“I’ve been grown up for years, Dad. Bank’s doing great.” Raph nodded at the other alphas, raising his plate. “Let me catch a bite first.”
He slipped out of the circle and into the rest of the crowd. Speakers broadcasted string and piano music overhead—one of the pieces they’d used to play as children—Songs About Us. Looked like Dad still had that old CD. And Raph still remembered the chorus, the violin interlude.
Forget me not in the years to come
Together, we’ll be stronger as one
He set his plate on a passing butler’s tray, then started his search anew.
His parents had never caught on to Wyatt and him. They’d probably missed the way Wyatt had looked at Raph, back when Wyatt had first presented as omega.
Raph still remembered the day Wyatt had returned from school, smelling like sweet magnolia. His eyes had honed in on Raph, and he’d lifted his nose, sniffing. Later that evening, after they’d showered, Wyatt had whispered, You smell good. And all the alarm bells in Raph’s head had clamored.
It was wrong. They were brothers. Wyatt had been fourteen, and Raph, seventeen.
Raph had told Wyatt he needed to find his bondmate. I will, Wyatt had said. And his gaze lingered on Raph, through the days and months and years, until he’d turned eighteen.
At eighteen, Wyatt had been slim and beautiful, his eyes doe-soft and vulnerable, his lips curving whenever he saw Raph. Something in Raph had responded, had wanted his omega brother for himself.
Sure, there were a bunch of other omegas at school, that Raph knew. But none of them knew him like Wyatt did. Wyatt had sidled up to him, asked him what was wrong when Raph failed a test, and Raph had worked harder, hating to disappoint his younger brother. He’d improved his grades, gotten a hell lot better on the violin, and Wyatt’s eyes had shined with admiration.
And it had been intoxicating.
No one had found out, save for Grandma. On that August afternoon nine years ago, Wyatt had asked Raph to sit with him in the piano room. He’d played Songs About Us, one of Raph’s favorites. Then Wyatt had tipped his face up, his eyes fluttering shut, and Raph had kissed him.
But that wasn’t the worst part of it. Not Grandma, not the banishment. What had happened after had been far more terrible than anyone would’ve thought—and only Raph had cared enough to ask around.
Nine years ago, Wyatt had left their childhood home. Then he’d gotten trapped in an abusive relationship with some alpha. Two months later, he’d left, battered and broken, carrying a child.
Raph had only found out after the fact, when he’d tracked Wyatt down through his Facebook friends. Then he’d realized that eighteen-year-old Wyatt had been homeless, had run himself down to make ends meet, and kept it a secret from the rest of his family.
By initiating that very first kiss, Raph had helped destroy his brother’s life.
He still hadn’t apologized for it. Had no idea how he could possibly make it up to Wyatt—all the hurt, the loneliness, the years of his life. And Wyatt had never once replied to his messages; Raph could see why. It didn’t lessen his guilt any.
A series of whoops rang above the crowd. Then great splashes came from the pool, and the crowd murmured.
Raph turned. He’d been expecting to see kids running around, maybe teens splashing at each other. There were five drenched teenagers bobbing in the water, grinning at each other.
A sixth person surfaced, dark blond hair flattened against his face, mouth agape as he sucked in air.
Raph would’ve recognized that face anywhere. The shape of that fine jaw, the arch of that pale throat. Those thin lips, those square, white teeth.
Wyatt?
He froze on the lawn, his heart pounding too hard.
The party-goers washed around him like water around a rock, and all Raph could do was watch. Wyatt swept the hair out of his eyes. In three strokes, he swam to the edge of the pool, thin fingers closing around the rounded stone edge.
Wyatt flattened his hands on the granite coping, then heaved. Water sluiced off his chest as he rose like an ethereal creature, his chest smooth, his skin pale. He set his foot on the edge of the pool, climbed up cautiously. Raph couldn’t stop looking at his slender frame, the pale scar on his belly, the way his nipples tightened in the cool evening breeze.
“Nice dive,” one of the kids in the pool yelled.
Wyatt grinned over his shoulder, gave a thumbs up, and a wave of déjà vu settled over Raph like a spider’s web.
This new Wyatt—older now, at twenty-seven—had little lines of stress worked into his forehead, into the sides of his mouth. But his eyes gleamed warmly like Raph remembered, and he could’ve sworn he’d seen this happen before, Wyatt all relaxed, climbing out of this same pool, his troubles gliding off his back.
It wasn’t the face of someone who’d been let down by Raph.
The music in the background thumped, slow piano notes darting into quick violin strokes—one of Dad’s favorite songs. The crowd’s energy changed.
Raph wasn’t the only one who noticed it. The couples around him swayed into dances, and Wyatt glanced up, recognizing the music. He moved as he straightened, hips rolling, fingers threading through his hair. Beneath the chlorine of the swimming pool, Raph caught the faintest trace of magnolia—Wyatt’s scent.
Gods, he hadn’t smelled magnolia in ages. Raph closed his eyes. This didn’t mean anything. He was just glad to see his brother. Stepbrother. Wyatt had always made that distinction, and Raph had heard in the spaces between his words, Kiss me.
Some kiss that had turned out to be.
As Wyatt turned, a splatter of ink snagged Raph’s attention.
It was small. Palm-sized, maybe. Linework of a scroll unfurling across Wyatt’s lower back. In cursive letters on the scroll, just above the waistband of his swimming trunks:
