“It’s my baby. I don’t care.”
“Well, I care. Stay where you are,” Dale said. He swallowed, wishing Greg would come anyway, wishing Greg would take Dale into his arms, hold him close. Gods, what wouldn’t he give for a hug?
There was a pause. “How are you?”
Dale swallowed. He didn’t know. “Fine, I guess.” I miss you. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Really?”
Greg snorted. “What do you want me to say? Good? ‘Cause I’m not happy, Dale. I need to see you.”
Dale bit his lip hard, his eyes prickling. He was in a clinic with other people, and he couldn’t cry here. “No, you don’t.”
“Look, I’m sorry,” Greg said. “I need to make things up to you. I—”
The door opened, and the nurse looked around. “Dale Kinney!”
Dale swore. “I have to go.”
“I have a match next week,” Greg said. “School’s starting. You gonna be there?”
Dale’s stomach squeezed. He wanted to attend the game. Wanted to see Greg on the court again, all sinewy muscle and hard body. He’d missed that, too, missed seeing Greg all fierce on the court, his focus razor-sharp.
“Dale—”
“Mr. Kinney,” the nurse called.
Dale winced. “No. I’m not going. Bye.”
He hit the End Call button before he could change his mind, shoving his phone into his pocket. Then he stood up with a smile, waving at the nurse. “I’m here! Sorry!”
But the conversation lingered in his mind. As the nurse took his weight and blood pressure, Dale imagined the disappointment on Greg’s face when he said he wasn’t attending the game.
When Dale knocked on the doctor’s office door, he remembered the edge of desperation in Greg’s voice. I need to see you.
The doctor was a beta, from the faint scent of grass in the room. Dale barely noticed. She explained the visits he’d need for the pregnancy, the extra tests he’d have to do because of his age. Dr. Smith spoke to him with smooth neutrality, never once asking where his alpha was. Dale relaxed into his cushioned seat, his anxiety easing.
“As long as you continue to eat healthily and exercise every week, the pregnancy should proceed as normal,” she said.
After she answered his questions, Dr. Smith took him through the ultrasound. She showed him the beat of his baby’s heart, and Dale sagged into the exam bed, relief soaking through his bones. The baby was fine. Still alive. It would be a boy.
“I want two pictures of him,” he said. One for himself, and one for Greg. Because Greg deserved a picture of their baby, too.
She nodded, tapping the print order into the computer.
Unlike the frown he’d been expecting, Dr. Smith looked him in the eye, smiled, and never once gave him bad news. “You may experience the first flutter soon,” she said. “Maybe over the next day or two. Sometimes, it just takes a while. Come back in two weeks if you haven’t felt it yet.”
He held his belly as he dressed, leaving her office a lot calmer than before. Maybe he didn’t need Greg, after all. Maybe he could do this by himself.
The thought both scared him, and gave him strength. He was omega, but he could get through this. He didn’t need an alpha for everything.
But as Dale settled into the next room to do his blood tests, he couldn’t help remembering Greg again, knowing he’d have felt so much better with his alpha by his side.
32
Dale
Dale kept his head down, weaving through the spectators’ seats in the college arena.
He’d told himself he wouldn’t return. He’d spent the whole of yesterday saying No, I don’t need to see him. He’s moving on.
Except he’d opened his email this morning, and First playoff of the season! had screamed bold across his screen.
They’d included a photo of Greg on the team. Dale’s stomach had swooped, and all his resolve had crashed and shattered.
Five minutes before the game started, Dale picked a seat close to the walls of the arena, so Greg wouldn’t be able to see him. No one gave him a second glance—not when the baby bump was hidden under a loose T-shirt and flowing pants.
The crowd murmured around him. The basketball teams clustered on opposite ends of the court. Dale kept his head down, picking out Greg from the mess of scarlet jerseys.
Greg looked the same—spiky hair, focused eyes, full lips. His skin had tanned from coaching, and Dale couldn’t look away, not when he’d spent hours on Greg’s Facebook, just looking at his photos.
The teams scattered, falling into position on either half of the court. Greg stood on one side of the referee, staring down his opponent, the basketball between them. Dale held his breath.
The whistle screeched. The ball soared into the air, and Greg snatched it, twisting, passing it to his teammate. Then he tore across the court, his eyes on the players and the ball, and caught a pass. Thighs pumping, he slipped out of his opponents’ defenses, dodging arms all the way to the hoop. Then he leaped, dunked the ball in, and the crowd roared around Dale.
Dale clapped along with them, a deep yearning whispering through his veins. He’d missed this. Missed the adrenaline of Greg’s games, the sweat and ticking clock and fast-paced passes.
Through the previous semester, Dale had sat in the front row seats, cheering on Greg’s team. Greg had been doubtful about making promises, and Dale had shown up week after week, trying to prove that they were still unhurt and alive.
They were both still safe, and Dale wondered if Greg still thought about Tony, afraid of making promises. He shouldn’t be. He was young, healthy. He had his whole life ahead of him.
When the halftime whistle blew, the players split into their own sides of the court. Greg wandered to the edge, scanning the crowd.
Dale’s stomach flipped. He’s looking for me. Greg didn’t believe his lie, then. He knew Dale would come. And Dale had, hadn’t he? If he had had a shred of self-restraint, he wouldn’t be in this mess. Wouldn’t have gotten
