They’d seen Penny leave. They could see their parents turn them away, too.
“I suppose I am,” Wyatt said.
Raph grinned, his eyes bright. Wyatt realized that Raph wanted this baby, regardless of the consequences. He’d meant what he said to Penny. And maybe Raph really would stay. Wyatt swallowed hard, his pulse fluttering.
“Should we tell Hazel?” he asked.
Raph glanced at the kitchen. “Your daughter. Your decision to make.”
“Part of me wants to wait until I’m past the first trimester. The other part says Hazel will catch on to the puking.”
They didn’t know if there would be a miscarriage, or anything like that. But Wyatt liked the thought of bearing Raph’s baby. He wanted Raph to look at him like he mattered most in the world. And so he hoped that this pregnancy would go fine. That he could tell Hazel, and eight months later, he’d give birth to a healthy, happy child.
“I think I will,” he said. “After breakfast.”
16
Wyatt
Naturally, breakfast dragged.
Wyatt had spied the violin case behind the coffee table. When he set the last of the rinsed dishes away, he stepped into the living room, and found Raph with the case open, his violin tucked between his chin and shoulder.
Wyatt stopped breathing.
Against the bright window, Raph cut a fine figure—all broad shoulders and strong jaw, his eyes downcast, his lips beautiful. He had looked younger a decade ago, in Grandma’s piano room, thinner, his bow darting across the strings. Now, he looked warier, more mature. He looked like an alpha Wyatt wanted in his family.
“I did a few chords last night,” Raph said. “When I picked it up at home.”
“Yeah?” Wyatt said.
“Not at my best right now. Will need practice.” Raph tested a few notes, and the violin’s mellow purr tingled down Wyatt’s spine.
“Will you teach me?” Hazel asked.
“Sure. After I get the hang of this.” Raph played Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, his bow sliding slow on the strings, his lips pursed in concentration.
“Do you still remember...” Wyatt’s heart pattered. “The songs we played?”
Raph glanced up, and met his eyes. And maybe the look they shared was timeless—it was the same way Raph had looked at him nine years ago on that piano bench, and then a month ago, when they’d first mated. “Yeah,” Raph said. “‘Course I do.”
“Will you play Songs About Us?” And why was his heart beating so fast, when they were just talking about a song?
Raph held his gaze. “I’ll need piano accompaniment.”
“I-I can do that.”
He’d played it on the piano sometimes, when Hazel asked about the CDs her grandpa hummed along to. He’d never thought Raph would be in his living room, never thought he’d hear Raph’s violin again.
“You’ll have to start,” Raph said. “I’ll join in.”
Hazel followed Wyatt to the piano, plopping herself on the edge of the bench. With trembling fingers, Wyatt set the metronome. Then he pressed his fingers to the cool white keys, and played.
The first few notes came hesitantly; Wyatt was only too aware that Raph was listening. But he knew the words to this song, knew the melody that would follow in the next few bars.
Wyatt glanced over his shoulder at Raph, and found Raph closer now, so close that Wyatt could reach out and touch him. Then he watched as Raph pressed his fingers to the violin strings, as though he was remembering the accompanying notes he could’ve played.
Between them, Hazel hummed, and Wyatt’s music soared, filling the living room.
Raph’s violin joined in a beat later, when Wyatt’s notes dipped low. The violin sang, and the piano rumbled, and the music harmonized like it had done years ago, back when they were younger and more innocent.
Forget me not in the years to come
Together, we’ll be stronger as one
Through the quakes and the storms
When the clouds part, the sun will shine again
It sounded good. More than that. It raised the hairs on Wyatt’s arms, and even though Raph slipped on the timing and a couple of notes, he was brilliant. Sunlight caught on his darting bow. He leaned forward, matching his notes to Wyatt’s.
Wyatt poured everything he felt into the song, because I love you wasn’t enough to convey everything he felt for this man.
Then Raph fumbled, trailing off, and he grimaced. Pulled his bow away from the violin. “Sorry.”
Sorry? That was the last thing Wyatt needed from him. He stood, his throat tight, and padded over to Raph. “That was beautiful.”
“Nah, I could’ve done better.” Raph scratched his neck, his face red. “I’ll go back and practice—”
Wyatt caught Raph’s face in his hands, pulled him down, and kissed him hard. “You did great,” he whispered. “I’m proud of you.”
Raph chuckled lowly against his lips. “I’m an alpha. I don’t need you to be proud of me.”
“Proud of you anyway,” Wyatt said. “It doesn’t matter what you are.”
For a long moment, Raph stared at him. Then he settled into a smile, and leaned his forehead against Wyatt’s. “All right.”
“Are we going to play some more?” Hazel asked, wriggling on the piano bench. “The kissing thing is gross, but I’ll deal if you teach me how to play the violin.”
Raph laughed. “Let me get better first, and then I’ll teach you.”
Wyatt smiled, basking in the cheer of his family. Then his stomach roiled, squeezing. Gods, it would be a pain, dealing with morning sickness all over again. “Be right back,” he said, heading to the bathroom.
Raph frowned. Wyatt ducked into the en-suite in his bedroom, and folded himself over the toilet. Pity about breakfast.
A minute later, Raph was beside him, stroking his back. “Is this gonna happen all the time?”
Wyatt spat, then flushed the toilet. “I’ll get used to it.”
“Are you okay, Dad?” Hazel asked from the doorway. “Do you need to see the doctor?”
Raph winced, glancing at her. Wyatt figured Raph had tried to distract her from the puking—only it never worked with that child. She was
