The Omega's Secret Pregnancy

by Anna Wineheart

Felix shrugs, looking down.

  “What are your plans for it?” Kade asks. “After it’s born?”

  “I haven’t thought about it.” Felix heaves the next box up, stepping toward the door. “It’s... not due yet.”

  Kade buries his face in his hand. How is he in love with this idiot? He follows Felix back into the display space, to an aisle with household products. “You can’t plan for it after it’s born. Do you have clothes for it? I don’t even know what a baby needs.”

  Felix sighs. “Neither do I.”

  Kade wants to shake his omega, but it wouldn’t help anything. Parents are supposed to prepare for their children. “Wanna go get clothes for it this Saturday? Diapers? A cot?” Felix’s expression falls, and Kade’s two-hundred percent sure he’s thinking about money again. “I’ll pay for it.”

  “No!” Felix cuts the box open, pulling out bags of cleaning sponges. “I’ll pay.”

  Secretly, Kade thinks he’ll be glad paying off all of Felix’s expenses. He’s grown up thinking of them as a unit; everything they buy would be shared, and he’d pay for as much of those expenses as he could. “If you want. But you’re free this Saturday?”

  “I guess.” Felix worries his lip again, and Kade wants to kiss him. Felix had said nothing about that one kiss, months ago, when Kade had stolen it on the night they did the lemonade stand. Maybe he hadn’t liked it at all.

  The plastic around the sponges crinkles. Kade crouches down next to his omega, helping him stack the sponges together. “You free tonight?”

  Felix’s gaze darts up at him, surprised. Kade’s pulse trips. Is it strange that Kade wants to see him again? He wants Felix to need him, and Felix needs him most when Kade takes him to bed. “Yeah,” Felix says.

  Kade checks his phone again. Felix smells like lavender and honey and a faint trace of musk, and Kade wants to push him down on the floor, kiss him and fuck him right here in the store. “I’ll wait for you outside,” he says. “Stop distracting you.”

  Felix quirks a grin, and Kade smiles. “Sure. See you later.”

  Three days later, Felix sends Kade a text. Don’t bother picking me up later. Tim’s not making it into work.

  Kade sighs, shoving his phone into his pocket. Felix has been complaining about the kid on the late shift for months. Tim sometimes flakes off work, and it’s usually Susan who fills in for him. Looks like it’s your turn today.

  He slides off his bike, glancing at the open garage door. It can’t be healthy for Felix to work two consecutive shifts, especially if he’s pregnant. And he wouldn’t have anything decent for dinner, either.

  So Kade replies with a text. Dropping by anyway. I’ll get you dinner. What do you want?

  Felix’s next reply takes five minutes, as though he’s trying to let himself accept Kade’s help. An egg and mayo sandwich? That sounds really good right now.

  Okay.

  Kade slides back onto the bike, glancing down. In the half-shadows of the garage, there’s a smudge on the polished bike tank that he hasn’t seen before—a splotch of something dried. Felix had panted over the bike last week, dripping, and it had been damn hot, just watching him splayed out, ready for Kade.

  Kade swallows, scraping the stain off. They probably won’t have time for sex today, if Felix is working until midnight. The thought brings him back to food and egg sandwiches, and he turns the key in the ignition, pushing out of the garage.

  An hour later, he walks into the convenience store, carrying a plastic bag and a grimace.

  “Your other—” Felix looks up, eyes growing wide, his hand hesitating on his belly.

  “Go ahead,” Kade says, setting the bag on the counter. Your other what? “Say what you have to.”

  Felix stares at him, gulping. He hesitates, then looks back down, as though self-conscious. “This is Kade. He brought us some food. When people do favors for us, we’ll have to say thank you. Kade’s favorite food is tuna sandwiches.”

  Why would you tell your child what my favorite food is? It feels odd. But Felix is including him in his life, Felix knows what his favorite food is, and that counts for a lot.

  “Thanks for bringing food,” Felix says, smiling up at him.

  “Sorry,” Kade says, his heart thumping. “Store was crowded as fuck.”

  “I’m sorry for all that trouble,” Felix says. He heaves himself onto the counter, inspecting the plastic bag. “Ooh, the chicken bisque smells really good. Better than egg-and-mayo sandwich.”

  Kade shrugs. He’d bought it for himself, but these days, Felix’s appetite varies so much that he can’t tell what his omega wants to eat anymore. “Take it. I bought extra anyway.”

  Felix pulls the containers out with a grin. “I can’t decide which to eat first.”

  “Eat them all at the same time.” Kade pulls the tab on his soda, sipping from it.

  When he sets it down, Felix takes the can, sipping from it, too, and Kade can’t help thinking it’s sort of like a kiss. Except now he wants to kiss Felix for real. And Felix is sitting a foot away on the counter, pulling the lid off the tuna salad with a predatory look in his eyes.

  Kade swallows, looking down at his meatball sandwich.

  “I’ve not been sleeping well,” Felix says. “I feel the baby moving.”

  Kade glances at the bulge of his abdomen, wondering if anyone else has noticed it. The bastard manager hasn’t commented on Felix’s pregnancy. If he does, Kade will break his jaw. “Didn’t know it moves this early.”

  “It’s been moving for a while now. Not often, but sometimes. Maybe once every hour, or thirty minutes. Like a little squirm, you know?” Felix cradles his stomach, looking down at it. His expression softens, and Kade wants him to look at their child like that, a baby they create together. “You could... I mean, if you wanted to touch it, you could feel it move, I’m sure.”

  A wave of scarlet sweeps through Felix’s cheeks. Kade stares. So maybe Felix has introduced him to the baby. But Felix also knows he can’t touch that baby. It’s not his. Touching it would feel like accepting a betrayal. But Felix is his bondmate, and Kade can’t abandon him, or his child. “You want me to touch it?”

  Felix shakes his head vehemently. “No! No, I-I just meant it’s possible for someone on the outside to feel it move.”

  “Oh.” But Kade can’t help thinking about touching Felix now, just setting a hand on his abdomen, feeling the heat of him through his clothes. He looks back at his seafood pasta, shoveling it into his mouth. It’s not his baby. It’s not his right, either.

  They eat in silence, watching as cars pull in and out of the station, the occasional customer walking into the store. Kade drains the soda, then the next can, and he starts eyeing the slushie machines to the side of the counter. Orange slush would be good. Or cola or wild berry smoothies.

  When they finish dinner, Kade drops the empty boxes in the bin outside. He steps back in, heads to the machine, and pulls a plastic cup from the stack.

  “I’ve never tried those,” Felix says, watching him. “But now I’m curious.”

  “Which flavor do you want?”

  “Strawberry,” Felix says, his tongue darting over his lips. Kade shakes away his wandering thoughts, then pulls down the machine’s handle.

  The machine rumbles, something inside clanking and loud. He frowns, releasing the knob.

  Felix rounds the counter to stand next to him. “It shouldn’t be doing that. It was fine this morning.”

  Kade nods at the handle. “You do it, then.”

  Felix reaches over, pulling down the handle. The machine grumbles again, pink slush swirling behind its circular window. The clanking grows louder, like a train rushing toward a station.

  In slow motion, the window of the machine breaks. Pink slush gushes out like a creature vomiting, pouring wet and icy over Kade’s shirt, down his pants, and onto the floor at his feet. It steals the heat from his chest, sticky and goddamn cold. Kade turns to Felix, whose eyes have gone wide. The pieces of plastic
window clatter on the tiled floor at their feet.

  “What the fuck,” Kade says.

  “I don’t even,” Felix says, looking from the machine’s whirring stirrer, to the bright pink splash on Kade’s abs, to the puddle growing on the floor. “What.”

  Kade groans, pulling his shirt off. All he wanted was a drink. And now he needs a shower if he wants to feel clean. “This is a damn mess,” he says, balling up the shirt to wipe down his stomach. “It broke like a fucking toy.”

  “I should clean it up.” Felix steps away from the puddle before it reaches his shoes, hurrying to the backroom. Seconds later, he returns with a wad of paper towels. “Here, take this first.”

  “Is that bastard going to blame you for this?” Kade nods at the machine. “He was pissed when I broke the pump screen.”

  “He shouldn’t. It was a malfunction.” Felix studies it, frowning. Rick has been reasonable at times, particularly if Felix gets Susan to help with the explanations. But it’s sweet of Kade, thinking of the consequences of this.

  Kade nods, satisfied with his answer. Felix wants to hug him.

  Felix wipes a paper towel across Kade’s abs, the rough material of it catching on his skin. The paper tears. Felix grimaces, then moves the towel further down, dabbing at the bright pink stains on Kade’s jeans.

  “Looks like I pissed myself,” Kade says. “Except it’s pink.”

  “It’s not coming off,” Felix mutters. He grabs a thicker wad of paper towels, pressing it right over Kade’s groin. “Think it’ll soak up like that? You might have to take this off too.”

  “You think?” Kade asks, his voice dipping low. They’re in a convenience store, and Felix’s hand is a stack of paper away from his cock.

  Felix’s touch stills right over his groin. His eyes flicker up to Kade’s, wide and green, and he flushes. “I shouldn’t be doing this at work,” he says, squeezing lightly. “I am, uh, caring for the customer.”

  Except his palm grinds down on Kade’s groin, and Kade grows half-hard, despite the cold seeping into his body. “This is caring, huh?”

  “This is caring,” Felix says, smiling. “But you may have to clean up somewhere.”

  “Are you cleaning me up?”

  Felix’s nostrils flare, and he glances around the store. “You should probably do that yourself. But maybe somewhere I can watch.”

  Kade swallows, watching him. He wants Felix closer, wants them pressed skin-to-skin. “I need to strip if I really want to get clean.”

  “Then strip,” Felix murmurs, his gaze raking over Kade’s abs, to his groin. Kade rolls his hips, pushing into his hand. “But... maybe that won’t be a good idea. Stripping in the store. Maybe you should do that at home.”

  Kade sighs. “Not sure how I’m supposed to get home,” he says. “Either I wash the jeans here, or I get my bike sticky when I ride.”

  “It got sticky the other day.” Felix glances up at him, eyes dark.

  “Wasn’t completely cleaned off from that.” Kade sets his hand on Felix’s, pressing his palm snug against himself. Pleasure whispers through his body. “Found some stains today.”

  “I’m sorry.” Felix winces, his gaze darting to the door. “I should have cleaned better.”

  “Try again,” Kade says, except the doors slide open, and a woman in yoga clothes walks in. Kade sighs.

  Felix yanks his hand away, pasting on a bright smile. “Good evening! The slushie machines aren’t working, so I hope you aren’t hoping for some!”

  “I’m just here for some cookies,” she says, waving back.

  “I should get the mop,” Felix mutters, stepping away. “Be back soon.”

  Kade sighs. He rubs the bundled shirt over his abs again, grimacing at the sticky residue left on his skin. The slush melts into a pink puddle around his shoes, and he dreads the thought of leaving footprints everywhere—in the store, on his bike, back home. So he stands in place until Felix hurries back with a mop and pail, setting them down.

  The woman steps up to the counter, and Felix rushes off again. Kade crouches, soaking up the spills with the towels. When Felix returns three minutes later, he crouches next to Kade, wincing. “I’m sorry about all this.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry,” Kade says, meeting his eyes. “It’s not your fault.”

  He means all of it. Not just the slushie machine or the spill. He means the breakup, the baby, and everything wrong between them.

  Felix looks down at the wads of crumpled paper towels on the floor, lips thinning. “Some of it is my fault. Maybe all of it.”

  He scrunches up a fresh tissue, dragging it through pink water. Kade reads the weight of Felix’s regrets in his sagging shoulders. He reaches out, snagging Felix’s hand. Felix stills, eyes flickering up to meet his.

  “I don’t care whose fault it is,” Kade murmurs. Except maybe it’s his, and he doesn’t know how to correct this. But Felix is his omega, and he has loved Felix for too long for any of this to matter.

  He leans in, closing the distance between them. Felix’s eyes widen. Kade brushes their lips together, relishing the softness of his omega’s mouth, the puff of warm breath on his skin.

  I shouldn’t be doing this. You didn’t want me five years ago. What makes me think you’ll want me now? Kade pulls away, his heart pounding in his ears. But Felix leans in, following his mouth, and he presses his lips to Kade’s, sliding them over his, his fingers squeezing around Kade’s hand.

  So maybe Felix wants kisses. Kade can give him that, too. He drops his balled-up shirt, slipping his hand behind Felix’s neck, holding him close, and it feels like redemption when Felix kisses him, slow and sweet. There’s only him and Felix in this moment, and Felix feels like home.

  When they pull apart, Felix glances away, a rosy flush spreading across his cheeks. “Sorry.”

  Kade sighs. Haven’t they gone through this already? “Why are you saying sorry again?”

  “Because.” Felix runs the paper towels over the floor, then fresh ones up the side of the counter.

  But Felix had returned the kiss, and... maybe there’s hope for them. Maybe Kade needs to suck it up and ask the important questions. “We need to talk, you know.”

  “We’re already talking.” Felix wipes down the counter next, soaking up more pink water.

  “I meant about five years ago.”

  Felix tenses, fixing his gaze on the slushie machine. Past the broken window, the machine yawns dark and shadowy, like a creature’s maw. “Can we not talk about that?”

  “What’s wrong with me?” Kade asks, and he wishes he could take the words back the moment he says them. But he can’t, and Felix doesn’t move. “How do I fix myself?”

  Felix turns, his mouth falling open. “What?”

  Kade wets his lips, his heart hammering in his chest. “You said I—You said I wasn’t good enough.”

  Saying it makes it feel real, and Kade hates that there isn’t a simple solution to this.

  “I did?” Felix blinks, frowning down at his hands. “I, um. I had... issues. We shouldn’t be talking about this. I don’t think I said you weren’t good enough.”

  How could he forget? Kade stares at the silvery scar on Felix’s wrist. “You said I could never afford the things you want.” He swallows, shame burning through his face. “You said you were finding someone better for you. And I get it. I’m still working the same job. I can’t buy a mansion like you used to live in.”

  Felix gapes, his eyes growing wide with horror. “That—I said that?”

  “Don’t you remember?” Kade scowls, wondering just how forgettable that day was to Felix. “You packed and left.”

  “You should go home,” Felix says, his throat working. “Let’s just... not talk about that, okay?”

  “What about us?” Because it hurts again, Felix not wanting to patch their relationship back. What about our bond?

  Felix glances at the door, as though he’s thinking of running. “This is fine between us right now,
” he says, chest heaving. “Just dinner and sex. That’s all I need.”

  He looks scared. Kade doesn’t know what the hell he’s thinking. If Kade pushes too hard, Felix might leave again, and he can’t risk that. He needs Felix close. Why can’t he have a relationship like his parents did?

  “Fine,” Kade says, looking down at his fists. He can’t hold on to anything. And that makes him a failure, doesn’t it? The thought feels like a lump of metal sitting in his chest. “We won’t talk about that.”

  Felix nods jerkily, gathering up the crumpled tissues. Then he mops the floor, lets Kade wipe his soles off. Kade sighs, tucking away all his thoughts about the past.

  When Kade steps up to the door, Felix says, “It was never your fault.”

  Kade looks back at him, but Felix has turned away, tidying things on the back shelf. Kade can’t see his eyes through all that blond hair, and he stops himself from rounding the counter to pull his omega close.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks instead.

  “Yeah.” Felix nods, his shoulders drooping. “See you.”

  When he rides away that night, it feels as though he’s leaving part of himself behind.

  He finds Susan alone at the counter the next morning. Kade peers down the empty aisles. “Where is he?”

  She sighs, eyeing the stuffed giraffe in his hand. “He took a half-day. No, don’t look like that—he’s fine. Just said he needed some time alone.”

  “Oh.” Kade breathes past the sudden anxiety in his chest, relaxing his grip on the giraffe. Felix is fine. “Just thought I’d see him here today. That’s all.”

  “Had a fight?”

  He shrugs. “I guess.” Except it wasn’t really one. Felix hadn’t wanted to discuss the past, and Kade is just now coming to terms with the fact that they might not ever regain what they had. “When’s he coming back?”

  “I don’t know.” Susan looks at the clock, pursing her lips. “Maybe one o’clock. He’ll avoid Rick if he can.”

  “Yeah, I can see him doing that.” Kade stalks back to the counter, looking down at the giraffe’s innocent eyes.

  It’s the one he bought a while ago, back when they were texting pictures on the phone. It’s been sitting on his desk, waiting for a good time to move into Felix’s place. Kade brought it in today as an apology, hoping it would make Felix smile.