“Fallon,” Gage said quietly, “why were you stumbling around with the lights off?”
“Oh.” He bowed his head and fought off the urge to cry again. He let out the smallest sniff. “The power company didn’t process my deposit. They said it wouldn’t be on until morning. But—” He waved his hand weakly. “—I guess they were wrong?”
Gage rubbed at his temples as Fallon looked over at him. “Have you eaten?”
Fallon’s stomach took that moment to rumble. Loudly. He flushed. “A while ago.”
Gage rolled his eyes, climbed to his feet, then seized Fallon’s hand and tugged him toward the door.
The other thing Fallon hadn’t expected that night was to be wrapped up in a heavy quilt on the couch that Gage had fucked his brains out on. He couldn’t help but be hyperaware of it. It also didn’t help that lately, his hormones were firing on all cylinders.
He took a shaking breath as Gage set a bag full of Greek food in front of him, and he tried not to recoil. He’d developed ARFID as a toddler and had worked through a lot of his fear foods, but he still wasn’t able to just eat anything from anywhere.
“Chicken tenders,” Gage said, digging through the bag. He found a Styrofoam box. “Fries, no seasoning. Ranch. There’s also hummus and tzatziki.”
Fallon blinked at him, then swallowed heavily. “How’d you know?”
“Lucas. He said you were chicken tender besties.”
Fallon was normally embarrassed by his small palate, but Gage made him feel so…normal. He hated that word, but it was the only one that fit right then. He tried not to cry again—fuck, he hated this. He hated what was happening to him so damn often.
“So, I’m not going to ask you to talk to me about why you cut off your family. That’s your business. But if youwantto tell me?—”
Fallon shoved a chicken tender into his mouth and chewed. The truth of the matter was, he did want to tell him. He wanted to tell someone—anyone. He hadn’t even said it aloud to himself yet, and the thought of saying the words made him break out into a cold sweat.
There were things that were never supposed to happen to him.
Not ever.
And then Charlie had shown up on his doorstep less than an hour after he’d washed the scent of Gage off his skin, and everything changed. One decision—one mistake—and now he was in decision-making hell.
“The night we—ah…” He cleared his throat and gestured between the two of them.
Gage nodded, reaching for his ice water, and pressed it to his eye, which—yeah. It was turning black. Shit. “Right. I remember.”
Fallon flushed and glanced away. “After you dropped me off, Charlie was at my door.”
Gage straightened. “Your ex?”
“Mm. We…talked. And he made me a drink. Then another.”
Gage started to go pale. “Fallon…”
“We, ah…we talked. Then we did other things.” He took a breath. “I’m pregnant. I…fuck.” The words felt like razors against the back of his throat. The truth of it was, he wasn’t opposed to the idea of having kids. He’d just never been certain he wanted it. Frankie had offered to pay for surgeries to make sure it never happened, but Fallon hadn’t wanted to make that permanent decision yet.
He wasn’t ready.
He wasn’t quite thirty yet. He was still supposed to have time.
Gage cleared his throat. “Uh. Not to sound like an insensitive prick, but…how? Aren’t you on HRT?”
“Testosterone makes it difficult, but not impossible,” he muttered into the tense silence that had fallen in the room. He fiddled with the side of the chicken tenders box. “I found out last month. I was really sick, and I felt…weird. Like I was anemic orsomething. I kept getting out of breath whenever I tried to brush my hair or put dishes away.”
Gage swallowed heavily. “Okay.”
“I took a test. Well, I took four tests to be sure. I haven’t seen a doctor. No one knows.” Fallon’s voice cracked, and he took in a shaking breath. “I don’t want Charlie to know.”
Gage’s eyes were red and a little hazy as he set his glass down and turned toward Fallon. “Did Charlie…did he…force you? Did he hurt you, or?—”
