Looking at their smiling faces, Ian relaxed. He’d found his place with his alpha and his daughter. He’d lost some, but he’d also won some.
Most importantly, he was home.
33
Ian
Ian was thirty-four weeks along when Brad gave him the new safe box.
He’d all but forgotten about it, actually. Xavier had been kicking, and Ian had been busy getting everything ready—the nursery, the car seat, the baby clothes.
So when Brad stepped into the bedroom one evening, Ian didn’t think much of it.
Until Brad paused next to him, sliding his arm around Ian’s shoulders. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” Ian smiled, looking up from folding pastel onesies on the bed. Instead of his usual warm smile, Brad looked nervous.
Ian frowned. “What’s wrong?”
He glimpsed a cookie tin under Brad’s arm.
In the ten weeks since the fire rescue, they’d recovered—Brad from his concussion, Ian from his mild burns. Brad had taken Ian out to shop for new clothes, and Ian had objected to spending money on himself. So Brad had made him a deal—one new shirt a week.
That, Ian had grudgingly agreed to.
Being with Brad made everything better; the days when Ian thought about his razor blades were few and far between. Sometimes, he fingered Brad’s razor, and Brad would watch him from the corner of his eye. Ian would put the blade away, and think about Brad instead.
With the loss of his position at the college, they weren’t doing the best with Ian’s debt. Things were looking up, though. They’d talked about the family’s finances, and come to an agreement on how much they were saving, and how much they were putting toward the debt.
The weight still sat on Ian’s shoulders. But with Brad by his side, he coped better. Most days, he could even look in the mirror and tell himself, I am worthy.
And despite the ten weeks they’d been bondmates, Brad hadn’t once asked about marriage. It made Ian a little uncertain. It wasn’t necessary, but... it would be nice. Ian didn’t know if he was contributing enough to the household, though.
Maybe he needed to do better before Brad would consider marriage.
“I hope there isn’t another iPod in there,” Ian said, eyeing the cookie tin. “You’ve gotten me one already, and I really appreciate it.”
“It’s not an iPod.” Brad shifted his weight between his feet, and he looked worried. Like the time he and Gwen had gone out and broken three of the dinner plates during a picnic, or the time Gwen had gotten stuck climbing a tree, and Brad didn’t have a ladder tall enough to get her down.
When Brad still looked uneasy, Ian set down the last of his onesies, turning to scrutinize his alpha. “Is that for me?”
Brad squirmed. “Yeah.”
Then he handed it over, and Ian paused to admire the gold foil on the tin, the watercolor image of a lily pad floating on water, printed onto the metal. The box, itself, was heavy. Brad watched, his eyes glued on Ian.
“You look like you’re about to devour me,” Ian said.
“I might,” Brad answered, his mouth twitching into a smile. “C’mon, open it.”
That was unusual. Brad, nervous over a box’s contents? What was in there?
Ian made himself comfortable on the bed balancing the box against his belly. His belly was huge now, the size of a basketball.
Brad sat next to him, curving his arm around Ian’s waist, his anticipation nearly bowling Ian over. Then he shifted one leg behind Ian, sitting closer so his chest pressed against Ian’s arm. Ian felt the thump of his heart.
“You’re gonna make me wait forever?” Brad asked, his eyes pleading.
Ian smiled. Pressed a kiss to Brad’s lips. “Fine, I’m opening it.”
Carefully, he pried the lid open. The tin was packed with things—a couple of tiny children’s books, another puzzle book, a wooden 3D puzzle, and even a mini jigsaw set.
“You haven’t really needed this lately, but I thought I’d put one together for you,” Brad said.
He still looked on edge, though. So Ian set the things carefully out on the bed. The tin was full; Ian couldn’t believe how much time Brad had spent on it.
One after another, he pulled little toys and sketchbooks out. If he ever needed to distract himself, he could probably spend hours picking through this box alone.
“I love it,” Ian said, his heart filling with gratitude.
“But you haven’t gotten to the bottom.”
Ian glanced at his alpha, growing suspicious. “What have you done, Brad Saxon?”
Brad gave a nervous laugh. “Something.”
“That’s not a helpful answer.”
“I shouldn’t have filled it with so many things.” Brad groaned, rubbing his face. “I’m still waiting, Ian.”
Was there... something important at the bottom?
Ian’s pulse skittered. He scooped out the things that were toys—little DIY crafting kits, a pack of stickers, a travel set of crayons. Then he found the satiny shine of something at the bottom—a wooden box smaller than his palm, square and flat.
Ian fished it out of the tin, aware of the way Brad had fallen silent.
It was a heavy box for its size, with a lid that slid off to the side. Within, there was a folded piece of fabric, pale blue with zigzagging edges, like Ian’s cleaning cloths for his glasses.
But past that—there were inky words burned into the inner sides of the box.
On one side, For an omega like no other.
Ian stopped breathing. Brad had done this for him. “How—”
“Keep reading,” Brad murmured, stroking his back.
Ian gulped. On the second side of the box, For an omega who deserves the best.
On the third side, There’s one Ian McMillan, and he’s mine.
On the fourth, For the omega who completes our family.
Ian bit his lip, blinking hard. “Oh, gods, Brad.”
“There’s more,” Brad murmured, kissing Ian’s shoulder.
There was? Ian unfolded the velvety fabric, staring at the two gleaming rings that sat in the box, one smaller, one larger. They were a darker silver—steel?—each bound by a narrower strip of gold.
Ian’s heart stumbled. Oh.
His breath warm on Ian’s neck, Brad reached over, scooping the
