Hazel pouted, looking back at her worksheets.
Raph was watching Wyatt, though, his gaze solemn, as though he’d caught Wyatt trying to keep his secrets.
“Moods, huh?” he murmured. Wyatt’s heart sank. “I’d help you get into a good mood.”
Well, that wasn’t appropriate, either. Wyatt frowned, pointing at the scatter of Hazel’s worksheets on the table. “Help Hazel, or there’ll be no dinner for you.”
“I can do my homework myself,” Hazel said. “Uncle Raph has his own homework.”
“I do.” Raph shook his phone. “I’ll help if Hazel needs it.”
“Fine.” But Wyatt was smiling when he stepped into the kitchen, more relaxed than he was before. Raph and Hazel seemed to get along. That was fine. It just meant he’d have a third babysitter for his daughter, and that was it.
Certainly it couldn’t mean that Hazel might get a second dad.
Wyatt’s heart fluttered. He’s my stepbrother, he told himself. Except he looked over his shoulder again, and Raph was watching Hazel, a soft look in his eyes.
Raph had promised to be around for Wyatt’s new baby.
Wyatt was okay with that. What wasn’t... was that he might fall in love with Raph. And in no universe would that ever be okay.
When Wyatt unlocked his apartment door that night, he found the living room lights turned off. Instead, a golden glow streamed from the kitchen doorway, lighting the couches. The space under Hazel’s bedroom door was dark; she was asleep.
Glass clinked, and something solid—a bottle?—thumped against the kitchen counter.
Quietly, Wyatt shut the door behind himself, locking it. Until now, he hadn’t glimpsed Raph alone—they’d met all of twice, and each time, Raph was either with him, or someone else.
Wyatt slipped his shoes off, set them on the floor. Then he tiptoed to the kitchen, holding his plastic bag away so it didn’t rustle against him.
In the kitchen, Raph stood by the counter with his head bent, eyes closed, sniffing at the pooled wine in his glass. Then he tipped it into his mouth, savoring it.
Wyatt knew the bite of that wine, the dryness of it, the way it would slide down his gullet, all mellow and warm.
“You had to go for the Moulin Rouge,” he blurted.
Raph turned, glancing at Wyatt sidelong. Then he swallowed, licked his lips, leaving a sheen of damp on his skin. “I’ve never had it.”
“Never?” His cover blown, Wyatt stepped into the kitchen, setting his bag of food in the fridge—the buns were still edible, but weren’t fresh enough for the restaurant’s standards. He’d make sandwiches for Hazel and himself with them.
“You’d think I would, with the sort of booze Mom and Dad have at home, but no.” Raph pressed the wine stopper into the bottle, sliding it back into the wine rack. “Good, though.”
“I wanted a taste,” Wyatt said, pouting.
Raph glanced at the kitchen doorway. In a low voice, he said, “You’re pregnant.”
Wyatt’s stomach gave a jolt. It still hadn’t fully sunken in, the pregnancy. Penny had told him this morning, and he’d had some time to get used to the idea. But an actual baby in his belly? A second child in nine months’ time? Raph’s child? All of it was life-changing.
Especially when Raph had sworn he’d raise the child with Wyatt. Wyatt would see Raph again, for the rest of his life.
He didn’t know what to make of that, except it made his heart pound something fierce.
Wyatt rubbed his palm over his flat belly. “I wish I’d known two weeks in advance. Then I’d have drunken my fill before this happened.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t have a taste,” Raph said. He shrugged, glancing away, his tongue gliding over his lip. And the invitation sent a coil of heat through Wyatt’s gut.
“You have such a dirty mind,” he said.
“Not any worse than yours.”
Wyatt chuckled. Unlike the party, and unlike the drive-in, there was no one here. No one to interrupt them, no one who would judge their actions. And the rest of the night stretched ahead, full of promise.
“Drinking this late?” Wyatt asked, keeping his tone light. His pulse hammered in his veins. “I didn’t promise to be your designated driver.”
Raph met his eyes. “Should I be leaving now?”
“No.” Wyatt swallowed. Calm down. Don’t jump his bones yet. “I figured we might have things to discuss. You know, infant care, visitation, things like that.”
“I’ll be here whenever you need me.”
“Even with your work?”
Raph shrugged. “Yeah, I can take days off for family care. The benefits aren’t bad.”
“What about your boss? Grandma?” The mention of her name sent a chill down Wyatt’s spine. Growing up, Grandma had never liked him—Raph had told him why, time and again, when Wyatt had curled up in Raph’s room and cried.
She was Dad’s mom. When Wyatt was three, he’d broken her precious handmade vase, passed down from four generations ago. Two months later, Wyatt had cringed away from Grandma at Mom and Dad’s wedding. The cameraman had caught it on video, broadcast it on the screen in front of three hundred guests. Grandma hadn’t smiled at Wyatt since.
“Hey, stop thinking about her,” Raph murmured. He set the wineglass down on the counter, stepping over.
“I can only imagine what she’d say about this,” Wyatt said. The possibilities scrolled through his mind. You sick child. Raph is your stepbrother. You’d only disappoint your parents—they never raised you to be this way.
“Shh. Look at me.” Raph stopped in front of him, cupping Wyatt’s cheeks. The kitchen light cast his face in a slight shadow, and his eyes were dark, the brush of his lashes exquisite. “Live in the present, Wy. Stop remembering the past.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Raph winced. Took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t defend you enough from Grandma. I’m sorry I didn’t rescue you from Max.”
It was never his fault—Raph had done plenty. But he was ready to accept the blame for every bad thing that had happened, and Wyatt wanted
