Weeks after he’d moved in, Wyatt had begun to throw up in Max’s dank bathroom, thinking he was sick. Max had convinced him he’d be fine, that the nausea would blow over. Wyatt had believed him—what an idiot he’d been.
He’d found out he was pregnant when he finally visited a doctor. Max had scoffed at the news. He’d told Wyatt that Wyatt had cheated, that he’d gotten pregnant somehow. And Wyatt realized Max had been lying to him every single day, that he shouldn’t have trusted Max at all.
Max had thrown him out. Wyatt preferred to think he’d left of his own accord. Then he’d spent the rest of his pregnancy alone, until he’d met Sam Brentwood at a night class. Sam had become his new best friend, but over the years, Wyatt’s need for an alpha had never truly waned.
And now, somehow, Raphael Fleming was back in his life.
“Okay if I touch?” Raph asked.
Wyatt blinked, his face burning when Raph’s words sank into him. “You’ve already touched everything.”
Raph shrugged, his ears turning pink. “Just thought I’d ask.”
He was so damn different from Max.
Gently, Raph pressed his thumbs against Wyatt’s ass, spreading him open. Wyatt swallowed. This wasn’t something they did under the influence of hormones. This was Raph examining him with serious eyes, Raph easing his finger inside Wyatt, swirling it around, pulling it back out. Wyatt moaned.
Raph dragged his thumb down the slick on his finger, studying it. “Fuck. I can’t tell if it’s from me.”
“Do it again,” Wyatt said.
Raph glanced at him. Then he pushed his finger back into Wyatt, crooking it, trying to capture a trace of his come. “You like that?”
Wyatt’s body hummed. “You think?”
Raph’s throat worked. He kept his finger inside, stroking Wyatt for minutes, never pushing further. Wyatt closed his eyes, relished his touch. Nine years, and Raph was here with him again. And they’d fucked. And Raph was still touching him inside. Maybe this was a dream.
Raph withdrew and sighed, stepping over to the bathroom. “Not working. I’ll get you some morning-after pills.”
Wyatt grimaced. “Ugh, no. I’m allergic to those. Don’t ask how I know.”
Raph looked sharply over his shoulder. He frowned, washed his hands, then returned to the bed, settling down close by Wyatt’s side. “Hazel?”
“Gods, how much did you find out, Raph?” Wyatt threw his arm over his face, tipping his face back. He’d spent years thinking Raph had moved out of Meadowfall, eager to put their past behind him. He hadn’t expected Raph to know Max’s name. And Hazel’s, too.
“Some. As much as I could.” Raph set his hand on Wyatt’s arm, squeezing lightly. “Didn’t know there were people allergic to those pills. I thought they were just hormones.”
“It’s the stuff they use to stabilize the hormones.” Wyatt winced. Those days had been terrible, when he’d tried one pill after another, and none of them had worked. “It varies across the brands. I tried about half of them, then I got too sick to try again.”
Raph released Wyatt’s arm, then held his hand. Wyatt sighed, pressing his face into Raph’s thigh. Raph smelled like sweat, like chlorine and teak.
“Sorry, I didn’t know,” Raph said.
“It’s fine.” Wyatt squirmed closer to him. “It’s not something that concerned you, anyway.”
Raph’s thumb brushed over the back of Wyatt’s hand. His knot had grown at the base of his cock, wide and dusky. Wyatt’s hole squeezed. That would’ve been a pleasure to take inside his body.
“You’re not freaking out.”
Wyatt sighed. “It’s not sinking in yet.”
“Look, we’re brothers—”
“Stepbrothers. Mom and Dad married.”
“You think those people care about the details?” Raph narrowed his eyes, jerking his chin at the window. “I’m not leaving you alone with a kid like some goddamn bastard, okay? Dad’s gonna freak. So’s Mom.”
Wyatt’s stomach plunged. He hadn’t thought about his parents’ reactions. “Oh my fuck. I can’t do this to them.”
“Neither can I.”
Like Wyatt, Raph loved their father. Dad had taken them on family trips to local recitals, had puffed his chest when Wyatt and his siblings performed for him. Mom had sewn suits for Wyatt and Raph, and dresses for Penny. She’d taught Raph to dance, and Raph had taught the foxtrot to Wyatt when Wyatt was eight.
Wyatt remembered the pride on his parents’ faces when he’d told them he would enroll in college, when he wanted to study business so he and Raph could set up a company together.
That dream had shattered a long while ago. Wyatt cringed at the thought of their disappointment, all over again.
“If you get pregnant, we’re gonna have to abort the baby.”
The word abort sent chills down Wyatt’s spine. He thought about the gleam of scalpels, the bright lights above an operating table. His scar itched; Wyatt rubbed his belly, and Raph’s gaze anchored on the silvery skin there. So Wyatt left his hand on top of his scar, as though he could hide his past from Raph.
“I’m not thinking about it,” he said, burying his face in Raph’s solid thigh. “I’m not ready for this.”
“We’ll have to be,” Raph said, stroking his fingers through Wyatt’s hair. “Dad’s got a couple of interviews coming up. National news and all. He might mention us at the news conferences.”
“Tell him not to,” Wyatt groaned. He didn’t feel any different from an hour ago—maybe well-fucked, but not pregnant. “Maybe you’re thinking too much into this. Maybe you didn’t come inside me.”
Raph sighed. “Fine. We’ll give it a week or two. I’ll check up on you after that, okay?”
Wyatt gulped. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Except his body ached, his skin damp from sex, and he now knew the slide of Raph’s finger inside him, trying to search out his come.
Raph slipped his hands under Wyatt’s arms, lifting him off the bed. Wyatt whined. But Raph wasn’t swayed—he walked Wyatt to the bathroom, sat him on the toilet, and ran a washcloth under the faucet. “Gonna clean you up.”
Wyatt sighed.
The
