“Happy Valentine’s Day to you too, kitten. Not nearly as flashy as a couple of books, but I think you’ll put it to good use.” I winked at him.
He smiled impishly and leaned up on his tip-toes to kiss me. “Thanks, babe. Love you.” There was a soft purr in his voice that told me he appreciated it, but that he expected a little more of a Valentine’s Day treat tonight, wink-nudge.
I chuckled. “Alright, alright. Let’s go home.”
When we got home, I started dinner. Coffee could only sustain a man for so long, and I’d heard Fletcher’s stomach rumbling while we were petting the cat. Although it might’ve been all the purring, I couldn’t say for sure. Either way, we needed to eat, so I picked an easy pasta meal from my mental cookbook and began prepping, but I checked in on my Omegas every so often.
Sky curled up on the couch with a blanket and one of his new books, while Fletcher played the Switch. The TV was off, for once. The two of them were cozied in to the sound of fantasy music playing from the handheld’s speakers and the occasional “Hy-yah!”
“So what kind of books do you wanna write?” Fletcher asked Sky, which had me tuning into the conversation. I couldn’t help it; I was curious as well.
“I dunno,” Sky said, but he said it too quickly, which told me hedidknow, he just didn’t want to say. He was quiet for a little while, then, softer, “I mean… I sort of do, but it’s lame.”
“Why is it lame?” Fletcher set the Switch down on the couch and turned his full attention to our partner.
Sky shifted, nibbling on his bottom lip. “Well, you remember at Christmas, when Adam said I should write a Hallmark movie? What if I wrote romance books? Like, love stories, but gay? Like us? People love a good rom-com, and it’s basically what I used to daydream about anyway, in a weird, fucked-up way.”
“Aww, Sky. I think it’s a wonderful idea.” Fletcher hugged him close. “But don’t just pick romances because that’s what Adam said you should write, okay? Write whatever your heart desires. If that’s romance, cool, but if that’s swashbuckling pirate adventures or super sci-fi with robots and stuff, that’s awesome too. Don’t worry about what anyone else thinks. Just write for you.”
Another lapse of silence. Sky seemed to think about it for a long time before he finally nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. I’m your mate,” Fletcher said knowingly, and Sky laughed. Quiet filled the room once more, and then… “You know, if you come up with a couple of character ideas and start a novel, I’d totally draw concept art for you. Give you a visual for your book. I haven’t picked up a pencil in awhile, so I’m sure I’m rusty, but skill never goes away. It’s simply hidden beneath layers of dust.”
Sky brightened. “Wow, that would be really cool. Your art is beautiful.”
“Thanks. Lots of practice. In time, your books will be just as amazing,” Fletcher promised.
“Thank you, Fletcher.”
“Of course, darling. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Sky went back to his book and Fletcher picked up the Switch again, leaving me standing in the kitchen, my chest feeling tight. How I could love someone so much, I wasn’t sure. I placed ahand over my heart, feeling it beat as if it beat for them and only them.
My lovers. My mates. My everything.
49
SKY
Over the pastcouple of weeks, I’d been feeling more anxious than usual. I brought it up with Madeline in therapy, who suggested I tell my psychiatrist, but I really didn’t want to bump up my meds any more than I needed to.
I already hated that I had to take them, being pregnant, because I didn’t know how they were going to affect the baby when she was born, so I’d kept the feelings to myself. Tried to keep myself busy—cleaning, gaming, reading, writing.
But there was this buzzing in my mind that wouldn’t quiet, no matter how hard I tried. Was it the Alpha-Omega bond? Was I finally going off the rails?
Except it felt different. Almost like anticipation, like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like my soul was waiting for something. Nerves about giving birth? My PTSD manifesting in different ways? I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t like it.
I fidgeted with a pen at the kitchen table, clicking the cap on and off.Click. Click. Click. My knee bounced beneath the table as if my leg was made of springs.Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.
“Are you alright?” Adam finally asked, concern written in the worry lines on his forehead.
I glanced up mid-click. “I’m fine,” I lied.
“Are you certain? You don’tfeelfine.”
I took a deep breath. “Really. I’m fine, just a little anxious, that’s all.”
