And maybe he misses being in heat with Kade. It hadn’t been pleasant the past five years, looking for one-night stands with people he barely knew, going home with them. They’d fucked him and turned over, and he never received the satisfaction he’d sought.
Then he’d returned to Meadowfall, and Kade’s touch has been bliss.
“I didn’t know you can skip heats, though.” Kade lathers soap in his hands, then up his forearms, before rinsing them under running water.
“There are some that do that,” Felix says. He doesn’t actually know. Maybe Taylor has pills for that. He would have to, right, if he’s concealing his identity all the time? “I got them from my brother.”
“Can’t be good for you if you miss your heats. Normal people just suppress them partially.”
I would have suppressed it, Felix thinks, if we hadn’t met that night.
Behind the framed painting, he cradles the bump of his abdomen, relief whispering through his limbs. At least Kade hadn’t noticed it when he touched Felix earlier. “I’ll probably be fine,” Felix says. “It’ll just be for a while.”
“And then what?”
Felix shrugs, looking at the beveled edges of the bathroom mirror. “I’ll find something else, I guess.”
“Would be nice if your paintings take off,” Kade says.
Felix sighs. The website has been doing better, but it’ll still be a while before he earns a decent living from that. He rinses his hands and follows Kade out of the bathroom, down the hallway to the kitchen. Pots and pans clatter. Felix’s stomach twists; he can’t possibly face Kade’s mom.
“I had Felix bring his painting over,” Kade says, stepping in first. “The one Dad liked.”
Felix braces himself, trying not to think about Kade’s dad, or the old home, or bills and money and his own father’s smile. He takes a deep breath, then rounds the fridge. “Hi again, Mrs. Brentwood.”
Kade’s mom beams, short and plump, her dark eyes lighting up. “Felix! It’s good to see you again. I’m glad you found Kade.”
“We bumped into each other.” Guilt slithers through his veins, so he turns the framed painting around, showing it to her. “Kade wanted this painting. We thought you might like to see it.”
Her face brightens as she scans over the glittering sea, the busy restaurant and its empty boardwalk, but her gaze returns to Felix after a moment. “It’s a beautiful painting, dear. And how have you been?”
“Fine, I suppose,” he says, but Mrs. Brentwood steps forward with a kind smile, taking the painting from him. What he doesn’t expect is for her to hand the painting to Kade, and pull him into her arms.
She smells vaguely like food, like vanilla and lilac and loamy earth. The smells plunge him into a swathe of memories: a cheerful dinner table with six people, slicing carrots in a familiar kitchen, home, and his throat tightens, suddenly. He hadn’t realized he missed her.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice cracks just a notch. Tears prickle in his eyes, flooding out through his lashes.
He hunches to hide his face in his shoulder, and he’s holding on, thinking I’m sorry your husband died. I’m sorry I caused you to suffer. I didn’t want to hurt any of you. Then he’s shaking, crying harder than he should, and he can’t stop it. He can’t rein in the sadness that wells up in his chest. He hates that he can’t even control himself.
“There, there,” she says, rubbing his back. He sobs harder. How could she accept him, when she doesn’t even know what he’s done?
Felix trembles, and he feels another touch, a warm, steady hand on his lower spine, and Kade’s heat behind him. Kade’s presence soothes him, provides an anchor he clings onto, and he drags himself away from those memories. Kade’s here. Things will be fine. Even though they aren’t, but Kade has promised him safety before, and maybe he will again.
He sniffles, pulling away from her. Kade’s mom pulls a tissue from her apron. Felix accepts it gratefully, blowing his nose into it. He’s only just met her again, and he shouldn’t be breaking down into her shoulder. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“That’s fine, Felix.” Mrs. Brentwood peers at him over her glasses. “Are you feeling okay?”
He nods. Her nostrils flare, though, and he holds still, suddenly cautious of what scents she’s picking up. He should only smell like Kade, and very slightly like himself, but... What if she finds out about the pregnancy? He reaches up to touch his belly, and catches himself midway.
Mrs. Brentwood eyes him carefully. “You smell different,” she says, and he hears her measured tone, the way she’s saying something other than You smell like Kade. “Did something change?”
She knows. His skin feels hot and cold at the same time. Her gaze fixes on his eyes, but it flickers down for a heartbeat, before darting back, and all the blood drains from his face. She can’t know about the child. Even Kade doesn’t know yet. “Nothing,” Felix says, his voice high-pitched and scratchy. “Everything’s fine, Mrs. Brentwood.”
Her lips thin then, as though she disapproves, and Felix’s chest constricts. Does she think it’s someone else’s? He can’t face her if she does, not when her son is his bondmate. His pulse thunders in his ears.
“I shouldn’t be imposing.” Felix tries smiles brightly, like his father always does in front of strangers, and both Kade and his mom can probably see past his pretense. “I should let you and Kade enjoy your Saturday.”
“Kade says you have paintings for sale,” she says, her eyes still on him.
Felix doesn’t know what Kade thinks of all this, whether he’s deduced Felix’s secrets from his mom’s questioning, but he needs to
