“Hey,” Kade says, and his voice rumbles into Felix’s ears, familiar and low.
Felix jerks, one hand coming up to cradle his belly. “Can I help you?” He stares at the plain blue shirt on Kade’s chest. The fabric clings softly to his pecs. Felix drags his gaze away, unable to meet Kade’s eyes. “I’m afraid some of our pumps are not accepting cards right now—”
“About yesterday,” Kade says, still looking at him. Felix feels like a sheet of glass one second away from shattering. He doesn’t want to talk about yesterday.
He turns, stepping away from the counter, brushing by Susan. He wants to say Please help me with the register for a bit, but his throat is glued shut and if he says anything right now, he’ll break.
He strides past the shelves, along the fridges at the back, bracing himself for I can’t believe you lied to me and I wish you were never my omega, and the soda bottles in the fridge blur into a mess of colors.
Kade follows. Felix feels him striding through another aisle somehow, and he’s barreling forward to the back room, thinking about running out the loading entrance, thinking about locking himself up so he can hide and not be scared. Three more yards and I’ll be gone.
Warm, callused fingers circle his elbow. His breath hitches, and Kade tugs him away from the backroom door, spinning him around.
Felix wobbles, yanking at his arms. Tears spill down his cheeks. He doesn’t need Kade to see him cry. Doesn’t need Kade to see any of this. He’s put Kade through enough.
“Stop running,” Kade murmurs, hauling him close.
Felix stumbles into the wall of his chest. It radiates warmth into his skin, and he shudders at that heat, needing to burrow closer, needing to get away. Why are you touching me if you hate me?
Kade’s fingers squeeze. “About yesterday. I shouldn’t have left.”
Felix blinks rapidly, his chest so tight he can’t breathe. He wishes desperately that Kade will stop talking, so neither of them will get hurt again. Kade had left yesterday. He hadn’t wanted to know anything else.
Felix blinks rapidly, his chest so tight he can’t breathe, and he trembles, wishing desperately that Kade will stop talking, so he won’t get hurt again. Kade had left yesterday. He hadn’t needed to know anything else about a child that isn’t his.
“Look, I don’t care if it—if it isn’t mine, okay?” Kade says, but his breath catches. He’s lying. He cares a lot whose child it is. “I said I’d protect you.”
Why are you doing this to us? Felix shudders, torn between pushing him away, and clinging on. I’m leaving Meadowfall. You didn’t want children. “No,” he chokes. “Go away.”
“I swore an oath,” Kade says in his ear, his hand slipping down to Felix’s wrist where the bonding mark is. “I’m standing by it.”
And Felix breaks against his chest, biting his lip hard to stop himself from sobbing. Kade can’t do this to him. He doesn’t want a child, he doesn’t want a lying omega, and he doesn’t have to remind Felix of what he’ll be losing when he leaves this place behind.
Felix whines. Kade cups a large hand behind his head, pressing his face to his chest. It feels like warmth and safety. Felix wants so badly to stay, wants to be held and have Kade tell him everything’s all right.
Kade holds him. He runs his wrist down Felix’s spine, along his sides, marking his arms. It feels like forgiveness and belonging, like acceptance.
Felix crumples against him, shaking, wishing he could say It’s really yours. But Kade doesn’t want a child. Felix squeezes his eyes shut and shudders, his insides tearing apart.
When he calms, Felix realizes they’re in the half-shadows of the back room, and the brightly-lit aisles outside feel alien to him, full of colorful rows of shampoo. He steps back, wiping his face on his sleeves, already missing Kade’s warmth.
“Sorry,” he croaks, his nose stopped. “I should get back to work.”
But Kade catches his wrist again. Felix pauses, raw.
“I’m still here,” Kade says, his voice low. His nostrils flare. Felix winces to think what he might smell. He’s still using the scent suppressants. “And I’ll protect the... the baby too. Just so you’re aware.”
Felix glances up, horrified that he’s somehow influenced him. Kade, who didn’t ask for a child at all. “You don’t have to,” he says. “I can manage.”
Kade studies him, his eyes unreadable in the shadows. Felix looks at the tiled floor, afraid of what Kade might see in him. He pulls his collar up, wiping his face with it. When he steps out of the backroom, Kade follows, the heat of his body radiating through the space between them.
“What time are you getting off work?”
Felix bites his lip, glancing at the clock. He won’t be seeing Kade anymore. He’s moving out tonight. But Kade waits at the counter when he rounds it, and Susan raises her brows, worry in her eyes.
If he’s not going to see Kade anymore... If he has one chance to feel Kade’s warmth against him, Felix will take it.
“Four,” he says.
Kade nods. His gaze lingers on Felix, and he turns, stepping out of the door.
32
Kade
Four o’clock rolls around too slowly.
Kade can’t concentrate on programming or debugging or any of the tiny details he’s supposed to be cleaning up. The letters swim on the screen like a foreign language, so he sighs and jams his headphones over his ears, putting on a playlist.
The songs remind him of Felix. They’ve been to concerts together, squirmed in excitement when Kade’s mom drove them to Highton for autograph sessions, and sung along to When You Climb into the Clouds on the radio. At twenty, Kade had expected that Felix would stay with him forever.
Felix is pregnant with someone else’s baby.
Kade grimaces. The thought stings like a slap, and he pushes away from his desk, throwing the headphones
