And yet he wouldn’t give up on Wyatt, not for anything.
“We might all get together at some point,” Raph said. Dad perked up.
Grandma looked sharply at Raph, rubbing her chest. “We’ll do better without that boy around,” she said, her lips curled in disdain. “Seeing him here gives me some mighty pains.”
“He’s our son, Elizabeth,” Mom said, her lips thinning. “He has done no wrong.”
Grandma narrowed her eyes. Raph remembered the piano room, all over again. In a low, scratchy voice, Grandma said, “I have a weak heart, Tanya. Do you wish me to die?”
“No, no, of course not,” Mom hurried to say, grimacing. “I did not mean anything like that. Stan and I appreciate all you’ve done for us.”
But deep down, Raph wondered how many of them wished Grandma would die. Maybe of a heart attack, maybe of old age. If she were gone, Wyatt wouldn’t balk at visiting Mom and Dad so much. Dad would lose the years on his face, and Mom would smile more.
“Have you found an omega yet, son?” Dad asked, peering at him. “You’re getting on in years. I thought I’d see you settle down.”
“I’ve been looking,” Raph said.
Mom’s eyes lit up, as though she were glad for the change in topic. “Really? You’ve refused to commit for a while.”
Because I’ve never found anyone like Wyatt. Raph shrugged. “I thought I’d be more selective.”
“If you’d like to bring an omega home for dinner, you’re very welcome to,” Mom said, smiling warmly. “I know you’re all busy with your lives, but having the right mate makes everything so much better—you’ll have someone to rely on, and share your joys and sorrows with.”
I know that, Mom.
She looked at him, her expression accepting. And Raph wanted to tell her, at least.
Whereas his dad had always been busy with work, looking out for the rest of the town, Mom had tried to spend time with her children. Raph had been wary of her at first, when she’d married his dad; Grandma had been feeding him stories about cruel stepmothers, and wicked witches and crying children.
But Tanya Fleming had taught Raph to dance, had looked out for Raph the same way she did for her own biological kids. She had patched Raph’s injuries when he fell, or speak up for him when he got into trouble with Grandma.
Years ago, while Dad had been busy at the police station, Mom had brought Raph and his new siblings to the zoo, the park, the basketball arena.
Then they’d get home, and Dad would ask each of them about their days—sometimes he’d ask Raph first, and sometimes he’d ask Penny first. Or sometimes he’d ask Wyatt to play the piano for them, and Wyatt would perk up, smiling even with Grandma’s presence.
At seven, Raph had been slightly resentful when Dad spent hours at a time with Wyatt and Penny. Over the years, he’d grown to respect his father for the decisions he’d made. Mom and Dad had built a family from two fractured halves.
With his relationship with Wyatt, Raph was afraid that he’d break them apart, all over again.
Dinner crawled by. Raph skirted the conversations that touched on his life, instead asking about Dad’s interviews, and Grandma’s plans for the garden. When the plates for the last course were cleared, Raph breathed a sigh.
“Mom, could you show me your violas?” he asked, trying to smile. “I’ve been thinking of switching away from my violin.”
“Of course,” she said, beaming.
Raph grinned at Dad, kissed Grandma on the cheek. When he stepped out of the dining room, out of Grandma’s sight, he allowed himself to relax.
Mom looked over her shoulder at him, her smile fading. “You’ve been bothered by something.”
He huffed, amused. “You can tell?”
“I’ve watched you grow up, Raph. You, Penny, and Wyatt.” And Mom held his gaze for a beat too long, before she smiled again, turning them down the carpeted hallways to her viola room.
It occurred to him, suddenly, that maybe things weren’t as much of a secret as he’d thought they were. Not if his mom knew what to look out for. Like an omega’s honey scent. Like that new bonding mark on Wyatt’s neck. His stomach lurched.
It was only when Mom locked the door of the viola room, turning to him, that Raph breathed out, closing his eyes. This room was a safe space. “How much do you know?”
“Some. Enough to make guesses with.”
The viola room was half the size of his father’s study, with glass cases on each side, and a climate control device built into each case. Raph almost wanted to say, If you’d saved up your money to buy a house instead of your violas, you wouldn’t have to live under Grandma’s roof.
But who was he to judge?
Mom stopped by a cabinet in the middle, pulling a wood-framed door open. Within, a viola stood on its pedestal, its polish gleaming under the accent lighting. Raph remembered that instrument; he’d learned to play on it. Still remembered the pressure of metal strings on his fingertips.
“I started playing again,” Raph blurted, rubbing his fingers. “Wy and I have been practicing for the audition. We’ve got Hazel in for the vocals—she’s good at remembering melodies.”
Mom’s eyebrows rose. “I’ve never heard you talk about Wyatt. Not in recent years.”
Raph stared at the curled feet of the viola’s pedestal, his pulse skipping. “I guess I haven’t.”
“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
He swallowed. When he glanced at her, her eyes were soft, patient, and Raph didn’t have the heart to bring her pain. So he asked, “What’s it like to be a mom? Or a parent.”
Tanya sighed, looking at the viola, too. “Difficult. It’s a blessing sometimes, watching your children grow. And sometimes it’s painful, when you know your babies are hurting, but you can’t take away their pain.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve hurt
