The Omega's Secret Pregnancy

by Anna Wineheart

  Kade raises his eyebrows. “I’m not nice enough?”

  “I guess you are. But you need to smile at them, you know? Show them you’re harmless.” And at that, Felix begins to laugh, because Kade is the opposite of harmless. Kade has broken arms and snapped fingers, and that had been when they were ten, surrounded by bullies at the school playground.

  I’ll protect you, Kade had whispered. Felix swallows, swirling his paintbrush in its water glass.

  “Sure,” Kade says, but he narrows his eyes. “I’m not the one kids like.”

  Felix can’t help touching his abdomen. You’ll have to smile, or you’ll make our child cry. He fans the painting to help the background colors dry. “We’re running a business today, Kade. We have to be nice.”

  Kade snorts. “Why don’t you sell the lemonade, then? Looks like I’m the one doing all the work here.”

  “I’m supervising.” Felix laughs.

  And Kade just stares, his eyes dark. If their separation didn’t stand between them, Felix would have thought Kade was hungry. He turns back to the painting, and yelps when Kade smacks him lightly on the back of his thigh. “I should be supervising,” Kade says. “This was your idea.”

  “You hit me,” Felix says, but he smiling, glad that this part of their past has returned. That Kade can relax enough to touch him in public, that Kade even wants to touch him at all, without any expectations of sex.

  “You were asking for it,” Kade says, smirking. Felix wriggles, taunting him. Kade’s gaze flashes then, his fingers twitching, a second away from grabbing Felix, or slapping him on the ass. Felix gulps. He wants Kade to grab him and stroke him.

  He turns to his painting instead, touching a finger to drying paper. “No, I wasn’t,” he says. “You volunteered to sit at the stand.”

  He almost hears Kade rolling his eyes. Felix grins. He daubs a darker brown along the arcing lines of trees, filling in wooden lampposts and door lintels, before rinsing his brush.

  An alpha-omega couple jogs by next—two women with neon headbands and sports bras—and smile as they buy a cup of lemonade to share. They spend a minute admiring Felix’s painting, smelling like sandalwood and rose, before heading down the quieter end of the street.

  “We’ve never gone jogging,” Felix says.

  “We exercised other ways.”

  Felix doesn’t have to look at Kade to know the glint in his eyes. He chuckles. “Always about the sex, huh?”

  “No. You know that.”

  He does. Kade has joked with him, taken him out to art shows, followed him down steep hills for a picture, and he can’t even begin to describe the relationship he’d left behind. So he mixes cyan and pink for a vibrant lilac shade, and dabs it across the canvas, spots of flowers speckled along the front lawns. “How have your parents been the past few years? I... haven’t caught up with them.”

  Kade thinks on his words for a while. “My mom’s doing okay. My dad died a couple years back. So Chris and Sam left, the bastards.”

  Felix stills, the air whooshing out of his lungs. He’s known Kade’s father since he was ten, and Mr. Brentwood had been family to him. “Your dad died?”

  11

  Felix

  Felix can’t breathe. Kade’s dad is dead. And he hadn’t been there for Kade when he needed someone to lean on.

  Only a failure does that. He bites hard on his lip, wondering how else he’s failed his bondmate. Why is Kade staying around when he needs to find an omega better than Felix?

  Kade shrugs, looking at the curb. Lines deepen around his mouth. “Yeah. We weren’t doing that well after you left. My dad went back to being a mechanic—and... There was a workplace accident.”

  How? Felix wants to ask. He forces the question down, not wanting to put Kade through his grief again.

  But he needs to know, too, because he’s spent years with Kade’s family. Kade’s father bringing them all to the swimming pool. Kade’s mother baking cookies for him. Kade’s younger brothers had teased him for being omega, but Kade has always defended Felix. Kade has always been there for him.

  Felix wants to cry, suddenly. “Oh.”

  Kade flicks a look at him. “Shit,” he mutters, reaching out. “C’mon. Sit down.”

  “You... didn’t say anything about it,” Felix says, his voice strangled. Kade scoots to the other chair; Felix trudges over, sinking heavily into his warm seat.

  “I thought you didn’t want to know.” But Kade watches him sidelong, and Felix’s heart aches. How had he not found out? He’s spent a month back in Meadowfall, and he had no idea...

  He remembers the man—a tall, sturdy alpha with salt-and-pepper hair—who treated Felix as one of his own sons, playing volleyball with them in the yard, mussing Felix’s hair while he grinned. Felix tries to imagine Kade after his father’s death, crumpled, the light gone from his eyes, and he’s gasping, fingers curling into the warm metal of the chair.

  “Hey, don’t cry,” Kade says. He pulls Felix into a hug, and Felix trembles against him, his cheeks itchy with tears. “He went quickly. Car crashed into the mechanic shop. He was trapped under it. They said it was an instant death.”

  Something inside Felix rips apart, and he’s sobbing into Kade’s shoulder, little whimpers that don’t sound like his own. He shouldn’t even be this upset about it, but he is. Kade’s hand on his back just makes him shake harder. How had he not been here when Kade needed him? How can Felix suck so much as a bondmate? How...?

  “I’m fine now,” Kade murmurs in his ear. “We’re doing okay.”

  Felix snakes his hand between them, touching his own belly. The bump still isn’t showing yet, and maybe all this is a hallucination. Maybe he’s just imagining the pregnancy. He can’t bear this child and still face Kade, when he’s caused the bankruptcy, caused Kade’s dad to return to work, caused his dad to die.

  Felix deserves so much pain, and yet Kade’s here, holding him, whispering into his ear. “Why?” he asks, and his voice rises high and thin, a pathetic whine. “Why—”

  “Shh,” Kade says. He strokes over Felix’s back, and his scent is familiar and comforting against Felix’s nose. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay,” Felix says, pulling away from him before he loses his resolve. “You shouldn’t do this. I’m not—I’m not...”

  I’m not fit to be your bondmate, he wants to say, but Kade kisses him.

  It starts off slow and gentle, Kade’s lips soft against his own, and Felix stills. You shouldn’t be doing this, he thinks, but Kade’s mouth caresses his, as though he’s saying You’ll be fine. Felix trembles.

  Kade coaxes his lips open, slides in, and Felix needs him, has always needed this man. His fingers tangle in Kade’s shirt, and he leans in, hungry for this intimacy, for the promise of safety and comfort. Kade drags his wrist over Felix’s arms, marking his shoulders and his back, then his nape, his throat. Felix wants to say I’m all yours, except he can’t.

  “Why?” he whispers against Kade’s lips, his breath hitching.

  “Because—” But Kade doesn’t continue. He threads his fingers through Felix’s hair, brushing his scalp, rubbing the small of his back. His touch eases the misery that’s been building in Felix’s chest, untangling it, drawing it out of him, until Felix sags against his alpha, shaking and weak, his mind whirling.

  “Uh, hi. Are you still selling lemonade?”

  Felix startles, leaping out of his seat. Kade glances up at the gangling teenage boy standing to a side, a wince on his face. “Sorry,” the boy says, blushing. “I, uh, just wanted to get my sis and I some drinks.”

  He waves at a girl in a sundress across the road. Felix looks back down at the lemonade stand, at the scatter of condensation on the lemonade jug, and the upside-down stack of colorful cups they’ve got in front of them. “Sure,” he says. “I’m so sorry. How many cups did you want?”

  “Two. Thanks.” The boy hands over a bill and some coins. Kade drops them in the coin bowl, while Felix scoops ic
e into two cups. “Nice painting. I really like the colors.”

  “Thanks!” Felix swears inwardly. They’re supposed to be here earning money for his website, not kissing or dissolving into a mess of tears. He tries to breathe through his stopped nose and gives up. “If you ever want some paintings done, feel free to contact me! I also do art lessons. My number and email are on this postcard.”

  “Thanks,” the boy says. He raises a cup in a toast, then walks off.

  Felix winces, swiping the wet trails off his cheeks. “Damn it.”

  “I’m here if you wanna talk,” Kade says, watching him solemnly.

  “Okay.” Felix swallows, turning back to the painting, mixing water with bright lemon yellow.

  To the side, Kade leans back in his chair, tipping his face to the sky. “I haven’t heard from Chris and Sam in a couple years.”

  Felix glances at him. “You haven’t? But they’re your brothers.”

  Kade shrugs. “They left after Dad died. I think they were trying to cope in their own way. They’ve been helping with the house payment, though. There’s checks in the mail sometimes.”

  “That’s nice,” Felix says. He ducks his head, hiding his wince. He should have helped, too, but he’d been away in Highton, trying to secure buyers and art shows. “I should have been here.”

  He feels the prickle of Kade’s gaze again, but Kade doesn’t speak. So Felix paints, adding first the pastel greens and pinks, then the burnished hues of red roof tiles, and the spreading wings of fluttering birds.

  While he layers finer details into the houses, he thinks about Kade’s father, about Kade’s loss, about all the things that could have gone right between them, but didn’t. Neighbors and passers-by drive up to their lemonade stand, a steady trickle of people that walk up with smiles, and then head off with colorful cups of lemonade.

  “It’s doing better than I expected,” Felix says when they’re down to twenty plastic cups. The watercolor is done, a quick painting of this street, and he clips it to the back of the easel to dry. “I mean... I thought we’d just have five customers.”

  “We’re gonna need another batch,” Kade says, nodding at the almost-empty jug. “And some sunblock too. You’re turning pink.”

  “I am?” Felix rubs his cheeks, frowning. Now that he’s paying attention to himself, he feels the prickle of sunburn on his face. “Oops.”

  Kade sighs, glancing up at the sun. “It’s just past three. Do you wanna go back and make another jug? And get a hat or something if you don’t have sunblock.”

  “I have a hat,” Felix says. “Do you need one too?” Kade shrugs, so Felix rests a tentative hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. Kade lets his hand stay. “Right. I’ll be back with more lemonade.”

  Kade nods. Felix jogs home, thinking about the painting he left out to dry. Maybe he should have left a price on that with Kade, but in this neighborhood, he doesn’t know if anyone would be interested in a painting. People had been more willing to pay for art back in Highton. He sighs, stumbling into his home, and heads for the kitchen.

  The sun glares when he steps out ten minutes later, with a full jug of lemonade and hats under his arm. He hurries back to the lemonade stand, thinking they’ll still have twenty plastic cups, maybe nineteen. Kade will be staring at the cars driving past, bored.

  What he doesn’t expect to find is an old man in a baggy T-shirt and trousers, peering at the painting through his glasses. He smells like fresh-cut grass.

  “He’s the one who painted it,” Kade says, nodding when Felix steps closer. To Felix, he says, “This guy wants to buy your painting.”

  “Yes, it’s beautiful,” the man says, his rheumy eyes magnified by his glasses. He looks up at Felix, smiling brightly. “My husband and I have been living on this street for thirty years. I think he’ll love this painting.”

  Felix smiles, his heart leaping. “That’s really sweet. I’m very touched that you like it.”

  “How much do you want for it?” the man asks.

  Felix hesitates. He doesn’t want to price the painting too high, because it’ll feel like he’s cheating the old man of his money. Not everyone in this neighborhood can afford things like that. So he begins to say Thirty, but Kade cuts in. “Fifty.”

  Felix stares at his bondmate, eyes wide. Fifty?

  Kade raises an eyebrow. Are you gonna say no?

  “Fifty is a good price,” the old beta says. Felix gapes at him. The man pulls out his wallet, thumbing through the bills inside. Felix sets the jug of lemonade down so he won’t drop it. It’s very generous of the man. He accepts the notes when the man hands it over, unclipping the painting from his easel. “You haven’t signed it yet.”

  “I guess I haven’t.” He’d forgotten about that, too, while he’d been busy thinking about the lemonade. Both Kade and the old man watch as he scrawls his signature at the bottom of the painting, before handing it over with a flourish. “I hope you and your husband enjoy this painting! If you’d like to reach me, my phone number and email address are here.”

  The man accepts his postcards. Felix watches as he strolls back down the street, disappearing behind a wall of bougainvillea bushes.

  “I feel bad about the price,” Felix says, sinking into the seat next to Kade. He stares at the notes in his hand—some crisp, some ragged—and rubs his thumb over them.

  “He agreed to pay for it,” Kade says. “People value things they sink money into.”

  He looks back at the money, thinking about the old man and his husband, about Kade and valuable things. “What if you didn’t pay for something? Would you still value them?” You didn’t pay for me.

  Kade studies him quietly, as though he sees through Felix’s question. Felix gulps. “Some things we don’t pay for with cash,” Kade murmurs, “but with everything else.”

  He doesn’t know what Kade means by that, so he looks at his hands, folding the notes up. “Here, the fifty dollars for the website.”

  Kade’s lips pull into a smile. “Keep it. I said I’m taking the profits from this, remember?”

  “Well, I’d rather pay you back,” Felix says, extending the stack of notes to him.

  And Kade reaches over, closing his hand over Felix’s. The heat of his palm soaks through Felix’s skin. “Keep it.”

  Felix lowers his gaze, afraid to meet Kade’s eyes. He nods, heat rushing up his cheeks, and tugs the hats from under his arm. “Here, I brought us hats. That’s yours.”

  Kade snorts, but he wears the sunhat anyway, a flimsy woven thing that matches Felix’s, from when he and Taylor had bought them at the beach. Five minutes later, Felix starts on his next painting.

  When the sun begins to inch toward the horizon, Kade gets up from his chair, stretching. “Want some food? I’ll go to the store and grab something. And some vodka—we can sell that with lemonade.”

  Felix laughs. “We can sell that?”

  Kade grins, rugged and handsome, and Felix’s pulse thuds in his ears. “Sure.”

  Kade heads back to the house, roaring by a minute later on his bike. He waves at Felix when he passes; Felix waves back, before hiding his face. It feels like they’re back to being friends, when they shouldn’t be. He’s pregnant, and Kade still doesn’t know.

  The minutes drag by without Kade. Some teenagers walk up to the stand, buying a few cups of lemonade, and more joggers pass by with their dogs. The next painting ends up being a sunset by the beach. Felix smiles while he paints, thinking about Kade’s warmth, about his smile, Kade coming back to him. It feels a little bit like what they used to have.

  Felix straightens when Kade returns, dropping a plastic bag on the table, before he rides off to park the bike. Curious, Felix picks through the bag—a bottle of vodka, a tuna sandwich, and a box of pasta salad. He pries open the tuna sandwich packet.

  “Thought you hate fish,” Kade says, settling into the chair next to him.

  Felix pauses, the tuna sandwich halfway to his mouth. “I... don’t know. I ha
ve an urge to try it. There, take the rest.”

  Kade looks at him oddly. Felix bites into the sandwich anyway, and the fishy scent of tuna isn’t as awful as it usually is. He swallows, and takes another bite. Kade pushes the other half-sandwich back. “If you like it, have the rest.”

  “But the pasta,” Felix says, guilt swirling in his stomach. “You don’t like pasta all that much.”

  Kade rolls his eyes. “You ate my sandwich anyway.”

  Felix blushes. “It’s fine. Have the other half.”

  They end up splitting the food between them, sharing a fork. Kade pops the bottle of vodka open. “Want some in your lemonade?”

  Felix opens his mouth to say yes, then freezes. “No.” Kade looks at him again, so he hurries to say, “I might have gotten hives once. When I was away and drunk. I’m just... I’d rather not be drinking again anytime soon.”

  Which is bullshit, another lie on the mountain of lies, but Felix forces himself to meet Kade’s eyes.

  In the end, Kade nods. “Sure.”

  Felix should have gotten used to the guilt by now. He prods at the pasta salad, sighing.

  “Tired?” Kade asks. “You puked this morning.”

  Felix shakes his head. I didn’t think you were watching so closely. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long day.”

  “You feel better? Not sick or anything?”

  “I’m fine.” Felix grins. Kade smiles, bumping their arms together.

  The altered signboards—vodka lemonade: $7—get them a few more sales, and by the time the sky turns a velvety blue and the streetlamps flicker on, Felix yawns, his eyelids drooping.

  “Let’s pack up,” Kade says. “Not selling anymore, anyway.”

  Felix nods. They clear the table, fold the chairs and easel, and trudge back to Felix’s place, setting down the materials just inside the doorway.

  “You’re working tomorrow?” Kade glances at the closed front door. In the living room, only one lamp is on, its weak golden glow stretching into the shadowy corners. “It’s late.”