That had been nice.
Sometimes, Valen wished he had never let go of his omega. Wished he’d done things differently, even if he still didn’t want a baby. If he became a dad, what if he punched his kid like his dad had punched him?
And yet...
If he ever had to choose between Harris and Sam, who would it be? They were both different. Both good, both filling up parts of Valen’s life that the other couldn’t. Sam had been someone Valen could protect. Harris took Valen’s punches, absorbed Valen’s violence when he needed to hit something.
Just that he hadn’t seen Sam in years, and Sam probably had a better alpha by now.
Valen rolled to his feet when he heard Harris’ Porsche rumbling outside. Still hadn’t pulled on his pants. Did he want to? Maybe.
He was halfway to the door, one foot down his pants, when the door opened by a crack. Harris stuck his head in.
“Valen?” Harris asked across the mirrored foyer.
“Yeah?” Valen stopped in front of him, admiring the blue-gray of Harris’ eyes, the silvery strands in his hair. Breathed in Harris’ oak scent, and pressed a light kiss to his lips. Harris didn’t kiss back.
“You know a Sam Brentwood?” Harris asked, his voice low.
Valen blinked, unnerved. What did Sam have to do with anything? How did Harris even find out about him? “Why are you asking that?”
“Because he’s the instructor I hired.”
Valen stared at Harris for a second longer. Then his stomach dropped.
No, he wasn’t ready for this.
But Harris pushed the door open. Past his shoulder, Valen stared as their cooking instructor stepped up to the door, his cheeks flushed with cold.
Sam still looked the same—that mop of dark wispy hair, his midnight-blue eyes. His slender body, his narrow shoulders. He looked older now, warier, his gaze darting around.
Then he looked up, met Valen’s eyes, and Valen froze. Couldn’t breathe.
The last time he’d seen Sam, Sam had been holding his belly, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes shining with tears. Valen had tried to stop him from leaving, had cursed himself for having all the wrong words to say.
And now Sam Brentwood was standing on his doorstep, eleven years later. Not like Valen could do anything—he was dating Harris.
Harris stepped up through the front door, looking between them, his eyes shrewd. Like he already knew Sam was Valen’s ex, and he thought Valen had cheated on Sam, or something. Fuck.
“Valen,” Harris said carefully. “This is Sam. Sam, Valen.”
So what was Valen supposed to do? Shake Sam’s hand? After that breakup?
Sam’s throat worked, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know what. That made two of them.
Valen extended his hand. Maybe they could start with that.
“You still have the option to leave,” Harris said, looking at Sam. “I’d send you home.”
Sam’s eyes flickered to Harris. Then he looked back at Valen, and sucked in a deep breath. “One lesson is fine.”
Sam looked like he could use a hug. He placed his hand gingerly in Valen’s. Squeezed.
His skin was cold, his fingers thin, and something roared in Valen’s chest. “You’ve lost weight,” Valen blurted. Then he pulled Sam through the doorway. Sam yelped, stumbling. Valen caught him in his arms, hugged him close.
He hadn’t known how good it would feel, just holding Sam again. Breathing in that familiar dahlia. No woodsy alpha scent. Sam smelled like food, like spices and vegetables, and beneath that, there was the low, heady scent of his musk.
Sam was in heat.
Valen froze.
And then something in him jerked, right behind his navel, and the hot, thrumming electricity of his rut razed through his body. His breath punched out of his throat. Valen gasped, winded, his blood rushing down between his legs.
“The hell,” he gasped, leaning away so he wasn’t prodding Sam with his cock. “I—I just...”
He hadn’t even wanted to sleep with Sam. Just hold him. But his body remembered Sam somehow, remembered the times they’d fooled around in Sam’s bedroom during his heat, going through boxes and boxes of condoms, Sam sweaty and flushed beneath him.
Valen glanced at Harris. He’d never been in a rut with Harris, because they were both alpha. To have his body react this way to someone he’d just met... Valen quailed. “I didn’t mean to,” he said, his voice strained. Didn’t help that he was still half-dressed in his pants, the pant leg sliding off his thigh. “I’ll just—I’ll just get my pants on.”
Harris’ nostrils flared, his eyes unreadable. He could smell Valen’s musk. Then his gaze dropped to Valen’s hips, where his cock strained behind his boxer-briefs. “You’re in a rut?”
Valen winced. That was answer enough.
Harris glanced at Sam, and Sam looked between Valen’s legs, too. A soft whine slipped from his throat.
Gods, just hearing that sound... Valen’s cock throbbed. He resisted the urge to reach down, stroke himself.
“You’re fine with staying?” Harris asked Sam, his tone a little gentler.
Sam dragged his eyes away from Valen. “I—I am,” he rasped.
There was a bulge in Sam’s jeans, too. Valen remembered the push of Sam’s cock, the way it had sat heavy and hungry in his palm.
Valen stepped away from them both, rubbing his face. This wasn’t supposed to happen. “I’ll head upstairs. Get dressed and stuff. You guys continue with the class—I’ll pass. See you later.”
He turned, except Harris caught him by the arm, his grip firm. Their eyes met.
Harris studied him for a heartbeat, his eyes calculating. Then he shut the front door, and locked it. Nodded toward the kitchen. “C’mon, we’re getting started with the lesson.”
Valen jerked his arm, except Harris’ grip tightened. Harris wanted him at the lesson? With his cock so hard it could tear through his briefs? “You can’t be serious, Big H. You know I can’t do this.”
Harris nodded at the kitchen, looking at Sam. “You up for it?”
Sam straightened his shoulders,
