“It’s too late for that, Crawford,” Owen mumbled. He refused to meet Crawford’s eye. “It’s my body. What I do with it is mybusiness.”
“It may be your body, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t an issue that affects us both.” Crawford wasn’t going to drop it. Owen was never so testy. “I want to get youcheckedout.”
“And I said no.” Owen pulled away from him. He scooted across the couch, brows furrowed. “I know that you care about me, and that fertility is a big thing, and heat isn’t something we should mess with, but I’m not interested in having this conversation right now. Can you please letitdie?”
Howcouldhe?
For six months they’d shared their weekends, milking the most enjoyment out of every second of time they had together. There was play, but there were also emotions.Connection.
Crawford wasinlove.
It started the second Owen had charmed him at dinner, and now it grew into something otherworldly that Crawford couldn’t hope to tame. There was no way he could let Owen suffer. Whatever the issue, Crawford would solve it. It wasn’t only his duty as Owen’s master, but his duty as hisboyfriend.
“Pet, I know you’re upset, but this is something that’s very important. If you’re scared of doctors, we can find a work around. I have friends. You won’t even know. If it’s the idea of visiting a hospital that makes youupset—”
“Crawford.” Owen’s voice was sharp in a way Crawford had never heard before. “Dropit.”
“How do you want me to drop it when it’s something that we both need to worry about?” Crawford refused to be angry, but it didn’t stop irritation from creeping down his neck like a spider down its thread. Crawford itched to slap it away. “Omegas talk to their alphas about heat. Any responsible alpha will want tolisten.”
“And any responsible alpha will listen to their omega when their omega says it’s none of their business.” Owen rose from the couch and paced toward the window. His back was tensed and his shoulder blades pinched together—he was upset. Crawford rose to comfort him, but Owen turned on his heels and pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. “When have you ever caredbefore?”
“Where is this coming from?” Crawford asked. He remained where he stood, unwilling to push Owen past his limits. “When have I ever treated you poorly? All I want to doistalk.”
Doubt flashed in Owen’s eyes, and he glanced aside for a minute before he shook his head and met Crawford’s gaze again. Even angry, he was gorgeous. Over the last few months he’d grown out his blond hair. Crawford still reveled at how soft it looked. The light color amplified the dark blues of Owen’s eyes and the style framed hisfacewell.
But there was more to itthanthat.
Crawford knew the contours and ridges of Owen’s body. He remembered the freckles and the birth marks, the specks of color in Owen’s eyes, and the way he looked when he smiled or frowned. The emotion in his laughter. The way he heldhimself.
Owen was beautiful for who he was, not just what he looked like. It was all the small details inside and out that came together and made him whohewas.
When he was angry like this, Crawford still saw that beauty. Even when he spoke words filled with venom and hatred, Crawford couldn’tlookaway.
“I’m not going to a doctor. I would rather leave youthango.”
“Then I guess you have a choice, don’t you?” Crawford set his jaw. He didn’t want to push Owen, but Owen was holding back information and being unreasonable. There was no reason why he shouldn’t see adoctor.
“I guess I do.” Owen’s eyes were like coal, his toneunyielding.
The perfect pet Crawford had praised and cherished was turning on him, and Crawford had no clue how tofixhim.
Without another word, Owen stormed out of the living room. The bedroom door slammed shut, and Crawford heard him crashing around on the other side. Steeling himself for a confrontation, Crawford followed. Something was wrong. Owen was hurting and he didn’tknowwhy.
He needed tofindout.
“I’m opening the door,” Crawford said. He stood with his hand posed on the doorknob, waiting for areply.
Nonecame.
Crawford twisted the handle and pushed the dooropen. “Owen?”
Owen didn’t turn to face him. He tugged a pair of jeans up over his hips, pajamas castaside.
“I sincerely don’t understand why you’re so angry. I know that whatever I said hurt you, but I don’t know why, and I want to talkaboutit.”
“All you’re going to want to do is take me to a doctor,” Owen mumbled. He shook his head. “I can’t, Crawford. Ican’t.”
“Why?” Crawford approached the bed but kept his distance from Owen. “Will you please talk me through this? If it hurts, we can sit on it. We can even have a written conversation, if you’d feel more comfortable with text than speech. All I want is to know what’s bothering you and what I can dotohelp.”
