“I told Mom,” Raph said when Wyatt opened the front door.

Wyatt’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“Relax. It wasn’t bad.” Raph stepped in, pressing a plastic carrier into Wyatt’s hands. Then he shut the door, locked it, and scooped Wyatt close, pressing a firm, deep kiss to his lips.

But all Wyatt could think was Mom knows.

He turned away from the kiss, his heart pattering nervously. “What did she say?”

“She already knew.” Raph wound his fingers into Wyatt’s hair and held him, his breath tickling Wyatt’s ear. “She asked when the baby’s due.”

“Oh, fuck.” Wyatt groaned. Mom knew? He’d been taking pains to hide their relationship, to keep Hazel distracted during their visits, so she didn’t accidentally mention Raph. “I thought... Hazel’s been doing so well, too.”

Raph huffed. “Mom knows what pregnancy smells like too, you know.”

But of course she did. Wyatt wanted to hide himself in Raph, and never emerge. How could he look Mom in the eye again? She knew he’d been keeping secrets. “Kill me now. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She knows it’s yours?”

“She didn’t throw a fit, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, gods.” Wyatt’s guts twisted. Mom knew. He’d disappointed her, and she knew. He hid his face in Raph’s chest, clinging on to him, wanting to crawl out of his skin. “Does she hate me?”

“No, she loves you.” Raph pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “She says she wants to see the baby when it’s born.”

Wyatt quailed. Would she really? Her own sons were having a baby, and to her, it should be terrible news.

“You didn’t let Mom and Dad see Hazel for three years?” Raph asked, his arm tightening around Wyatt’s waist.

There was that, too. Wyatt sighed into his shoulder, slipping his hand under Raph’s shirt. Raph’s skin was warm against his palm. “No, I didn’t.”

“Why? Was it... because she’s Max’s?”

The name set his stomach turning. Wyatt sucked in a shaky breath, pressing his face into Raph’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t just that, though. Growing up, Wyatt had heard their father talking about solved cases, about alphas abandoning omegas, and omegas who were single parents. For someone as high-ranking as Chief Fleming, having a single-parent omega son would be shameful; it would ruin the public’s perception of him as a leader.

So Wyatt had hidden himself away from his parents, sending them cards so they wouldn’t try to search him out. Then he’d worked part-time jobs while Sam and Penny babysat Hazel, borrowing money, moving from room to rented room when his landlords grew tired of a baby’s cries.

Mom had tried to coax him home when Hazel was one. When she was three, Wyatt had finally yielded, and Grandma had been there his very first visit. She’d curled her lip and looked down her nose at them, and Wyatt had resolved never to let Grandma hurt his daughter.

“I didn’t want to ruin Dad’s reputation,” Wyatt said. “No one will question a three-year-old, but everyone will want to know about a single dad and an infant.”

Raph hugged him tight, his teak scent enveloping Wyatt. “Gods, I should’ve been there. I won’t abandon you.”

Wyatt leaned into him, knowing that Raph would never hurt him, not like Max had.

It had been almost ten years. Wyatt still remembered those cold green eyes, so light that their pupils were pinpricks against their irises.

At eighteen, Wyatt had met Max at a bar downtown, and moved in with him. He hadn’t known better then, not when Max had shoved him around, told him to cook, to clean the floors with rags. Wyatt had stayed only two months. But in those months, Max had grabbed him by the hair, slapped him, told him he was worth nothing.

After Grandma’s fury, and with the disgust he felt at himself, Wyatt hadn’t thought he deserved better. Still didn’t. Especially not when he would cause his parents shame, maybe cause their lives to come apart. He’d broken his and Raph’s relationship with Penny, and he was keeping the baby, even if it meant Hazel might be caught in the backlash.

He was a terrible person, and maybe Grandma had been right all along.

Raph cupped his cheeks, tipping his face up to kiss him again.

“What if you slapped me?” Wyatt asked, Raph’s breath falling on his lips.

“What?”

“Slap me.”

Raph stared. “Are you serious?”

Raph’s eyes were blue-gray in the lamplight. He watched Wyatt uncertainly, as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. And maybe he was the exact kind of person Wyatt needed. Not someone who truly wanted to hurt him, but someone who would try just because Wyatt asked.

“I never feel worthy, Raph,” he said, looking at the worn couches, the color pencil marks on the coffee table. “I think I need some kind of punishment. For all the things I’ve done.”

Raph glared. “You don’t need punishment.”

Wyatt sighed. “That’s what my brain tells me. My heart still wants it.”

“You know I can’t hit you.”

“Which means you’re the person I’m looking for,” Wyatt said. His smile probably came out lopsided. “Will you think about it?”

Raph looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know what it does for you,” he said at length. “But I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.”

Raph sighed, nodding at the carrier Wyatt was still holding. “The ice cream’s probably melting.”

“Oh! Damn it.”

Wyatt glanced down at the plastic bag, his mouth watering. He’d left the drive-in at 9 PM, like he’d promised Raph. Then he’d gotten an insatiable craving for sardines on mint ice cream, that he’d only forgotten because Raph had dropped the bombshell on him—Mom knew about them, and the pregnancy.

He shoved that thought aside, making his way to the kitchen. “I can’t believe I’ve never tried this before.”

“Sardines on ice cream?” Raph made a face. “Are we back to gross food?”

“We’ve eaten worse in the past,” Wyatt said. “Remember the time Mom brought home fig preserves and tuna? And I mixed them up with condensed milk.”

“Gods, Wyatt. You ate that? I thought you threw it away!”

“No, I ate it. You can’t know what something tastes like unless you try it.” Wyatt grinned, setting the bag on the kitchen counter. Raph grimaced, caught him by the waist, and pulled him close.

“I’m not kissing you if you taste like ice cream and sardines,” Raph murmured against his lips.

Wyatt grinned, tilting his head so their mouths meshed sweetly together. Raph’s tongue tangled with his, soft and damp. In that moment, Wyatt thought about Raph, and only him. And Raph brushed his wrist along Wyatt’s neck, marking Wyatt with his own scent. Wyatt’s heart skipped. Raph wants me.

“What if I taste only like ice cream?” he whispered.

“That’s fine.” Raph kissed him again. “But don’t throw sardines in there, eat them, and then kiss me.”

Wyatt chuckled, easing away from his alpha. In the warm August evening, the ice cream had softened. He scooped some into a bowl, popping a spoonful of sweet, minty ice cream into his mouth. “Mm. This is good.”

“Yeah?” Raph poured himself a shot of wine—one of the bottles of port that Wyatt had opened months ago, but hadn’t a chance to drink.

When he returned to Wyatt’s side, Wyatt slid his hands into Raph’s hair, pulling him close.

“You’re only after the wine,” Raph murmured against his lips.

“Just tasting.” He slipped into Raph’s mouth, finding traces of mellow port between his lip and teeth. Then he explored deeper, licking at Raph’s tongue, trying to find the elusive hints of liquor.

Raph growled, pushing past Wyatt’s lips. And Wyatt sucked the fruity, tart notes off his tongue.

“Best way to taste wine,” Wyatt said. “Short of drinking it myself.”

Raph chuckled. When he pulled away from Wyatt, he nodded at the melting ice cream. “You’re gonna eat sardines with that? Seriously?”

“When do I ever kid?”

Raph grinned. Wyatt popped the lid of the tin, peeling it back.

Inside, the fillets were packed in olive oil, their dark skins glistening under the kitchen lamp. Wyatt picked a fillet out, pushed it into his bowl of ice cream, and mashed the fish up. His stomach squeezed; he’d been waiting for this all day. “Gods, this looks so good.”

“The next time you say I look good, remind me that I share the honor with mashed sardines and ice cream.”

Wyatt laughed. “I’ll eat you too. Just saying.”

Raph rolled his eyes. “Hopefully not at the same time.”

“Can you imagine? If I set tasteful dollops of fish and ice cream on your chest, and ate it off?”

“Sick bastard.” But Raph grinned, and Wyatt popped the lumpy mixture into his mouth. Raph winced. “How is it?”

Wyatt chewed, rolling the oozing cream over his tongue. “The fillets are salty, but paired with the fruitiness of the olive oil, it complements the sweetness of the ice cream. And whereas the ice cream oozes, the fillets flake off—the mouth-feel is great. All it’s missing is a bit of crunch. I should’ve added some chips in here. 9 out of 10.”

Raph rolled his eyes. “That’s the sort of bullshit they say on the cooking shows.”

“Those are respected judges, okay.” Wyatt grinned, picked up the sardine tin, and drizzled some oil into his bowl. Then he scooped the mixture into his spoon, and extended it to Raph. “Want some?”

Raph gave the mint-green glob a disgusted stare. “Hell, no.”

Wyatt popped it into his own mouth, purring. It really did taste good. Raph was missing out.

Instead of commenting on the ice cream, Raph stepped over to Wyatt’s back, sliding his arms around Wyatt’s hips. Then he rested his palm against Wyatt’s belly, where there was a baby bump, now.

“I’ve missed you all week.” Raph murmured in his ear. “How’s the baby?”

“Good.” Wyatt snuggled into his chest. “I can’t believe it’s been almost twelve weeks.”

Raph peeled up Wyatt’s shirt to expose his belly. Then he ran his wrist over Wyatt’s skin, marking their baby, too. Wyatt’s face warmed.

Sometimes, it felt surreal, carrying Raph’s baby. It felt as though the heavens would strike him down, or the patrons at the drive-in would stare. But no one did.

As he leaned into Raph’s embrace, Wyatt thought that maybe... all of this was too good to last.