But had I lost that chance? I could barely remember the words I had said to Michael, but I knew I had fucked up. And I had let him go. Night after night, I had sworn to myself that I would never do that. Especially after the mess I’d been those two months without him, before I even really knew who he was. And then the first hard crunch hit our relationship, and what did I do? I let him go.
I wished I had someone to turn to, to talk to. But since Ms. Betsy died, Michael was the only one I trusted. And yes, I was hurt, and yes, I felt betrayed. But it didn’t change the fact that I wanted him. That I wanted whatever future I could have with him. If that meant me and Michael against the world, okay. But if it meant me and Michael and a baseball team’s worth of kids? Well, I wanted that. Whatever made him happy.
Damn my temper.
Damn my inability to notice his filling out for what it was.
Now that I had a minute to cool down, regret and fear really started to seep in. I had thought that my fear of losing him had faded after the first week of clutching him tightly to me every night, afraid he would ghost away in the dark and I would never see him again. But this was worse. I’d seen him leave. I made him leave. I knew exactly why he left, and I was the cause. He’d walked out of my office and possibly my life in broad daylight, and that was worse.
I picked up my phone and called him. I called seven times, each call going straight to voice mail, before I gave up.
“Cheryl?” I called on the intercom. “Can you ask Francine to send Michael up again? It’s urgent.”
“Right away, Mr. Dahl.”
I bowed my head and studied the floor while I waited. I’d never noticed there were spots of green in the taupe carpet fibers. Finally, the intercom buzzed, and I answered it. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dahl, but it appears Mr. Martin has had a family emergency, and he’s taken the rest of the day off. His department head said she’s not certain how long he’ll be out of work.”
I contained the curses driven by my absolute inability to act. Wait, no... “Thank you, Cheryl.” I cut the intercom. I would go to his apartment. I would beg him to take me back. No, I would beg him to forgive me. I’d been such an ass. I wasn’t thinking. My fears, fears I thought I had long conquered, had risen up and bitten me in the ass. But no more. I circled to my chair to grab my coat and noticed an envelope on the floor. I snatched it up, a nervous energy rattling my bones.
It was an invitation with details for an ultrasound, Monday morning at ten. He had been going to tell me. Just in his own way, and I fucked it all up. I was man enough to know it was my mess to clean up, even if I wasn’t the catalyst.
I desperately wanted to go to him, to make things right. Beg him to forgive me for even implying I might consider something so horrible. But he was ignoring my calls. He’d left work, he was so upset. And as determined as I was, I was in no frame of mind to actually make a coherent apology. A new plan began to form in my head, and I sat down to plot it out.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Michael
“Mr. Martin, I need you to verify all of the information is current and sign here and here. I will also need to make a copy of your insurance card and driver’s license.” I nodded and took the clipboard, knowing the drill. Every flipping time I came, they did the same thing. Something about a new policy. I tried to argue that being pregnant I would be here a lot over the next few months, but they never budged. Probably for the best I had the busywork because it might keep my mind off my insanely full bladder. Might being the operative word.
I sat in the waiting area, pretending to make sure the information was correct and initialing everywhere required before scanning the room. There were people of all ages, but the pregnant ones were easiest to pick out. Not only were they the only ones smiling, because let’s be honest, the only time you want a doctor up in your business is because you’re pregnant, but they also came in pairs. All of them except me.
I was alone. I deserved it. I more than deserved it. Didn’t make me feel any better.
I brought the clipboard up to the desk, where the receptionist pointed to a line on page four. The one I had intentionally left blank every time. This receptionist, unlike the others, wasn’t kind enough to let the transgression slide.
“You need to fill in all of the information. Father’s name?” I’d seen on Pinterest where new moms sent gifts to their OB’s office as a thank-you. It was always something cute and practical. I swore right then and there if I succumbed to the fad, the receptionist in front of me, Barb, according to her tag, was not going to be included.
“Montgomery Dahl.”
I turned to the voice that I’d missed more than the coffee I gave up for my baby. He was here, right where I wanted him to be.
Throwing all sense of decorum to the side, I flung myself into his arms, whispering over and over again that I was sorry, and he did the same. Weren’t we a pair?
“Herbert Martin.” My name was being called from the side door. It was my turn, and seeing my baby was the only thing that had the ability to pull me from his arms.
“That’s me. I need to go. Please come with me.” I still hadn’t let him go, waiting for his answer as if it were my next breath.
“You’re never getting rid of me again,” he vowed in my ear before turning me in the direction of the voice, grabbing my hand as I made my way there.
The ultrasound was not at all like they had in the movies. I saw nothing of what the tech said, though she said we lucked out, and the babe was positioned just right so there was no question about her gender. My little peanut was basically a blob from what I could see. That didn’t make it any less magical. She was healthy. I was going to have a girl, and everything looked perfect so far. They still wanted me in for the twenty-week measurement scan, but I knew that before I even walked in. Porter needed a bit more reassurance. The smile he wore from the moment the tech said “girl” never vanished, even as we made our way out of the office.
Porter drove us home, insisting I shouldn’t be taking a bus in my condition. Not that I argued. I wanted to be with him. The weekend apart was torture. Sheer fucking torture.
“How did you know?” I asked as we rode the elevator up to his place.
“Your invite was under my desk.” Of course it was.
“It was corny, wasn’t it?” It had a baby on it, one holding a congratulations sign and where it said shower, I added, “with me after our baby’s first ultrasound.” At the time, I didn’t know the goop they used meant the shower was a necessity and not a sexy detour.
“It was perfect.” He leaned in, kissing me chastely. Both of us knew if we allowed it to be more, the conversation we needed to have would be brushed aside for a more carnal discussion. “I tried to call you.”
“My phone broke. I kind of threw it against a wall. I was a little upset.” If I’d known he would call, that bad boy would’ve been replaced already. “I need to get a new one.”
“So you weren’t ignoring me.”
I slid my arms around his waist, settling my head on his shoulder. “How can you ask a man if he was ignoring the alpha he loves? That’s not even possible, is it?” I’d never said those words to a man before, and I had planned to hold them in until the timing was better, but they bubbled up and poured out. No more secrets, not even the good kind.
“You love me, omega mine?” His singsong parroting of my words had my heart overflowing. This was the Porter I knew and loved. I hadn’t broken that by my foolishness.
“Of course I do.” I pulled back, grasping his face with my hand and looking him in the eye. I wanted there to be no misunderstanding. “That was why I was such an ass. I loved you so much that the fear of losing you paralyzed me. But never again. No more secrets. No more lies.”
His lips collided with mine. I was home. We kissed deeply and passionately until we both needed to catch our breath.
“While we are confessing, I noticed you growing.”
“You thought I was just
getting fat?” I raised an eyebrow. Playful Porter was my favorite. Or was it sexy, bossy, naked Porter? It was a tie.
“Not fat, gaining some much-needed weight and sexy, but that wasn’t even what I was talking about.” And then he pulled the ultimate Porter move—he pinched my nipple.
“Ohhh.” I bit my lip to hold in a moan then grabbed his hand, leading him to his bedroom. I needed to feel his weight on me, his cock in me, and his lips worshipping me. I needed him to feel my love for him through my actions, because recently those actions had been crap. This, this I could give him. There was no lying when our bodies became one.
“Michael?”
“Yes.” We stopped at the door. Once we entered, the conversation would no longer be with words, and this felt big. Important.
“I love you. I love Betsy. I want us to be a family in all ways.”
He wanted everything. I didn’t lose him. This was so not the life I had mapped out for myself. This was a detour, to be sure. A detour of the very best kind. One that led to love and family.
“Betsy. Of course that’s her name.” I knew it the second the name escaped his lips. Our baby girl was Betsy.
And as his lips met mine, I knew that everything was going to be okay. No, better than okay. Because nothing out there was better than love, and I had it abundantly.
Epilogue
Michael
Today was the day. I was getting married. When the gossip columns found out the most eligible CEO and billionaire had found his true love and was getting married, they began to hound us for details. They were expecting a fairy-tale wedding, complete with a two-bazillion-dollar reception and cake the height of most homes. Little did they know, that was so not us. We were about the marriage, not the wedding. I never did want anything showy.
“Ready, love?” he asked as we reached the window. I was so ready.
“Absolutely.” I leaned over the console as he rolled down the car window and passed the paper to Elvis. I couldn’t wait to tell our grandchildren that we got married in a drive-thru service at three in the morning.
The ceremony was shorter than expected, but perfect. And unlike the name indicated, we had to go inside because even in Vegas, there is a butt-ton of paperwork.
I waddled in because I was at that stage of pregnancy. Not one person batted an eye because, let’s face it, if you work at a drive-thru chapel, a pregnant omega is probably one of the more normal things you see on a typical day.
“Mr. Dahl?” Porter asked after we finally got everything signed, witnessed, and paid for. Something about the way he said my new name gave me shivers of the very best kind.
“Yes, Mr. Dahl?”
“You look dead on your feet.” He was probably right. Getting up to be here at three a.m. was not the easiest thing I’d done this month. Not by a mile.
“It’s a little before dawn, and I’m growing a human.”
“Which was your idea, why? Why three in the morning?”
“Promise not to laugh?” He crossed his heart with his finger. “We did everything so ass-backward and it somehow worked. I figured this was as far as you could get from a typical wedding.”
“And therefore, by default, it would work.” And that is why I loved him. He got me.
“Exactly.” He took my hand, and we worked our way to the parking lot, which was surprisingly full, given the time of night.
“Your logic is flawed.” It took me a moment to catch up to our conversation.
“How is that, dear husband?”
He twirled me around, pushing me gently against the side of the car and kissing me soundly. “Say it again.” He spoke millimeters from my lips.
“Husband— Alpha— Mine— I could go on.” My belly was in the way, but there was no part of me that didn’t believe he was hard just from that word.
“Everything we do works because it is filled with love.” He sealed his words with a kiss, slow and leisurely and filled with so much promise. God, I loved this man.
“You are a romantic one.”
“The ideas I have running through my head right now are far from romantic.” As if to prove his point, he whispered things I dared not repeat aloud. Damn, he had a good imagination.
“I think we can make one, two, and four work. Three might have to wait.”
“Too kinky for you, Mr. Dahl?”
“Yeah, that’s it. It has nothing to do with my ginormous belly getting in the way.” And just then, Betsy decided to add in her two cents and kick her daddy. We both laughed at her timing.
“Your beautiful belly, you mean.” He ducked down, kissing my belly before sliding his hands up my pants to the horrible elastic waist. That was so not going to happen in a parking lot full of drunks. I batted his hands away, and he let out a belly laugh. The man was messing with me. Had I mentioned he was the perfect man for me? Not perfect, but perfectly mine.
“Yeah, that one.” Because arguing with him over my looks had led to more than one spanking, and tonight I was not in a spanking mood. That could very easily change over time, but for now, I wanted to go with door number one, two, and four for the orgasm.
“Fine.” He feigned disappointment. “One, two, and four it is.”
“And why are we not in the car already?”
He remedied that right quick.
“You, Michael, are the perfect omega.” He kissed me soundly before closing my door and making his way to the driver’s side. I was far from the perfect omega, but I planned to be the best omega and father I could be for the man who taught me that mapping out your life might lead to achieving your goals, but it was the detours in life that led to living.
And detours we had, even on our wedding night—technically morning. My contractions started, or intensified, as we drove from the place where we gave our vows of forever. Turned out the nervous belly I’d had all day wasn’t nerves at all, but stage-one contractions. So instead of driving off to make love until dawn, we drove straight to the nearest hospital.
The looks we got, walking in all dressed up, my name on the insurance card not matching the name I gave them. I was Mr. Dahl and wasn’t going to wait for some silly name change papers to start to use it. They quickly put away their side-eye when my water broke in triage, the poor couple pacing behind us looking panicked, as if water breaking meant the baby was about to fall out. Wouldn’t that have been nice.
Instead, I spent fourteen hours in labor, Porter by my side the entire time, holding my hands, encouraging me, yelling at the nurses to make me not be in so much pain—all the things a good alpha did, including sneaking me a granola bar when Nurse Jerkface said no food in case I needed a C-section. But I didn’t need a C-section, and when I finally pushed my dear sweet daughter out and heard her cries for the first time, all of that slipped away and all that was there was Betsy—Porter—and me. My family.
“She’s beautiful.” I spoke in awe as the nurse set her upon my chest, her body instantly turning in the direction of my breast.
“She’s hungry,” Porter teased as he kissed my forehead. “You were amazing.”
“We were. Look what we made.” I smiled down at my little girl as I helped her latch on. “Without even so much as a plan,” I teased.
“But there was an invitation,” he countered as he climbed on the bed beside me, much to the chagrin of the nurse.
“That there was.” I settled my head on his shoulder, and the two of us watched in amazement as our little girl drank herself into a milk coma and fell asleep.
“Thanks for the detour, love. She’s perfect.” He kissed the top of my head. “My life with you is everything.”
It was everything to me, too—and more.
About the Author
Harper B. Cole is the pseudonym of three bestselling authors (including a USA Today Bestseller) and best friends who lie to their mothers about how they make their money. We love telling stories in the Omegaverse, and absolutely adore reading them.
Table of Contents
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Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Billionaire's Surprise Baby: An Mpreg Romance Page 8