Valen hugged them both, and Sam leaned into his alphas, pushing away the lingering unease from his nightmare. Just for today, he’d pretend that his life could be perfect, too.
28
Harris
As the weeks passed and Sam’s belly grew, so did Harris’ dread.
At seven months, Sam’s belly stretched his largest sweaters. During his days off from work, he borrowed Harris and Valen’s shirts, and even those hugged his abdomen. At work, Sam had been moving more slowly, carefully, protective of his baby around the stoves.
And yet Harris worried. With two more months to the expected delivery date, anything could go wrong. What if Sam scalded himself? What if he accidentally hit his baby bump? What if complications arose during the birth, and Harris lost Sam, too?
Harris remembered the despair after Nicholas’ death, the bleak days without his omega. Didn’t want to remind Sam or Valen about it—Sam had enough to worry about, without thinking about possibly dying.
And Valen didn’t seem to understand just how possible it was for something to go wrong, for Sam to slip from their fingers in just minutes. Valen was young, he hadn’t witnessed his own omega’s death. Of course he didn’t know.
It was the morning of the station party when Harris caved.
He woke to the mattress trembling. Wasn’t unusual, except Sam was on his knees, kneeling, rocking forward with Valen’s thrusts.
Valen stroked down Sam’s belly, biting into his shoulder, his hips meeting Sam’s with dull, meaty slaps. Sounded like he was going hard, Sam taking all of him.
“Look, Big H’s awake,” Valen growled, running his wrists up Sam’s chest, sliding into him. Sam groaned. Then Valen paused, scooped Sam close, and deposited Sam just next to Harris. Valen grinned past Sam’s shoulder. “Happy birthday, Big H.”
“Happy birthday,” Sam panted, smiling above Harris. His cock was flushed, straining up against his belly, and he jerked forward when Valen slid back into him.
Not like Harris needed to be reminded of his age, with these young things ready for sex every other minute.
“We were gonna wake you up with a good fucking,” Valen said, pausing between thrusts. “For your big fifty. I’m just prepping Sam up—”
Then Sam’s face twisted, and he cried out.
Harris’ stomach dropped.
“Valen!” he snapped, suddenly awake. Watched Sam for other signs of pain.
Sam groaned, his eyes wide, and Harris couldn’t read him.
“Stop that, V,” Harris growled.
Valen paused, his eyes darting to Harris. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re hurting Sam.”
Valen’s eyes flew to the mirror, checking Sam’s expression. Then he leaned to the side, studying Sam. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Sam panted, his skin gleaming with sweat.
“Sam’s fine, Valen said, wary now. “Okay if we continue?”
Sam nodded.
But Harris wasn’t in the mood for this, didn’t want to worry about every other second when Sam could be in pain. “No, I’m not interested.”
Valen had been starting up his thrusts again, but he slowed down, careful. “Nothing’s wrong, Harris.”
“Is something the matter?” Sam asked, his forehead creased. He didn’t seem to be hurting, but that look on his face, that look of pain or pleasure... It haunted Harris.
“I can’t stay here right now,” Harris said, swinging his legs off the bed. “You guys continue.”
“Big H,” Valen said, an affronted look in his eyes. He slid out of Sam, climbing off the bed. “It’s your birthday.”
“I’m fine,” Harris said.
“No, you’re not.” Valen strode toward him, his gaze sharp, his cock gleaming with slick. Sam hesitated on the bed, watching them. “Lighten up! We’ve got stuff planned for you—breakfast and everything. But lots of sex, too.”
Harris grimaced, and Valen frowned. Sam came to stand by Valen, and they looked so perfect, the two of them with hardly any wrinkles, their bodies still light and agile. Silver scars on their necks—none of their marks on Harris. Gods, Harris felt old, just looking at them.
“Harris,” Sam said, so quietly that Harris wasn’t sure if he’d misheard. Maybe his hearing was failing. Maybe he really was too old.
“I’m heading to work,” Harris said. Wiped the sleep from his face. “You stay here, Sam, Valen.”
“You can’t do that,” Valen said, his frown deepening. “Sam and I have been planning this for a month!”
You have? Harris wavered, touched. But he glanced at Sam’s belly, his popped-out navel, and decided he didn’t want to risk it. Two months to the birth. “I’ll have a better birthday without worrying about you.”
“We’ve been doing fine,” Valen snapped. “For gods’ sakes, Harris. Sam made bowls of chocolate syrup and whipped cream—”
No, Harris’ gut hissed.
“And I will have a better birthday knowing we aren’t putting Sam at risk,” Harris said. Met Sam’s eyes—Sam gave him a tiny smile.
“You could do all that with me,” Valen said, raising his eyebrows.
Right now, Harris wasn’t in a mood to do anything. “We’ve got the party this afternoon,” he said. “I have to head down to check the logistics. Put the rings on when you show up.”
“You’ll have to wear your ring too, then.” Valen glowered. “The gold one.”
They hadn’t even proposed, and it wasn’t fair to make Sam wear a ring he’d been hesitant to accept. Gods, I’m a bastard.
Harris shook his head. “No, V. It’s risky.”
“Everything’s risky to you,” Valen said, his eyes flashing. “Learn to live a little, Harris.”
That was for young people, wasn’t it? Wasn’t like there was much of Harris’ life left. “I’ll leave that to you two,” he said. “See you later.”
He stepped into the bathroom and shut the door, washing up. Wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing, turning them away like that.
Once upon a time, Nicholas had celebrated Harris’ birthday with strawberries and cream, and that had been a good day.
Three months later, Nicholas had died.
Celebrating Harris’ birthday now, with food, just seemed like it would lead to another string of misfortune. Not that Harris was superstitious or anything.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, the bedroom was empty, and Harris heard the creak of floorboards upstairs. Valen had taken Sam up to Sam’s old bedroom, then. Smart
