meet with him. It’s more time together, and Kade will gladly accept it.
Some pair we are, he thinks, tipping his head back to face the cloudless sky. I’m not in control at all.
By the time he pulls back into the gas station, the sun has sunken lower, and more cars have pulled up to the pumps. Kade waits by the side of the convenience store, looking up when Felix rounds the corner, stormy green eyes searching him out. Kade hands the spare helmet over. “Did he harass you again?”
Felix shrugs, turning the helmet around in his hands. But he keeps his eyes down, looking at the pavement. “It went okay.”
“About earlier,” Kade says, his pulse thudding. “I was just talking. About the alpha thing.”
A wave of pink creeps up Felix’s neck. You never got off on that before. They didn’t have a regular alpha-omega bond. Never had.
And Felix’s mouth pulls up in a tiny smile. “I understand. But don’t do that again. We’re not...”
Not bonded anymore.
Kade swallows, his heart aching. “Yeah, sure.”
They stand together, traffic rolling down the streets around them, not looking at each other.
“Want a ride?” Kade asks. He remembers a week ago, and where that question had led. Heat trickles through his torso.
Something eases between them when Felix grins again, warmth flickering in his gaze. He doesn’t look directly at Kade, and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but he’s staying around, and he’s still holding on to the helmet. “Actually, I need to get to the thrift store, if that’s okay. I ran out of time before my shift started.”
“Sure. Which one?” Kade buckles his helmet. Felix slides onto the seat behind him, thighs bumping against Kade’s. His body hums.
“Rosie’s,” Felix says. “It’s five blocks down this street, on the left.”
“Okay.” Kade twists the key. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
Felix’s heat pulls close as they join the traffic, a familiar, soothing warmth. Felix touches his fingers to Kade’s waist. Then his hand curves against Kade’s side, and Kade shouldn’t feel this thrilled. He can’t help it, though, when Felix squeezes his hip and his helmet bumps into Kade’s, as though he’s leaning in. As though he wants Kade closer.
He’s half-hard when they reach the thrift store. They’ve had sex once, and Kade can’t stop thinking about pinning him against a wall, kissing him senseless. He wants to mark Felix again, so he doesn’t smell like nothing.
“I’ll find my way home from here,” Felix says, slipping off the pillion seat. “Thanks.”
An icy jolt skims down Kade’s spine. He’s not leaving this soon. “I’m coming in with you.”
Felix’s eyes flicker up to meet his, forest-green and surprised. He sets the helmet down on the seat. “You really don’t have to.”
But Kade’s swinging his leg off the bike, tucking his own helmet into the trunk. “I’ll head in and look around. Friend’s birthday coming up.”
Which is a lie, but he’s learned enough from Felix to manage it. Sometimes, he doesn’t know if his tells originated from himself, or if they’re habits he’s picked up from Felix since their early years. At thirty, they seem so old, now.
Felix looks away, shrugging. “Fine, I guess.”
It isn’t fine, though. Felix holds his arms close, as though shrinking from everything else. Kade thinks about pulling off his own jacket and setting it over Felix’s shoulders, but hesitates. He doesn’t want the jacket shrugged off, slapped away.
So he tucks his hands in his pockets, following Felix into the store. Inside, the fluorescent lights shine down on cramped, circular clothes racks, shirts and sweaters and pants jammed together. Sunlight slants through the glass door, lighting books on the far wall. A jumble of picture frames, bowls, and lamps cluster on the shelves to the sides.
Felix glances over, as though wary that Kade would judge him. Kade shrugs. He’s been to thrift stores more often than he’d like, himself. “What do you need?” Kade asks.
“Sweaters, I guess. And some shirts.”
Felix pulls shirts off the racks at random. First a lumpy, knitted sweater, then a thin T-shirt three sizes too big for himself. He checks their price tags, then slings both over his shoulder, flipping through the rack. Once, he pauses at a white button-down shirt that would fit him perfectly, but he glances at the price tag, and passes.
“You’re changing your style?” Kade asks. He’s never seen Felix wear anything but fitting clothes; pants that cling to his legs, shirts that hug his chest.
Felix looks away, his mouth pulling into a tight line. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“No reason.” Felix steps over to the next rack, extracting a collared shirt, his eyes anchored on the clothes. It feels like a lie.
“You could just borrow mine,” Kade says, and swears inwardly. It’s not like Felix wants anything to do with him.
Felix flips through the clothes faster, his neck turning pink.“You should go.”
“You’re not... you don’t even look excited about these.” Kade frowns. Does Felix... like that idea? Wearing Kade’s clothes? Because the thought of Felix in his shirts sure as hell makes him want to mark his omega. Hold him close. It would make some of this right again.
While Felix sifts through the clothes, Kade returns to the previous rack, pulling out the button-down shirt Felix paused at. Five bucks. You’re not spending this money on yourself?
When he wanders back to Felix, his bondmate has a stack of lumpy, too-large shirts draped over his shoulder, like a mountain about to topple off. Kade thinks about the oversized work shirt Felix wore at the gas station, the way he’d blushed when Kade claimed him in front of the manager.
It doesn’t make sense next to his indifference, the way he refused to look at Kade while he worked. “Something happened?” Kade asks. “You don’t look okay.”
Felix’s bottom lip trembles, and tears well in his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Bullshit,” Kade says, but he’s stepping over, slipping his arms around his bondmate’s narrow back, pulling him against his chest.
The pile of clothes on Felix’s shoulder tips sideways, spilling onto the floor in a ragged heap. Felix sucks in a shuddering breath against Kade’s collarbone, his hands fisting in his shirt. Kade holds him close, as though if he doesn’t, Felix will slip away like a leaf on the wi
nd.
5
Felix
All day, the secret has built in Felix’s chest. I’m pregnant. I’m carrying Kade’s child. Kade doesn’t know. Even when he tries to quell those thoughts, they bubble up in his mind, lurking in the background. What will he say? Will he think I tricked him?
If he’s hiding the pregnancy, he’ll have to start now, not months from now, when his belly swells and he’ll have to change his clothes to fit. So he pulls the baggiest shirts from the thrift store racks, flipping through them for both sweaters and thin shirts. His brother’s money sits heavy in his wallet. I have no way to pay you back right now.
Taylor had sent a text after the call. Promise me you’re going to eat well.
It means setting aside some money for the child, buying groceries other than frozen pizzas, making sure he takes the scent suppressants in the mornings. Felix wants to drink, to forget, but he can’t do that to his—their—child. So he curls in on himself, the weight of all those words compressing his heart.
Then Kade had said “You don’t look okay,” and of course he doesn’t look okay. He isn’t okay.
He doesn’t want to be back in Meadowfall, doesn’t want to be pregnant, doesn’t want to be next to Kade when Kade can say You expect me to trust you again, after you embarrassed me? and Felix has never felt more alone in his life.
His vision blurs before he knows it, a hole in his chest gaping open. He needs to get out of this place, needs to not let Kade see him break like this. But he can’t move, can’t see the floor to step away, and Kade’s in front of him, pulling him close, tucking Felix’s head under his chin.
Felix chokes on his breath, shaking. Why are you doing this? We’re not back together and you don’t owe me anything. But he sucks in a breath, and all he smells is cedar and pine and Kade.
Kade’s arms slip around him, strong and warm, holding him together like a cocoon. It feels like all the other times Kade has held him—when he failed his math classes, when the bullies taunted him, when he said I promise to be yours. Felix can’t hope for them to return to that time.
The whimpers he hears don’t sound like his own. He struggles to breathe, thinking about the bundle of life growing inside him, and he aches to say I’m pregnant. It’s ours. But Kade won’t want the child—never wanted to have a child—and Felix is entirely responsible for this.
He presses his face into Kade’s shirt, sobbing until the wave of self-pity passes. Kade strokes a soothing hand down his back, and Felix shakes harder, knowing Kade will reject him if he finds out. He doesn’t want to lose this.
Kade’s arms tighten around him.
When Felix gathers himself back together, he feels wrung out, hollow. His nose has stopped, his eyes still prickling.
“Better?” Kade murmurs. His nose brushes through Felix’s hair, lips trailing against Felix’s forehead. Felix shivers.
“Yeah,” he croaks. “Sorry.”
“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” Kade’s breath feathers through his hair, damp and warm.
Felix shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”
Kade snorts. “Nothing, huh?”
But his arms curl around Felix, pulling him against his strong chest. Felix releases a shuddering breath. “I’m fine.” I will be fine.
Kade threads his fingers through Felix’s hair, massaging his scalp with slow, careful strokes. Felix’s eyelids flutter shut. He tilts his head into Kade’s touch, luxuriating in it.
He hasn’t had this in a while. No one touches—knows—him like Kade does, and he’s comfortable, safe in his alpha’s arms.
“Shop’s closing,” a man’s voice calls from the other side of the store. “Take your necking elsewhere.”
Felix jerks away from Kade, heat creeping up his cheeks. That hadn’t been anything important. Just a hug. But Kade’s touch had sent a thrill through his body, just like back at the gas station, when Kade had said He’s mine.
Felix steps away, looking down when his foot catches in a pile of clothes. They fell off his shoulder when Kade hugged him.
“We’ll go somewhere else if you don’t have enough,” Kade says.
Felix shakes his head. “That’s plenty.”
The man at the counter—omega, by his apple blossom scent—scans the tags on Felix’s clothes, before bundling them into a large plastic bag. “That’ll be forty-seven fifty, sir.”
Felix peels his wallet open. Kade’s gaze prickles along his skin, and he tries to ignore it, pulling crisp ten-dollar bills out, the smallest denominations he found in Taylor’s safe. You’d better take a thousand at least, Taylor had texted. Felix had compromised and withdrawn five hundred dollars.
A minute later, they step out of the shop into the cool evening air. Felix blinks at the royal-blue sky, and the streaks of pink-edged clouds floating overhead. “I didn’t think it was this late.”
Kade hands the spare helmet over. “You took your time picking clothes.” After a pause, he asks, “That enough for you? You weren’t ready to leave.”
Felix thinks about the tiny paycheck he’ll receive for this week, and shrugs. “I’ll get more next week,” he says. “This is enough for now.”
Kade studies him with narrowed eyes. “Tell me if you need a ride anywhere.”
“I shouldn’t. I’ve been imposing.” But the offer makes his pulse quicken anyway. He hadn’t thought Kade would want to see him again.
Kade clicks his tongue. “Like a ride is imposing.”
It reminds him of the last time he’d had a ride, and heat slips down his body. He doesn’t need that to happen again. He’s gotten into enough trouble because that had been just one ride. And now he’s pregnant.
He tugs his helmet on, then climbs onto the bike behind Kade, swallowing when their thighs bump. He wants more of that warmth. It doesn’t seem like enough, now that Kade has touched him and held him. Kade’s woodsy, musky scent steals into his nose. The plastic bag of clothes sits bulky and rustling between them, pressing Felix back against the motorbike trunk.
At least I can’t rub up against you this way.
The ride home passes too quickly. He leaves the visor open, breathing in the wisps of Kade’s scent carrying into his helmet. Felix sags when they pull into the driveway of his house, its windows dark, the stairs leading up his porch warped and ugly. He slides off the bike with a sigh. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Do you still have my number?” Kade’s eyes linger on his face, then dart down his body, pausing at the bag of clothes at his feet.
Felix bites his lip. He’d etched Kade’s cellphone number into his mind, back when he was still contemplating a call. He’d hit the End Call button before he could confess what he’d done. Now, with Kade’s gaze on him, he pulls out his phone, handing it over.
Kade studies the painting on the home screen—a red-roofed cottage in the countryside, surrounded by trees. They’d talked about a home countless times in the past, with a vegetable garden and birch trees on the edges of the property, and a wooden bridge arching over a stream.
“I’ve been meaning to put that one on sale,” Felix says. “Hopefully it’ll land a buyer.”
“You’re not keeping it?” Kade pulls up the phone contacts screen, tapping out his name and number—still the same.
“I should... let go of some things.” Felix shrugs. “I’ve got too many paintings lying around.”
Kade stares at the cottage again, then hands the phone back. “They should sell for a lot. You’re good.”
Felix’s heart flutters. He tries not to look at the bonding mark on Kade’s wrist. There’s only one there, left from two decades ago. “It doesn’t matter if I’m good. They’re not selling, and I need the money.”
“People knew you in Highton. Your work will probably sell if you get them some exposure.”
Felix sighs. It’s not as though he hasn’t thought about it. “It’s difficult. There are a million artists out there.”
“But—”
“You sho
uld be getting home,” he says, glancing at the inky sky. The streetlights have been on since they pulled in, and a wintry chill creeps up his sleeves, marching goosebumps across his skin. “It’s late.”
Kade sighs. He reaches slowly for the ignition, his gaze still on Felix. “Fine. See you around?”
“I guess.” Felix gathers his bag of clothes in his arms, skirting around the bike as it roars to life. Kade backs out of the driveway, waving.
Felix waves back. The moment Kade rides down the street, Felix slips into the house, shutting the door behind himself.
He drops the bag of clothes on the floor. Leans against the door, one hand coming up to cradle his belly. There’s a baby in there. His child.
“I guess I should say hi at some point,” Felix murmurs, pulling his shirt up. His belly is still flat, still pale. “I’m your dad.”
His breath snags. He’ll be a father. He’ll be a dad, and he hasn’t thought about it, ever since he left Kade five years ago. Felix can’t imagine himself with a tiny child, holding one, having a person who won’t remember him for all his mistakes.
It feels like relief, fathering a child who won’t judge him. His throat tightens. “I think I’m really glad to have you,” Felix says, rubbing a thumb over his skin. It feels like a second chance to make things right. “I’ll do my best for you.”
And he will.
6
Kade
“Want a painting, Mom?” Kade asks three days later, looking up from his bowl of leek and potato soup. “I heard there’s some for sale.”
Across the tiny square table, his mother raises her eyebrows, surveying the carved plates hanging on the kitchen walls. Her red-brown eyes sparkle. “We might have space. Are they watercolors?”
“Yeah. Landscapes.”
“Really? You know I’ll always have space for those.” She glances out the kitchen doorway, where framed paintings line the foyer and hall. “Do you know the artist? We could visit and look at some.”
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