Adam stiffened beneath him. Just a little. Enough thatNoah felt it immediately.
“That’s not true,” Adam said. “You’re the one who’s afraid to have kids.”
Noah went very still.
“That’s not fair,” he said quietly.
Adam exhaled through his nose. Not angry. Not sharp. Just… careful. “I didn’t say it was wrong. I get why you’re scared. We all do. I just said it was fear. And it is.”
Noah swallowed. The room felt warmer suddenly, heavier. “You think I don’t want kids.”
“I think youwantthem,” Adam said. “And I think that scares the shit out of you. I think the fear of losing them is bigger than the fear of wanting them or at least it was. Is it still?”
Noah’s jaw tightened. He stared at the far wall, at the faint glow of Christmas lights reflecting off the window. For a moment, he felt very far away.
“My mom wanted me. Then they kidnapped me. Used me. Sold me. And there was nobody to protect me. Nobody to stop it. Every person they said I could trust, cops, priests, teachers…all participated. I learned early that no one would stop it. No one would protect me. And years later, even as an adult, my mom decided I wasn’t worth the effort.” His voice was steady, but it took effort. “Loving something small and vulnerable is dangerous.”
Adam didn’t interrupt.
“I want kids,” Noah admitted. “I do. I just—” He shook his head. “Every time I imagine it, all I can think about is how easy it is to lose them. How fast something could go wrong. How I wouldn’t survive that.”
Adam shifted, rolling slightly so Noah was half on top of him now, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his neck. Not restraining. Just anchoring.
“You know I would never let anyone hurt our kids. Right?” Adam asked. “You know that, right? I would protect them the same way I protect you. I would destroy anyone who hurt you or them.”
Noah let out a shaky laugh. “That’s not comforting in the way you think it is.”
“It’s not meant to be comforting,” Adam said. “It’s meant to be true.” His thumb brushed Noah’s hairline, gentle. “But I wouldn’t force you. Ever. I don’t want a kid more than I wantyou.”
Noah finally looked at him. “I see how happy August and Lucas are and even Atticus and Jericho. Atticus who used to freak out if someone sneezed too close to him. I literally saw him let Jagger spit a half eaten sandwich into his palm the other day. How is it they’re not afraid of something happening every single day?”
Adam’s expression softened, something raw flickering there. “I think they are. I think all parents are. Especially in this day and age of true crime shows and podcasts and books and documentaries. We are fed the worst case scenarios every single day. And you lived it. That makes it all too real for you. Nobody blames you for being afraid. I’m perfectly happy with the life we have. Are you?”
Noah exhaled, his forehead dropping to Adam’s collarbone. “I keep thinking one day I’ll wake up and the fear will be gone,” he admitted. “But it’s not. It’s just… quieter lately.”
Adam smiled faintly. “Yeah?”
A beat.
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the idea of having a little version of you running around,” Adam added. “A version who knows they’re safe with us.”
Noah’s chest tightened. “I don’t know when I’ll be ready.”
Adam kissed the top of his head. “Then we wait. Or we don’t. Or we change our minds a dozen times. There’s no clock on this.”
Noah nodded slowly. “Okay. But we aren’t getting any younger.”
Adam laughed. “Well, luckily, we’re men. Our biological clocks don’t really have an expiration date.”
They lay there like that for a moment, the storm pressing in around the house, the dogs finally wandering off, satisfied.
Noah sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe one day?”
Before Adam could respond, Noah’s phone started ringing where it was plugged in on the side table.
“I’m sure that’s dad wondering where we are,” Noah said.
Adam snagged the phone from the side table without even disturbing Noah’s position, handing it to him.
