Dale opened his mouth, but realized he had no answer to that. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”
He looked down at his flat belly, imagining the life growing inside. Greg looked, too, but he didn’t move closer. “I just... I don’t know how much of the future I can promise you, is all.”
Dale read honesty in his eyes. “I guess this is why people buy life insurance.”
But from the way Greg looked at him, this went deeper than that. Greg was still hurt, Dale realized. Dale could understand not trusting a future, and it was brave of Greg to admit to it. Brave of him to tell Dale, especially as an alpha who wanted to provide.
“Are you scared?” Dale asked, holding his hand out.
Greg curled his fingers around Dale’s. “I don’t... No. I don’t think so. But I just... I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep.”
“Then make the ones you can,” Dale said, squeezing his hand. “That’s enough for me.”
Greg stared at him for a long moment. Then, something fell away from his face, leaving him raw and open. Vulnerable. “Really?”
“Yes. I don’t want you to make promises you’ll regret,” Dale said, his heart squeezing. He liked Greg. Didn’t want to see him hurt. And right now, Greg had exposed a part of himself that he’d held close, like a dog with an injured paw. “Sit with me.”
Dale patted the couch next to him. Greg stared at it. Then he edged around the coffee table, settling cautiously beside Dale. He smelled like aspen and soap, and in his eyes, Dale glimpsed the jagged edges of his soul.
Slowly, Dale eased his fingers into Greg’s hand, holding him. “I can’t promise that everything will be fine,” he said. “But we have resources. I have some savings, and you have status. That’ll help.”
As the college president’s son, Greg had access to important contacts, had a reputation that would benefit him. He could get far on those.
“Yeah,” Greg said, squeezing Dale’s hand. “That’ll help.”
“Are you feeling better about this?”
Greg sucked in a deep breath, looking at Dale’s belly again. “Somewhat. I... I could be gone in a day. Just like that. We should get married, or be bonded. Then at least you’d have access to my savings.”
Dale stared at him, at this alpha who was just twenty-two, trying to promise Dale all his possessions. His heart thudded. “You’re adorable,” he breathed, leaning close. “I can’t believe you’d do so much for me.”
“Well, yeah.” Greg frowned. “I want to. I don’t want to leave you to raise a baby alone.”
“Let’s not think about death for a while,” Dale said. “You might be hanging too much on what-ifs. What if you survive until you’re eighty? I’d love to see you still healthy at that point.”
Greg hesitated. “There’s that.”
“Do you have dreams? Hopes? Travel plans?”
Greg rolled his shoulders, eyeing the mug stains on the coffee table. “Kind of. They disappeared when Tony died.”
Dale squeezed his hand, leaning into his arm. “Do you want to return to them, or make new ones?”
“New ones, probably. I tried to go back to them after—after the death. Couldn’t concentrate on any. So I took up basketball instead.”
“Then let’s make some new plans,” Dale said, wanting to help. Wanting to see Greg trusting in his future again. “Just some small goals. Like next week.”
“What about next week?” Greg raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll watch your game next week,” Dale said. “You have one, don’t you?”
“I have one this week, too.”
“That’s too soon. I’ll be at your next game,” Dale said. “So it’s something to look forward to.”
“You could be at both games. I’d still look forward to them.”
Dale paused. “Will that help?”
“One step at a time,” Greg said, a smile curving his lips. “Small steps, you know?”
“Fine, small steps,” Dale said. “I’ll be there.”
“Thanks.” Greg’s smile widened then, hopeful and boyish, and Dale leaned in, brushing his fingers through Greg’s hair.
“You act like you’ve never had anyone else go to your games,” Dale said.
“My mom goes to some. My dad doesn’t have time.”
“Ah.” Dale winced. “Your dad. I had a meeting with him today.”
Greg tensed. “Shit, yeah. I forgot. How did it go?”
“I’m crap at lying,” Dale said, squirming on the couch. “He smelled aspen on me.”
“Lots of people smell like aspen.”
“I know. But like I said, I can’t suck up to people. He looked at me, Greg. Really looked at me. He even asked if you’re in my lab. I told him I didn’t know.”
Greg snorted. “‘Didn’t know.’ Like this counts as not knowing you.”
He leaned in, dropping a kiss on Dale’s nose. Dale’s pulse pattered. “That’s not knowing me, huh?”
Greg kissed his lips. “Yeah. I don’t know you at all.”
He caught Dale’s lower lip in his mouth, sucking on it, and Dale smiled. “I wonder how far your not-knowing stretches.”
Greg chuckled, his hands slipping around Dale’s waist. “This? Or this?”
He shuffled around on the couch, scooping Dale up into his arms. Then he deposited Dale on the couch, stretching him out. Dale’s heart fluttered. Inches away, Greg’s eyes were dark, his lips damp.
“I thought we were going to end this,” Dale whispered. But this intimacy was nice. Good. It distracted him from feeling like a pile of crap, and he wanted to see Greg smile. Wanted to forget about everything except Greg.
Greg swallowed, meeting his gaze. “Do you want to?”
Carefully, Dale touched his fingers to Greg’s chest, following the planes of his pectorals. He brushed his fingers up, tracing Greg’s clavicles, then his throat. Whatever was between them—it felt too new, too fragile, like a bolt of lightning trapped in glass. “I agreed to a week,” Dale said.
Greg breathed in, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he had calmed a little, his lips twitching up in a smile. “I don’t want to forfeit this.”
“Then don’t.”
Greg surged in, kissing Dale’s lips, his chin, his neck. Then he dropped kisses down Dale’s chest, his heart, trailing all the way to his
