“How much longer?” Brogan asked.

Mikel looked at the timer counting down on the microwave. “Two minutes, twelve seconds.”

“Ugh, this is torture. I’m so nervous.”

“Me too.” Mikel hugged Brogan tighter, hating the way his mate shook in his arms, but consoled knowing it was from excitement, not fear. Brogan had finally been able to take a pregnancy test, and they were both hoping for a positive outcome.

They’d finally mated during Brogan’s latest heat three weeks ago, and with both of them eager for a child, they hadn’t used a single condom. Mikel had rejoiced each time he sank into Brogan’s willing body, each time his knot expanded and trapped his seed inside. He and Brogan were forever tied, and Mikel had never been happier than during that heat.

The mating heat had been a long time coming, thanks to Senior Hamilton’s twice-postponed trial. Brogan had gone into heat one month after Mikel’s probation ended, but the trial hadn’t started—finally!—until the following month. It had been another excruciating process for all the omegas involved. Brogan’s character had been tossed under the bus by the defense, citing Mikel’s violent behavior. Dr. Callis had been called for the prosecution, and he’d sung Mikel’s praises as an alpha and as a model citizen.

Mikel had blushed hard at the praise from a man he still saw once a month, mostly to check in as Mikel navigated working, having a bondmate and child, and slowly getting his life back together. His pizza delivery job had landed him a full-time construction job, thanks to a multi-pie delivery he’d made in early spring. It was exhausting, labor intensive work that Mikel enjoyed. He loved being outside and using his hands, especially during the hot summer months.

With his new job, he and Brogan had finally been able to afford their own small, two-bedroom apartment. The Li’s had cried the day Brogan and Peyton moved out. After two-and-a-half years living together, leaving couldn’t have been easy. But Brogan loved having their own place to nest in, and he’d made it his own. Mikel hadn’t cared about decorating; he simply wanted to see his mate happy.

“One minute left,” Mikel said, his own nerves trying to strangle him. “Goddess, I’m scared.”

“I know, I want this so badly.” Brogan buried his face in Mikel’s neck. “Please, please, please…”

Peyton was at a play date with Jaxson and Karson, so they could fret in private—and in case they didn’t get the answer they wanted, mourn in private, as well. They could try again in three months, of course, but they’d put it off so long already. Mikel had no regrets about the delay, though, because it had given them exactly what they wanted: Hamilton was in prison for life, and Peyton was legally named his only living heir.

Ronin was still arguing in a higher, territory court about gaining access to the money before Peyton turned eighteen so they could turn it into research grant money. Mikel had every confidence in Ronin’s ability to get them that access. Peyton wasn’t the only carrier of Donal Syndrome, and the people of Sansbury wanted to see Hamilton’s blood money put toward a positive goal. Mikel and Brogan had also signed document after document swearing they had no interest in Hamilton’s fortune for personal use.

Neither of them wanted a thing from Hamilton except a cure.

And with Peyton’s inheritance secure, they’d mated during Brogan’s late summer heat. Now the weather would begin edging into autumn again. Mikel often marveled at how completely different his life was now than ten months ago, when he and Brogan first stumbled over each other at Perks. He now had a steady job, an income, a home, a son, and a mate. He had a great relationship with his own omegin and brothers.

He also no longer cared what other people thought of him, his choices, or his life now—especially not his own sire. Lew Tovey had tried to reach out once, via letter, after Mikel was in the news thanks to the Hamilton trial. Mikel burned the letter without opening it. Once upon a time, he’d worried his sire would not accept Brogan and Peyton, because they were “used” or “previously mated.” Those labels didn’t matter to Mikel. At. All. Brogan and Peyton were simply his. Period.

The microwave timer dinged.

“Oh shit,” Brogan said. “Go look.”

“Come on, love, we’ll go together.”

“What if it’s negative?”

“Then we’ll have a hell of a lot of fun trying again during your next heat. Up we go.” Mikel stood and tugged Brogan to his feet. Before he led Brogan into the bathroom to check the stick, Mikel cupped Brogan’s cheeks in his palms. “No matter the outcome, I love you, and I love our life. You are perfection, Brogan Dale Tovey.”

“Same. I love you so much. New baby or not, that will never, ever change.”

Mikel rubbed their noses together. “Then let’s go look.”

The next phase of their lives was on that slim, white plastic stick. Two lines or one. Pregnant or not. He led Brogan into the apartment’s small bathroom. The stick lay on the counter, so innocent, and yet wielding so much power. At the last second, Brogan tore away from him and grabbed the stick. Stared at it a beat. He turned slowly, so fucking slowly Mikel’s heart began to beat in earnest.

“What is it?” Mikel asked. “Brogan?”

Brogan looked up with shiny eyes. “Two lines. We’re pregnant.”

Mikel whooped so loudly the walls probably shook, and he didn’t care. He yanked Brogan into his arms and kissed him. A fierce, claiming kiss that Brogan returned in kind. They’d done it. They’d created a new life to share with the world. Given Brogan a chance to carry, birth, and nurture a child made from love and passion. Given Peyton the chance to be a big brother.

Given them all a chance to grow the little family they treasured and adored.

Mikel wasn’t sure when the kissing turned into hugging with a few tears, and it didn’t matter. He was so happy he wanted to burst. Mikel never used to believe he’d find love, joy, and peace for himself, not after a lifetime of abuse and fear. Now he had it all, and he was never letting go.

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