He scrubs a hand down his face. He’s rocking more facial hair than usual too.
“Yeah, six days. Your mom said that was normal for a first heat.”
“You texted my mom?”
His cheeks heat, and he nods. “I mean, she did writeThe Art of Nesting.”
I groan and put the coffee on the nightstand and slink back into bed. “My head hurts.”
“You’re probably dehydrated. Let me get you some water,” he says. I grab his wrist and tug him down.
“Wait.”
“What? What’s wrong? Does something else hurt? Do you need an ice pack or a heating blanket?”
“No. Well, maybe an ice pack. My clit feels like it’s swollen to the size of a strawberry. But no. I… um. I remember bits of ourconversation from my heat. If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to. More of it is coming back to me now that I’m fully awake.”
He clears his throat and feels tense beside me.
“It doesn’t scare you?”
I lace my fingers with his and squeeze. “Why on earth would the circumstances of your childhood scare me? You had nothing to do with what happened. I’m just so sorry you had to go through that.”
“How do you keep impressing me?”
“Well, mister. You should probably stop doubting me.”
“You’re right, never again. It was probably a cop out. It just felt easier to tell you then when you couldn’t reply. I had an ex who wasn’t comfortable with my father being a convicted murderer.”
I wrap my arms around him and squeeze.
“Then they’re fucking stupid.”
He laughs and holds me back. “So as amazing as all that was, it was kind of a shit show.”
“I think we only got through it because of you. You did a great job mediating.”
“It might take some time, but I don’t think they’re a lost cause.”
I pull back to search his face, knowing that he was lucid and present my whole heat.
“So you think you can sign up for four of those a year or what?” I joke.
“I think I’m signing up for a lifetime of them, sweetheart.”
Yeah, I fucking cry again.
I’m just an Omega, and this has been exhausting me.
“Hey. Hey. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“These are happy tears. I just don’t know how I got so lucky.”
“It seems like manifestation, if I’m being honest,” he says, and I snort.
“I’m not looking forward to seeing my dad.”
Ethan blows air out of his mouth and sighs. “Yeah, me either. At least he seems way more frustrated at Max and Bram than at me.”
