Kade swallows, watching him. He wants Felix closer, wants them pressed skin-to-skin. “I need to strip if I really want to get clean.”
“Then strip,” Felix murmurs, his gaze raking over Kade’s abs, to his groin. Kade rolls his hips, pushing into his hand. “But... maybe that won’t be a good idea. Stripping in the store. Maybe you should do that at home.”
Kade sighs. “Not sure how I’m supposed to get home,” he says. “Either I wash the jeans here, or I get my bike sticky when I ride.”
“It got sticky the other day.” Felix glances up at him, eyes dark.
“Wasn’t completely cleaned off from that.” Kade sets his hand on Felix’s, pressing his palm snug against himself. Pleasure whispers through his body. “Found some stains today.”
“I’m sorry.” Felix winces, his gaze darting to the door. “I should have cleaned better.”
“Try again,” Kade says, except the doors slide open, and a woman in yoga clothes walks in. Kade sighs.
Felix yanks his hand away, pasting on a bright smile. “Good evening! The slushie machines aren’t working, so I hope you aren’t hoping for some!”
“I’m just here for some cookies,” she says, waving back.
“I should get the mop,” Felix mutters, stepping away. “Be back soon.”
Kade sighs. He rubs the bundled shirt over his abs again, grimacing at the sticky residue left on his skin. The slush melts into a pink puddle around his shoes, and he dreads the thought of leaving footprints everywhere—in the store, on his bike, back home. So he stands in place until Felix hurries back with a mop and pail, setting them down.
The woman steps up to the counter, and Felix rushes off again. Kade crouches, soaking up the spills with the towels. When Felix returns three minutes later, he crouches next to Kade, wincing. “I’m sorry about all this.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Kade says, meeting his eyes. “It’s not your fault.”
He means all of it. Not just the slushie machine or the spill. He means the breakup, the baby, and everything wrong between them.
Felix looks down at the wads of crumpled paper towels on the floor, lips thinning. “Some of it is my fault. Maybe all of it.”
He scrunches up a fresh tissue, dragging it through pink water. Kade reads the weight of Felix’s regrets in his sagging shoulders. He reaches out, snagging Felix’s hand. Felix stills, eyes flickering up to meet his.
“I don’t care whose fault it is,” Kade murmurs. Except maybe it’s his, and he doesn’t know how to correct this. But Felix is his omega, and he has loved Felix for too long for any of this to matter.
He leans in, closing the distance between them. Felix’s eyes widen. Kade brushes their lips together, relishing the softness of his omega’s mouth, the puff of warm breath on his skin.
I shouldn’t be doing this. You didn’t want me five years ago. What makes me think you’ll want me now? Kade pulls away, his heart pounding in his ears. But Felix leans in, following his mouth, and he presses his lips to Kade’s, sliding them over his, his fingers squeezing around Kade’s hand.
So maybe Felix wants kisses. Kade can give him that, too. He drops his balled-up shirt, slipping his hand behind Felix’s neck, holding him close, and it feels like redemption when Felix kisses him, slow and sweet. There’s only him and Felix in this moment, and Felix feels like home.
When they pull apart, Felix glances away, a rosy flush spreading across his cheeks. “Sorry.”
Kade sighs. Haven’t they gone through this already? “Why are you saying sorry again?”
“Because.” Felix runs the paper towels over the floor, then fresh ones up the side of the counter.
But Felix had returned the kiss, and... maybe there’s hope for them. Maybe Kade needs to suck it up and ask the important questions. “We need to talk, you know.”
“We’re already talking.” Felix wipes down the counter next, soaking up more pink water.
“I meant about five years ago.”
Felix tenses, fixing his gaze on the slushie machine. Past the broken window, the machine yawns dark and shadowy, like a creature’s maw. “Can we not talk about that?”
“What’s wrong with me?” Kade asks, and he wishes he could take the words back the moment he says them. But he can’t, and Felix doesn’t move. “How do I fix myself?”
Felix turns, his mouth falling open. “What?”
Kade wets his lips, his heart hammering in his chest. “You said I—You said I wasn’t good enough.”
Saying it makes it feel real, and Kade hates that there isn’t a simple solution to this.
“I did?” Felix blinks, frowning down at his hands. “I, um. I had... issues. We shouldn’t be talking about this. I don’t think I said you weren’t good enough.”
How could he forget? Kade stares at the silvery scar on Felix’s wrist. “You said I could never afford the things you want.” He swallows, shame burning through his face. “You said you were finding someone better for you. And I get it. I’m still working the same job. I can’t buy a mansion like you used to live in.”
Felix gapes, his eyes growing wide with horror. “That—I said that?”
“Don’t you remember?” Kade scowls, wondering just how forgettable that day was to Felix. “You packed and left.”
“You should go home,” Felix says, his throat working. “Let’s just... not talk about that, okay?”
“What about us?” Because it hurts again, Felix not wanting to patch their relationship back. What about our bond?
Felix glances at the door, as though he’s thinking of running. “This is fine between us right now,” he says, chest heaving. “Just dinner and sex. That’s all I need.”
He looks scared. Kade doesn’t know what the hell he’s thinking. If Kade pushes too hard, Felix might leave again, and he can’t risk that. He needs Felix close. Why can’t he have a relationship like his parents did?
“Fine,” Kade says, looking down at his fists. He can’t hold on to anything. And that makes him a failure, doesn’t it? The thought feels like
