Under Siege: A Contemporary Mpreg Romance Bundle (Omega's Under Siege)

by Aiden Bates

  “Let’s hope he sees it that way.” Lilly took the chart from me with a grim smile, then headed down the hall to Logan’s exam room.

  I tried not to feel too defeated as I finished up my remaining rounds in the clinic for the day. I might’ve told Logan that it was Roman who’d given baby Viola that stubborn streak, but in reality, it was just as likely she’d gotten it from Logan himself. Proud, strong and set in his ways—that was The Sergeant for you. He wasn’t happy about the EKG, and I didn’t imagine he’d be any happier about the idea of Teddy asking me to look after him.

  I checked my watch about an hour later, yawning as I realized my shift was almost up. All I had left to do was get the EKG machine reset, then I could finally head home and grab some much-needed shut-eye. But as I popped open the door to the exam room, I was surprised to find Logan still sitting on the exam table, his forearms resting on his thighs, shoulders slumped forward and fingers interlocked.

  “Impressed to see you still here, Sergeant.” I glanced up at him as I bent down to unplug the machine. “The way things sounded earlier, you were chomping at the bit to get out of this place.”

  “Still am,” Logan muttered. “Just needed a minute, I guess.”

  A long silence ensued as I finished packing up the machine. Pressing the issue with more questions didn’t seem like something Logan would appreciate, but that didn’t change how apparent it was that he was feeling pretty down over whatever results his tests had returned. It was written in the furrow of his brow, the thin, hard frown on his lips. For a man who wasn’t exactly known for wearing his heart on his sleeve, the look on Logan’s face told me that whatever news Lilly and Dr. Smith had delivered hadn’t been what he’d been hoping for.

  “Bennet…” Logan said just as I tucked the last of the machine’s cords away.

  “Yeah, Sergeant?”

  “About those pictures.” He straightened, meeting my eyes again with that hazel gaze of his. The one that always made me feel stunned stupid—completely captive, unmoving, like a deer caught in a pair of headlights. “Would you mind bringing them around sometime this week? I’d love to see them.”

  “Of course,” I said. “How’d this weekend sound for you? I’ve got a lot of shifts until Friday, but I’ll have Saturday and Sunday off.”

  “Saturday, then. That sounds…lovely.” The furrow in his brow said otherwise, but I wasn’t going to question it.

  “It’s a date, then,” I said before catching my word choice and immediately regretting it. “I mean, it’s, uh—”

  “Thank you, Bennet,” Logan said with a nod of understanding, saving me from stumbling over my words more than I already had. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

  As I wheeled the EKG machine out, that flush rising to my cheeks once more, I couldn’t help but wonder what had shifted in Logan’s mind since I first made the offer. Obviously, he’d had been the subject of some bad news after his EKG…

  But what could have been so awful it’d suddenly changed his heart?

  5

  Logan

  “Whiskey,” I commanded as I slumped onto a stool at Simmer, my bar of choice in Fort Greene.

  “Ice, Sarge?” asked Hank Morrison, setting a freshly cleaned beer mug into place and turning to the highball glasses. All these years, and he still called me by my rank—albeit a shortened version of it. A true testament to the way it’d been drilled into him fifteen years ago when he’d first showed up for bootcamp, all scrawny-limbed and baby-faced, proudly boasting three whole chest hairs.

  If I’d been in a better mood I might’ve smiled at that. I’d made a man of Hank in those ten weeks. The training I’d given him had gotten him through two overseas tours—and a hell of a lot more chest hairs to be proud of now he was home safe.

  Instead, I merely shook my head. “Neat. Please.”

  “Everything okay, Sarge?” Hank asked, a glimmer of kind concern in his eyes as he poured me two fingers of liquid from a bottle with a gold label.

  “Nothing you need to worry about,” I assured him as he slid the glass into my hand. “Thanks, Hank.”

  “Whatever you need, Sarge.” Hank cast me a final, lingering glance, but to my relief he let the issue slide. Probably wasn’t easy for him. If Hank could see it on my face, then he knew whatever was going on was just as bad as I felt.

  A murmur. What Dr. Smith had heard with his stethoscope, the EKG had confirmed. Valve calcification, he suspected, and though he’d made a point of mentioning that it might be innocent, with one heart attack already under my belt, we both knew better than that. Fifty-five years of careful, impeccably healthy living, and he might as well have handed me a death sentence anyway. No smoking. No drugs. Minimal alcohol—especially for a man who’d been in the service for as long as I had. Perfect diet. Daily exercise.

  And somehow, despite all of that, it didn’t matter. I’d had one heart attack already, and if the abnormal sounds of my heartbeat had anything to say about it, I’d probably have another. Could be days. Could be weeks. Months. Years. The doc had tried to cheer me up—told me that whenever it came, at least we’d be ready.

  In the end, didn’t really matter. The prognosis meant I’d be living the rest of my life on shaky ground with a noose wrapped around my neck.

  Someone had it out for the O’Rourke men, or so it would seem. I’d thought it when the officer had shown up at my front door with a letter thanking my son for his service and informing me he’d be coming home in a body bag. I’d thought it years ago when my twin brother, Andy, had died of an aneurysm. It’d come out of nowhere. No warning. No way of predicting or preventing it. By the time they’d gotten him to the hospital, he was already gone, and despite knowing how silly it sounded, I could swear to this day I’d felt it. A blip of sharp, stabbing pain in the back of my head and a pang in my chest from all those miles away. By the time Mom called to break the news, I’d already known in my gut the next time I saw his face, it’d be at his funeral.

  Six years later, that same pang in my chest had been accompanied by a paralyzing pain in my left arm and the sight of my bathroom counter suddenly rising up to eye level as I dropped to the floor. Same way Dad had gone. Same way I’d probably go too, one of these days.

  But it wasn’t death that concerned me. I’d made my peace with that a long time ago. Twelve years of deployment would do that to you. Maybe when my sons were younger, when I’d still had a family to worry about, the idea of dying would have weighed a little more heavily on my conscience, but Roland was happily dating a nice alpha film producer out in the sunshine of Los Angeles and Teddy—he had a husband, a child, a family of his own now.

  No, it was my recruits that worried me. My career and the thought of losing it. The results of my appointment with Dr. Smith would go right to command, and as soon as Ross found them waiting on his desk, I knew all those years of loyal service would be brought to a screeching halt.

  Medical discharge at fifty-five. Some people would call it honorable. Impressive, even, that I’d lasted so long.

  Me? All I could see was thirty-six years of service flushed down the toilet because some doctor had determined my heart made the wrong kind of whooshing noises when it pumped blood through it.

  I looked down at my whiskey, half-expecting to see the grim face of death staring back up at me. Instead, I only found a blurred-out amber rendition of my own reflection. I tipped the liquid down my throat until I caught a glimpse of the bottom of the glass.

  The whiskey burned all the way down in a way I’d always found a little comforting. As far as liquid courage went, I didn’t need it. Had plenty of the real stuff without it. But the softness of the alcohol’s flame as it settled into my stomach—that was nice enough. Wasn’t going to drown my sorrows, but at least it’d help hold them under. For a little while.

  I turned my attention to the omegas who hung out around the tables and booths of Simmer, grateful for whatever distraction I could get. Simmer was the kind of place that rode the line between
dive bar and speakeasy, all leather and mahogany and low, yellow light. Two omegas in low-slung jeans shot pool across the room, sending the eight-ball clacking into one of the stripes, dangerously close to the corner pocket—but not so close that it sank the game. Up against the jukebox, a good-looking blond fed it quarters while flipping through the bar’s selection of Garth Brooks. He looked up just in time to see me watching him, an easy grin appearing on his lips as he cocked his head in a come-hither motion. Come on over, then. I returned the grin with a little shake of my head, holding up my hand to let him know I wasn’t really interested, just surveying the scene. I got the same look of interest from three college kids who wandered in a few minutes later, looking half-lost and so young that Hank didn’t even need to see their IDs before he turned them away.

  “Nineteen-year-olds,” Hank said with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Poor kids don’t even realize how young they look.”

  “Don’t know why they’re even interested in drinking at that age.” I sipped at my own whiskey, wincing more at the follies of young omegas than the burn of the alcohol on my tongue.

  “You just don’t remember what it’s like to be nineteen, old timer,” Hank said, teasing. “But as far as those three go… I think they were less interested in the drinking, more interested in you.”

  I laughed, genuinely. “How do you figure that one?”

  Hank inclined his head toward the window along the same wall as the entrance. “Watched them spot you as they walked by. They stood outside for a while before they came in. Seemed to be arguing about which one of them ought to go up and talk to you first.”

  I let out another laugh. “Probably just trying to decide which one of them could get the old man to buy them beer.”

  Hank stared me down for a moment, stroking his beard and looking thoughtful. “Excuse me for saying so, Sarge, but you’re not really so self-aware as you look, are you?”

  I snorted. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Ask any omega in this bar who they’d most like to take them home tonight”—Hank gestured two handed at the whole of the room—“and I guarantee they’d each say you. Right down to the last man.”

  I didn’t often find reason to roll my eyes, but that particular statement left me reeling. “Don’t patronize me, Hank. Half these boys are only in here because you’re serving up drinks.”

  “Strongest screwdriver in town,” Hank said with a wink.

  “Not what I meant. Strong, strapping, young, single alpha like you… If you weren’t too busy slinging drinks to flirt, none of these boys would want to give me the time of day.”

  “If you say so,” Hank said with a shrug. “Doesn’t change the fact that every night you’re in here, I’ve got half a dozen omegas asking after you once you leave. “‘Golly, Hank!’” He affected a slightly higher pitched voice, fluttering his eyelashes mockingly. “‘D’you think that silver fox is single? Give him my number, won’t you? How about you serve me up a long, tall drink of Sergeant.’”

  “Drop it, soldier.” I shook my head, feeling grumpier than ever. “Even if that were true, I’m not interested. For a number of reasons.”

  “Such as?”

  I stared down at my whiskey again, disliking how low the level was getting. “I don’t date that young, for one thing.”

  “You don’t date at all,” Hank remarked, looking smug.

  “Yeah. Well. My ticker’s broken,” I said plainly, figuring that would probably end the conversation. “Probably not long for this world anymore, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, please. You’re divorced, Logan. Not dead.”

  “Dying, actually,” I said, correcting him and thumping my heart. “Probably very slowly, but still.”

  “Ah. Shit. You meant that literally.” Hank frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that, Sarge.”

  “No need, Hank. You can drop calling me Sarge while you’re at it. After the doctor visit I just had, I don’t imagine I’ll be a military man for much longer.”

  Hank shook his head. “Once a soldier, always a soldier. Want me to switch you over to a red wine? Supposed to be good for the heart.”

  He reached for my glass, but I waved him off. “I’ll stick with the whiskey, thanks.”

  “You know what else is supposed to be good for the heart,” Hank said, a sly look in his eyes.

  “Don’t say—”

  “A little play time, Sergeant,” Hank said with a rascal of a grin. “I meant it about all the omegas in here always eying you up. You’re not so old you can’t get down, you know.”

  “At my age they’d probably just be impressed to find I can still get it up,” I said with a soft chuckle.

  “Ah, but you can still get it up.”

  I laughed that one off. “The omegas in here are too young, Hank. Hooking up isn’t my style.”

  “So why not try for something more long term?”

  “Love and marriage? I’ve already had my shot.” I drained the rest of my whiskey as punctuation. This conversation was already headed to places I didn’t want to go. Not with Hank, and not right now, anyway. “Thanks for the drink, though.”

  “On the house,” Hank said, seeing me reach for my wallet.

  I pulled out a fiver and tossed it down on the bar anyway. “Not tonight, Hank. You have a good one.”

  “You too, Sarge,” Hank said with a shrug, taking my glass away and the bill along with it.

  I turned on the stool, watching the omega from the jukebox dance for a little while as I waited for the light buzz of my whiskey to wear off. He was handsome, but like I’d told Hank, far too young. Couldn’t have been any older than my youngest son—or Teddy’s friend Bennet for that matter.

  Bennet Long. I hadn’t expected to see his face today of all days. Last time I saw him had been when Viola was born. I remember him being in the hospital room, and I’d grumbled about the car he and Teddy had scratched on a midnight run. Before that I hadn’t thought of him in a long while. Funny how I’d seen him twice in less than three months. He’d definitely changed from when he’d been a little kid and used to come round my house for dinners and sleepovers. He’d grown up, and looked better in scrubs than anyone had any right to. And that moment when our fingers had brushed as I handed him my chart from the floor…

  There’d been chemistry there. I’d felt it—and from the way he’d been blushing, I was sure he’d felt it too. But I wasn’t about to become that kind of alpha. I might not have been all that old yet, but I was certainly too old for that nonsense. Teddy’s buddies from school were just as off-limits to me as any other omega in Simmer, if not more so.

  Nothing more embarrassing than a fifty-five-year-old alpha chasing after twenty-somethings. Particularly when those twenty-somethings were my youngest son’s friends.

  At home that night I traded my uniform for a pair of sweats and a plain white t-shirt, careful to remove the script that Dr. Smith had written me from the pocket of my slacks before I put them in the hamper.

  Normally, I’d go for a cool-down run to end my day before the sun went down. But as I stared down at Dr. Smith’s messy shorthand, I decided against it. Not tonight. Not until I’d gotten my prescription filled, anyway.

  As I settled into my arm chair to read a little Tom Clancy, though, I found I couldn’t focus on the words. Couldn’t get thoughts of Bennet out of my head. His smile. His laugh. That cute little tinge of pink to his cheeks as he’d rubbed the cold medical lubricant for the sensors into the hair on my chest.

  He’d been funny. Firm. Charming, despite the fact he’d been prepping me for an examination I certainly hadn’t been looking forward to.

  It’d been a long time since I’d felt that kind of connection to anyone—omega or otherwise. Maybe I’d felt it with Roland, once upon a time. But that had been so many years ago now, it was hard to even remember how it’d felt.

  So what happened with Bennet was probably nothing. Just my adrenal system acting up. Nerves I didn’t want to acknowledge m
asquerading as attraction I didn’t want to feel.

  Hormones and stress. That was all.

  It had to have been.

  6

  Bennet

  By the end of the day on Friday, I was so sick of stripping down beds that even falling into my sheets that night nearly gave me flashbacks. I never wanted to make another hospital corner again. Clean-up duty all week long felt like some kind of personal hell, to the point where I was beginning to wonder what kind of awful person I’d been in a past life to have earned such a fate in this one.

  Only conclusion I could come to was that I’d been the kind of miserable asshole who’d spent an entire lifetime of subjecting someone else to making his bed.

  Work left me exhausted, the same way it always did. But instead of a relaxing weekend ahead of me, I had another job to do. Photo-sharing with Logan O’Rourke. Not exactly my idea of a good time. Maybe if he’d been a touch less grumpy or slightly more agreeable the last time I’d seen him, I could’ve found myself looking forward to the occasion a little more. Or maybe it would have been a little easier if he hadn’t been my best friend’s dad.

  That was the real problem with being close to Logan. I still hadn’t forgotten the way a simple touch of our fingers had left me blushing and stammering like some kind of idiot schoolboy. Or the way seeing his chest had left my heart pounding so hard, I nearly scheduled myself for my own EKG. He was handsome, commanding, stern, and proud. Not so much unlike my own father for that matter—which only made the strange attraction I’d felt for Logan much more uncomfortable.

  What the hell had I been thinking, agreeing to meet up with Teddy’s dad? I hadn’t even been able to speak to my own father since my brother and I had left home when I was fourteen. Stepping in to have surrogate father-son bonding time with someone else’s father wasn’t exactly something I could look forward to.

  Or at least, something I shouldn’t have been looking forward to. But as awkward as it had been, feeling that inkling of desire and flush of warmth as I’d stared at Teddy’s father’s chest… In a way it had also been kind of nice. Exciting. Electrifying. I didn’t spend that much time around alphas, period, but especially not with alphas who looked like that.