All for Knot

by Briton Frost

  All for Knot: An Mpreg Romance

  Love in Knot Valley, Volume 6

  Briton Frost

  Published by Briton Frost, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  ALL FOR KNOT: AN MPREG ROMANCE

  First edition. December 11, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Briton Frost.

  ISBN: 978-1386954019

  Written by Briton Frost.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About this Book

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

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  Further Reading: Forget Me Knot: An Mpreg Romance

  Also By Briton Frost

  About the Author

  About this Book

  MAVERICK SMITH IS HOME in Knot Valley to reluctantly recuperate from an injury sustained in the line of duty on his ERU team in the city. The bomb that messed up his hand also took the life of his partner—which messes with his head on a daily basis. He’s no good for anyone right now, but especially not the cute, pregnant omega next door.

  Simon Bloom is just getting from one day to the next. He’s not sure how he’s going to manage being a single dad—but he loves his unborn baby more than anything. Well, Kraft Macaroni-and-Cheese runs a close second, but he’s hoping that’s just a pregnancy craving that will go away once the baby is born.

  When Mav comes across Simon needing help in the halls of their apartment building, he does what he can and then...just stays. They don’t have much in common, but something about Simon makes him want to be a better man. Besides, what kind of friend would he be to let Simon face the rest of his dangerous pregnancy all alone?

  He’d be a fool to act on the attraction. It would ruin the best friendship he’s ever had. But if he doesn’t admit how he feels, he’ll never have a chance at the family he never knew he wanted and it will be all for ...knot.

  Welcome to Knot Valley, a sleepy small town in Eastern Washington. All for Knot is the final in the series about super dominant alphas and quirky omegas finding love and creating families in an alternate universe where mpreg is possible. Some of the books are reimagined from a different series. If you like your MM steamy and endings happy, this hot series will get you right in the feels.

  Chapter One

  Maverick

  I REALLY HATE THIS coffee shop.

  The darkest corner I could find is still lit up like they’re using stadium lights, and the speakers placed every two feet are blaring annoyingly spirited pop music of the boy band variety. The air even tastes sweet, like bubblegum. It’s like Whoville and all the noise, noise, noise. Fuck.

  The barista at the counter looks like Cindy Lou Who with her shiny blonde hair braided up and her too tight T-shirt showing too much skin. Maybe straight men like that. Maybe she gets great tips. But she does nothing for me other than make me want to suggest she put on a sweater and get her homework done.

  The music in here jangles my nerves, but so do the clattering dishes, the clinking spoons, the scrape of metal against metal. My blood pressure is rising, the thumping in my head getting louder and louder. A cash register dings and the vein in my temple throbs.

  Hold it together, Smith.

  I sip at my acrid, burnt coffee, and it scalds the inside of my mouth.

  That quiet spot inside my head that used to make my job of dismantling explosives possible seems to have disappeared, leaving me like this—always one step from losing my shit. My hand throbs, a reminder of why I’m sitting here in my small hometown of Knot Valley instead of at the station or out on a call in Seattle. I could probably hide the stuff going on in my head if I had to, but nobody is letting me go back to work until my hand heals, something physical therapy doesn’t seem to be doing.

  I frown into my cup. If I have to be at a coffee shop instead of the cop shop, I wish I were at Old Joe’s near my apartment instead. Old Joe’s feels more like a pub, only instead of booze they serve smooth coffee and normal looking desserts that taste like food and not plastic and saccharin. But now I come here because he had to ruin it all.

  I don’t know the omega’s name. He’s handsome. He’s smiley. He’s pregnant.

  And he’s my neighbor.

  The last day I stepped foot in Old Joe’s, I took one look at him behind the counter, that sunny smile and fucking adorable little dimple, his dark shaggy hair the same shade as his deep brown eyes, and I turned around and never went back inside. It’s hard enough to avoid him in the hallway outside our apartments, I don’t need to run into him every day over my coffee. Then he’d start talking to me. Asking me questions. Getting to know me. Then he’d expect that we chat at the mailbox. Maybe gossip about the neighbor down the hall who entertains an awful lot of men in her apartment when her husband is at work. Then comes “borrowing a cup of sugar” or “I made extra lasagna and brought you a plate.”

  No. Thank. You.

  For one thing, I don’t want to be friendly with anyone. It’s not just him, but he’s worse. He’s the kind of person that you can tell is genuinely nice. Good inside. Not faking it like most of us. Ten years on the police force and I can tell you I know for certain there are more assholes like me in the world than honestly nice human beings like him.

  But the other thing that keeps me far, far away from the man next door is I want to fuck him.

  Bad.

  He’s deliciously round. Fertile. It shouldn’t even be sexy. I’ve never been turned on by a pregnant man before. Omegas who are pregnant smell like their alpha in a way that makes them not very sexual to the rest of us alphas, even if it still means we have a strong desire to protect them. Even if they aren’t ours.

  But being someone’s soon-to-be daddy means he’d best stay away from the likes of me. I’m a fucking mess. Nobody deserves to be saddled with me, but especially not someone responsible for another human life.

  I’ve never seen the other baby daddy hanging around, but he’s out there somewhere. He should be home with the omega. Keeping guys like me from drooling all over the father of his kid.

  The fantasies I have about him make me feel dirty. Well, after I come, I feel dirty. While I’m stroking to the thought of him, I feel fucking fantastic. The things I want to do to that man are perverted and hot.

  Better change the direction of my thoughts. The last thing I need is a hard-on when my boss gets over here.

  Knot Valley is a small farming community—but we’re next to a bigger college town. This café is a little closer to the school than Old Joe’s, and you can tell by the servers and the clientele. There used to be a time when I would have loved a place like this. Then I became a cop. Then I became an on-the-job injury.

  Captain Albright weaves around the long line at the cash register and toward my table. I stand, offering him my left hand rather than my right now that it’s so messed up.

  We catch some startled stares from the Abercrombie & Fitch crowd around us. We don’t exactly fit in with the “One Direction is the best band ever” patrons. Cap isn’t a small man, and we’re evenly matched in height, though he’s got about forty pounds on me.

  Most of the guys on my ERU squad are big. It seems to go with the territory. A lot of us are alpha, too. But I guess I’m not on ERU anymore. And I may never get back.

  After shaking my hand, Cap pulls me into a bear hug and slaps my back. “Smith, what’
s good here?”

  “Bottled water,” I answer and slap him back.

  He laughs and scans the chalkboard with specials written on it in fat bubble letters. “I like that sweet drink, right? What is it called?”

  “Mocha, sir. I already ordered you one. They said they’d bring it to the table.” I signal to Cindy Lou Who that I’m ready for that drink, and we sit in the hard-plastic chairs the colors of a neon nightmare.

  “How’s the fishing trip, Cap?” It was a long time ago that I met the captain here in Knot Valley on one of his fishing trips. He’d taken a liking to me and helped me get out of this small town and onto the force and finally his ERU team. He still comes for a week every year, which is why he’s in town today.

  “They’re not biting but the beers are cold. How are you doing, son? I read the most recent report on your hand this morning in my email.”

  I blow out a frustrated breath. “I need to come back to work. I’m going crazy, Cap.”

  His eyes are warm, but his expression resigned. “You’re not logging in all your psych meetings.” His coffee arrives in the hands of a different young woman who shoots me an appreciative glance. At least she looks a couple years older than the blonde, but I’m still not interested. It’s not their fault—I just really dig dudes.

  “Thank you,” Cap says, offering another tip for the delivery to the table.

  I’d already added a tip, but I don’t begrudge her getting more. It gives me a few more seconds of not hearing the bad news anyway. When she leaves, my time is up.

  Cap sighs. “I can’t bring you back to ERU until both your doctors agree, and that psychologist will never clear you unless you do the time.”

  I was afraid of that. “I’ll start going to the group meetings again. I just...hate it.” I can’t decide which is worse—the group sessions or the one-on-ones with my psych doc. That fucker sort of makes me want to punch things more when I’m inside his office than I do outside of it. I’ve been doing my meetings, when I go, at the university hospital in the next town. They have a special program for first responders like me who are dealing with shit—the reason I came back home instead of doing my psych evals in the city. Plus, Knot Valley is cheaper to live in—a consideration when you’re on medical leave.

  “None of those cops want to be there, but there’s no shame in it. We have to lean on each other sometimes, Smith. Everyone in that meeting is dealing with similar shit.”

  I nod. The guys in the group are not the problem. I can relate to all of them. Two of the guys also lost their partners on the job like I did. There’s no manual telling you how to deal with that. Well, there is. There’s a manual for everything at the police department. Just not a useful one.

  Ricky was more than my partner on the squad; he was my best friend. Every night, I re-live his last moments. Every day, I walk around feeling like a ghost.

  It should have been me. I wish it had been me.

  Cap fills me in on some gossip from our unit. I miss the ERU. The team will be okay without me. But I’m not sure I’m okay without the team. I can’t defuse a bomb with a fucked-up hand, though.

  I miss my family, my squad, but I have to wonder if I’m actually any good to them at all anymore. The job is all I know.

  It’s all I have.

  Had. I sometimes doubt I’ll ever make it back.

  I THINK ABOUT THAT on the way home. Maybe it’s time to rethink careers. But shit, what does a bomb guy do if he’s not defusing bombs? I’ve been a cop since I graduated high school, in some form or another.

  Out of habit, I check the entryway of my building for anything that seems out of the ordinary. There never is. I’ve lived here long enough that I’ve already mentally placed all the explosives in the places I’d hide them if I were the bad guy. I guess it’s part of the job, always expecting the worst. It doesn’t help. Surprises still happen, and they still suck. But everywhere I go, I’m hiding bombs in my head and checking to make sure they aren’t there.

  It isn’t until I round the stairwell on my floor that I hear him. My neighbor. I pause. Maybe he hasn’t sensed me yet, and I can turn around and wait for him to get inside his own apartment. No awkward hellos necessary.

  Only he’s not standing at his door. He’s sitting on the floor, slumped against the wall, and fuck me, he’s crying.

  I’m a tough man. As a cop I’ve seen things, done things, that most people can’t imagine in their worst nightmares. I’m confronted with the worst of the human condition regularly. I’ve witnessed utter hopelessness, unparalleled anger, and unspeakable violence. And I face it and do my job.

  But this one omega, crying in the hall, fucking undoes everything inside me. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I make noise as I walk down the hall so it doesn’t seem like I’m sneaking up on him. He doesn’t seem to notice or stop crying. Shit.

  “Sir?”

  He gasps and looks up, his lip and chin trembling, but it’s the ashen color of his face that worries me the most.

  With arms wide so he can see I’m not holding a weapon, I use the voice I’ve had to practice on victims of accidents and crimes too many times. It’s deep, slow, relaxed. “I’m sorry to startle you. I live next door. My name is Maverick. Maverick Smith. I’m a cop.” Well, kind of.

  He nods quickly, faking a casual air. “I’ve seen you before.” The color of his face changes from gray to pink. “I’m Simon Bloom.”

  “Simon, can you tell me what’s wrong? Are you having contractions?”

  He shakes his head, gifts me with a watery smile, and then bursts into silent sobs once again.

  Not sure if I should, I touch his arm gently. “Please don’t cry.”

  That apparently sets him off a little more, and he tries to breathe but only manages hiccups. I lean into him, registering the scent of coffee and something buttery that he must have carried home on him from his shift at Old Joe’s. I fold around him gently. I haven’t comforted anyone in a long time. The last person I hugged was Ricky’s wife at his funeral, and I’m sure I offered her no consolation or comfort at the time.

  Simon, though, slows his hiccupping. He’s stuttering something that sounds like “I’m sorry” and “I’m so embarrassed.”

  I rub his back and resist the urge to kiss his head. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Please. I need to fix it. I can’t stand the tears, they’re killing me.

  He pulls back and looks at me through those damp and overly bright eyes. “How much time do you have?”

  No one is more surprised by the laugh that chuffs out of me than I am. “My schedule is clear for a bit.” He shakes his head like he’s talking himself out of telling me. “Simon...”

  “I have to pee.”

  Well, okay. That’s normal for a pregnant omega, I guess.

  “But I’ve lost my keys.” His voice tightens. “And I can’t get in to my apartment and,” his face scrunches up and his chin trembles, “and I have to pee.”

  “Okay—”

  Before I can give him a solution, he continues. “And also, I’ve had a really long day. All my days are long right now on account of being so uncomfortable, but it’s harder at work, and today was harder than usual, and I spilled the butterscotch syrup all over myself so I’ve been sticky and gross for hours, and I just want to get in my apartment—” He pauses for a deep breath then continues, “I need to clean up and pee and put my feet up because I have no ankles anymore.”

  He stops talking. Finally. But I’m lost. “What?”

  “Nobody told me being pregnant was going to steal my ankles, but they’re gone. And I got so frustrated when I couldn’t find my keys that I slid to the floor to have a good cry. I do that a lot—cry, not slide to the floor, because now that I’m down here, I can’t get up. And all I want is to pee and clean up and put my feet up and I need to eat some mac-n-cheese or I’ll probably die or something equally dramatic.”

  “Mac-n-cheese,” I repeat.

  Jesus. He’s fucking adorable. His dark
lashes are damp with tears, and his top lip is shaped like the bow on a present. I want to press a kiss there. I need to get my head back in the game because he’s still talking. Rambling, really, but I don’t mind because the sound of his voice makes me feel lighter inside.

  Jesus, this guy.

  “I know it’s not great for the baby, but I crave it all the time. And it has to be the blue box because the store brand...” There goes that chin. The store brand of macaroni makes him cry, I guess. “So, now I’m stuck on the floor like a beached whale. Which is not very attractive or very comfortable. And I was sitting here crying, and I realized that I have to raise this baby alone. I mean, I knew that, but it just really started sinking in how hard it’s going to be. And I don’t mean to complain, but it’s kind of scary. Being alone. And who is going to date me? I’m pregnant with another man’s kid and then when I’m not, I’ll be too busy raising a baby alone to date anyone ever again and then I’ll be too old, which means...” He shudders on a long, ragged inhale. “Which means I’m going to die a virgin.”

  Chapter Two

  Simon

  I CLAP MY HAND OVER my mouth in a belated attempt to hold back the words spewing from me, but it’s too late.

  Much, much too late. Oh my God.

  Not once in all the pregnancy books I’ve read have they mentioned uncontrollable speech as a pregnancy symptom. Not in any trimester. Not in the ones I read for women or omegas. But I have no other plausible excuse for the verbal assault I just committed on the man who lives next door to me.

  It figures that I’d finally meet him when I’m beached, bloated, snot-filled, and have emotional Tourette’s. That’s pretty much how life goes these days for me.

  Maverick Smith is the literal embodiment of virile man with a capital V. I know I’m extra horny from all the hormones, yet another of life’s little jokes for me, but honestly, if I weren’t already pregnant I’d be worried that just his proximity would do it.