Why did it always have to feel so damn good?
Dom smiled, letting his touch linger. Jesse didn’t know what had happened to make Dom’s aggression disappear. He didn’t know how to act around a Dom who liked kissing him. “What changed?” Jesse asked. “Why’re you being nice?”
Dom hesitated. “Because you haven’t had anyone be nice to you.”
“What kind of answer is that?” Jesse scowled. “I don’t need it. I’m an alpha, Dom. I’m not fragile.”
Dom was quiet for a while, unfazed. “Sure. Are you going to walk out right now? No more hugs or kisses. We can do that.”
Panic slithered through Jesse’s veins. No, he hadn’t meant for that. How did he undo it?
Before he could say a thing, Dom cracked a smile. Then he hauled Jesse close and hugged him tight, strong arms against Jesse’s back. A warm, comforting pressure that Jesse couldn’t have enough of.
“Nah,” Dom whispered. “I won’t do that to you.”
Jesse was so relieved, he almost had tears in his eyes. Almost.
He blinked hard and swallowed, sniffing at the sweat and blackwood on Dom’s skin. They were both naked, save for the torn shirt on Jesse’s back. The last time they’d stood together like this, it had been back in the locker room shower. “What’s with your kitchen, anyway?” Jesse muttered. “Why the hell don’t you have knives?”
Dom had been stroking Jesse’s back, but he paused. When Jesse leaned away to study him, he found an odd, unreadable expression on Dom’s face.
“Precautions,” Dom said guardedly.
“Against what?”
Dom didn’t answer; instead, he glanced down. He was looking at Jesse’s abdomen—at the scar.
“Tell me you haven’t thought about cutting it out.” Dom’s voice was quiet.
An oily disgust filled Jesse’s throat. “You can’t be serious.”
Dom knew how much Jesse hated what Larson had done to his body. He’d been to the medical center, he’d seen what they’d implanted inside him. And that look on his face—he wanted Jesse to hold onto that suffering? To relive it, over and over? There he’d thought Dom accepted him. “I’m not your experiment,” Jesse snarled, yanking himself away. “I just want to be fucking normal, for once!”
“That’s my baby in there,” Dom growled back. “Ours.”
“So you want me to—to keep this thing. For real.” Jesse felt like throwing up again.
“Just for now.” Dom narrowed his eyes. “Seven more months, Sinclair. What you do with it after that, I don’t care.”
At the back of his mind, a voice said that Dom wasn’t being unreasonable. But Jesse just felt betrayed, used. Shame crept up his neck, and he couldn’t meet Dom’s eyes. “I’m leaving,” Jesse said. Fuck all this about hugs and kisses. He didn’t need them from Dom.
He left the kitchen, yanking on his clothes in the bedroom. Then he stormed out through the front door, letting it slam behind him.
21
Dom Does Not Want To Grovel
So they were back to not talking again. Dom pulled into the station, rubbing his face. He hadn’t been sleeping well these past three weeks.
Nothing he’d tried worked. He’d put himself and Sinclair on a couple of calls alone, he’d tried sending Sinclair some texts. He’d even left a voice message. But he wasn’t sorry, and he most certainly wasn’t about to grovel for forgiveness.
That was his baby. He wasn’t the one carrying it, which gave him less of a say. But they had been in his house, his kitchen, and he’d had the right to remove all those knives. So Sinclair wouldn’t do something he’d regret.
It unnerved Dom, the idea that Sinclair might’ve stabbed himself to carve out that uterus. Dom didn’t want to find him bleeding somewhere, passed out because he’d lost too much blood.
He hoped Sinclair knew that.
It wasn’t just the bleeding, though. Vaguely, he acknowledged that it was unreasonable to ask Sinclair to keep the baby. Sinclair had been through more horrors than Dom could imagine. Years of torture. Having his body cut open, over and over. Being given organs he didn’t ask for.
Dom had no right to ask Sinclair to prolong his suffering, especially if it triggered his flashbacks.
So... their baby. Could that possibly justify another seven months of episodes? When each flashback filled Sinclair with so much panic?
Could Sinclair’s body handle a full-term pregnancy? What if it couldn’t? Was Dom willing to put Sinclair’s life at risk?
No, he wasn’t.
So maybe he was sorry that he’d gone and said all that to Sinclair. Maybe he shouldn’t have.
He sighed, climbing out of his truck. In the kitchen, he sat down heavily. Gareth and Harris both stared at him. “What?” he muttered.
“You look really lovesick,” Gareth said.
“Or maybe you just have a stick up your ass,” Harris added.
Dom flipped them off. He hadn’t told anyone about the pregnancy. It wasn’t his body. Sinclair wasn’t even showing yet. Perhaps he would in a couple more weeks—Dom didn’t know. Would his pregnancy follow the usual milestones?
“It’s complicated,” he said.
“You said the same thing a few weeks ago.” Gareth handed him a mug of coffee. “Sex doesn’t cure anything, huh?”
“No, it just creates more problems,” Dom muttered. “Like breeding rabbits.” Harris raised an eyebrow.
It was possible that neither of them would believe him, even if he told them. But Dom was tired of being the only person in this situation, with no one who understood. “Suppose you accidentally knocked someone up,” he said.
“Been there, done that,” Gareth said dryly.
“Even have the free T-shirt,” Harris added.
At least they’d knocked up omegas. Dom sighed, giving them a flat look.
“Wait.” Gareth looked hard at Dom, before glancing out the kitchen door. “You don’t mean... It’s not possible.”
“You talked to Nate, right?” Dom scowled. Gareth was probably the one who had dug up the most information about Sinclair.
Gareth stared. And all the amusement evaporated from his face. “No way.”
Dom turned his mug around on itself, thinking maybe he should’ve gone and bought a donut. Or maybe ten of them. “I want the baby. He doesn’t. Bear in mind he didn’t ask for this ability.”
Harris winced. “So... Is he keeping it?”
“I wouldn’t look like this if I knew, Harris.”
“So... what happens if he keeps it?” Gareth asked. “In a few months, he’s gonna get big. Have you talked to him about it?”
“Hell, no.” Dom rubbed his temples. Knocking Sinclair up, and then putting him on forced vacation? Sinclair would hate his guts forever.
“I’ll take the hit for you,” Harris said. “Perks of being team captain.”
Dom rolled his eyes. “My fault, Harris. I’ll do it.”
Even though it made his stomach twist.
As if on cue, the soft hum of a bike engine seeped into the station. Dom heard it before his friends did—he’d grown sensitive to that sound. His heart thudded. These days, he almost knew exactly how long it took for Sinclair to step in. Pulling off his helmet, putting it away, grabbing his duffel.
Dom waited. Sure enough, footsteps thudded closer—Sinclair had to pass through the kitchen, even though there was another way into the locker room.
The moment he stepped in, Dom’s skin prickled. As always, Sinclair’s presence felt like a surge of electricity. He was there, and Dom could taste Sinclair in the cinnamon-scented air he filled his lungs with. There was a trace of honey, too. Now that Dom knew to look for it, he smelled it every time.
“Morning, Harris, Gareth,” Sinclair rumbled.
Then he stalked off into the locker room, and Harris and Gareth both stared at Dom.
Yeah, Dom would’ve preferred not to let them witness that.
“Fix it,” Harris said. “I know it hasn’t affecte
d the team’s performance, but it’s not a good example.”
Dom sighed again.
When Sinclair stalked back into the kitchen, he had his usual burrito with him. Gareth glanced sidelong at his abdomen, sniffing; Dom kicked Gareth’s ankles surreptitiously.
Sinclair took a seat at the other end of the table—as far away from Dom as he could. Which grated on Dom’s nerves; he wanted that alpha. He wanted Sinclair closer. And he was so damn tired of them fighting, when he knew how Sinclair reacted to his kisses. When Sinclair stiffened up at his hugs, leaning closer, as though he was afraid to let himself enjoy something he craved.
“No donut today?” Dom asked.
Sinclair unwrapped his burrito with a vengeance, not looking at Dom at all. “It’s just sugar. I don’t need it.”
Fact was, Dom hadn’t been leaving donuts on his locker since the day they’d fought. For one, Sinclair was still nauseous. For another, Dom wanted Sinclair to ask for them. He wanted Sinclair to need him, even now.
“Funny you should say that,” Dom answered. “I’ve seen you inhale them.”
Red crept up Sinclair’s cheeks. “I’m on a diet.”
“So if ten of them were to show up on your locker...”
“It’s not like they will, anyway,” Sinclair snapped, his lower lip jutting out. Dom wanted to kiss him so badly. He wanted Sinclair to look at him, just once.
“Yeah? You’re asking for them?”
“So what if I am?”
There it was. A sign that he still wanted Dom, on some level. Dom’s heart quickened. And maybe... it didn’t matter what Dom had to do, as long as Sinclair would look at him again.
Maybe that made it groveling.
“You sound just like an old married couple.” Gareth sipped from his mug.
Sinclair tensed, staring hard at his burrito.
“Fuck off, Gareth,” Dom muttered. They hadn’t even been together long enough to think about that. Hell, they weren’t even dating. So he stood, heading out. There was time before the shift started. More if he hurried.
He drove to Ben’s Buns, where Sinclair’s favorite donuts came from. Today, Dom didn’t even bother with a butt-shaped tray and tongs. He slid the whole rack of donuts out of the display case, and brought them to the cashier.
Ben was a thin omega, all sweet and cheerful. Alec’s fiancé. Sometimes, he reminded Dom of Mal—needing protection. When Ben saw the donuts, his mouth fell open. “You could’ve put in an advance order if you wanted more.”
Dom shrugged sheepishly. “No time. It’s an apology.”
“Oh.” Ben grinned. “How is Jesse?”
Dom wasn’t sure how Ben knew who the donuts were for, but it didn’t matter. “He’s pissed.”
Ben winced. “Well, I hope this works out. Would you like them in a box?”
Dom had him wrap a few in individual bags. The rest went into a pastry box. Then, he drove back to the station—five minutes late for work.
The guys were all in the kitchen now; no one had started any meetings, which was good. Or bad, because the moment Dom stepped in, six pairs of eyes looked up. Sinclair glowered at his mug. His nostrils flared, though. Could he smell the donuts?
“You’re late,” Gareth said.
“Yeah, well.” Dom stalked around the table, his heart thumping. Maybe this would flop, and he’d make a fool of himself.
“Is that for us?” York asked. Alec elbowed him.
Dom ignored them all; he pulled out a bagged donut, setting it in front of Sinclair. Then he set down another. And another. With each donut, Sinclair’s eyes grew rounder, until there was more shock than anger on his face.
Dom added the pastry box to the pile. “The rest are in here,” he said, unwilling to grovel much more in front of the team.
Sinclair gaped. Then, ever so slowly, he looked up, meeting Dom’s eyes.
There was disbelief in his gaze, and a sort of vulnerable uncertainty that overshadowed his anger. He did still want Dom.
Dom’s heart stumbled. Yeah, he felt really sorry now. He couldn’t look at that face and not feel terrible about what he’d said.
If the team weren’t here, he would’ve kissed Sinclair, maybe begged for his forgiveness.
“Sorry,” Dom said, his voice rough. “More later.”
Sinclair’s lips moved, as though he wanted to say something.
“Right, time for the daily brief,” Harris said loudly. The tension in the room cracked, and Dom could breathe again.
“Wow,” York said. “I want Dom to apologize to me, too.”
Gareth coughed so hard, his face turned red.
Dom let his knuckles brush Sinclair’s arm—just a brief touch. Part of it was to sate the need in his chest. But part of it was to say, I’m sorry, and he hoped Sinclair understood. Electricity sparked between them, rushing all the way up Dom’s arm. Sinclair sucked in a breath; he’d felt it, too.
Dom stalked back to the other end of the table and sat down, trying to pay attention to whatever Harris said. He couldn’t stop looking at Sinclair, though. He watched the way Sinclair eyed the bagged donuts. Then Sinclair peeked into the pastry box, and his eyes widened.
He glanced up at Dom, his neck turning red.
Maybe Dom had gone overboard. It felt more like a love confession than anything else. But it wasn’t love. Just some stupid infatuation that he couldn’t shake.
And now he couldn’t look away from Sinclair. He itched to hold him. To kiss him. To just press him against the wall and breathe him in, so his instincts would stop grumbling. This was bad.
At the end of the meeting, Dom grabbed the printed notes from Harris—he hadn’t heard a single word. Harris shook his head and sighed.
All Dom could think about was touching that scar on Sinclair’s abdomen, where their baby was.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” York said. “Since most of us aren’t attending bar nights anymore, what about a barbecue? Where we bring our families!”
Most of the team seemed interested—they were married. Dom would join in just because. He would feel left out, though. Then he realized that Sinclair hadn’t answered, either.
“You in, Dom?” Gareth asked pointedly.
Dom shrugged. “I guess.”
“Jesse? What about you?”
Sinclair wasn’t looking at Dom, but he nodded.
Dom couldn’t help glancing at him again—at the same time Sinclair looked up. Their eyes met. Dom’s stomach flipped. And the rest of the room faded away.
What had changed? Dom wasn’t this desperate before. Now, he needed to be on Sinclair’s good side, he wanted to patch things up. It was giving him sleepless nights, for gods’ sakes.
The station alarm rang, breaking their shared gaze. In seconds, the kitchen emptied, Harris calling out orders.
Dom was on his way to Truck 2 when Sinclair brushed past him, an odd, closed look on his face.
“I’m still mad at you,” Sinclair muttered. There was no heat in his voice. Just resentment.
Dom swallowed. “Sorry. It’s your body. Do what you want. I just—I don’t want to see you bleeding out. I can’t, okay?”
There had been a pool of blood around Mal when Dom had arrived at the scene. Dom had been furious with himself—for not being able to stop Mal. Then he’d raged at Mal, for leaving him. As though their vows had meant nothing.
Maybe part of him was afraid that he wasn’t good enough to keep Sinclair alive. That Sinclair might leave him, too.
The longer this went on, the more ammunition Dom gave him.
“I thought you wanted the baby,” Sinclair said.
Dom still did. So it hurt when he answered, “I’ll let you decide.”
He was about to turn away. Sinclair grabbed his arm. Then, quick as anything, Sinclair leaned in, pressing their mouths together—a brief touch, barely-there.
But it was still a kiss.
Dom’s heart crashed against his ribs. Sinclair hadn’t initiated any of the soft kisses until
now. So this was important to him, too.
Sinclair released Dom and stalked away, his ears turning pink.
Dom’s spirits lifted. Things weren’t right between them yet. But it felt like Sinclair had forgiven him, just a little.
22
Secret’s Out
Jesse pulled the sodas out of his motorcycle trunk, heading over to the pavilion by the lake. He was early; there hadn’t been much else to do, sitting around at home.
Besides, he kind of wanted to see Dom.
Which made it a good thing that Dom’s silver truck was already in the parking lot, along with two other familiar cars. Jesse saw them in the distance—York and his omega, Perry, Alec and his omega, Ben, and three children running around under the pavilion, waving their arms in the air. It looked like one of Caleb’s snake dances.
The thing in Jesse’s abdomen twinged. He tried not to think about it. Every day with that uterus felt like a drag—he knew it was there. He badly wanted to take a scalpel to it, and he was on the verge of making an appointment with the medical center.
The sooner Jesse could leave his past behind, the sooner he could breathe again.
He trudged over to the pavilion, trying his best to ignore the broad figure at the barbecue pit, tending to some charcoal.
“Hi, Jesse!” Ben said brightly. His belly was even rounder than Jesse remembered. “I brought some donuts. Have you finished the rest, yet?”
The ones Dom had given him. Of course Ben would know. To be honest, Jesse was still regaining his appetite—the morning sickness had almost faded by now. “Some,” he said, noticing the way Dom turned a little, as though he was listening.
Jesse’s stomach flipped. Stop that, he told his body. Dom’s a jerk.
But part of him was happy that Dom paid attention to his arrival. That Dom had agreed to let Jesse have control over his body. That, despite his earlier wish for Jesse to go through with the pregnancy, Dom hadn’t insisted on it.
Maybe Jesse should’ve done more than just kissed him that day, but he didn’t know what to make of this new thing he had going on with Dom.
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