When he stepped out of his office, Wyatt remembered his outstanding tasks at the drive-in. There was a kitchen to run. Patrons to tend to. The murmur of conversation filled the hallway, accompanied by the clinks of cutlery in bowls.

Raph stood close by as Wyatt locked the door, his broad shoulders crowding out the space in the corridor. And Wyatt remembered the hot slide of his mouth, the drag of Raph’s teeth over his lip.

That, and the two blue lines on the pregnancy test.

Gods, he really was pregnant. It was Raph’s baby inside him. All it took was just one night. How terrible was it, that his first child was from someone who had hurt him, and his second child was from someone he couldn’t have?

Growing up, he’d always thought he and Raph would lead separate lives. That they’d visit each other with their mates, and Raph would tease him about his piano-playing, or screw-ups, or whatever.

Except Wyatt had presented as omega, and suddenly Raph had seemed like the best alpha anyone could want. And so Wyatt had thought about Raph, wishing Raph would look at him the same way, see him as a desirable omega.

But his fantasies hadn’t extended to a baby.

What would he say to his parents when he visited? What would he say to Hazel? This was everything a relationship shouldn’t be.

I’m carrying my stepbrother’s child.

His head spun. Wyatt ducked into the washroom to rinse his hands.

Unlike Max’s saccharine whispers, Raph had made quiet, solemn promises. He’d offered to bring Hazel home when it was her bedtime. Wyatt had dated and lost interest in various alphas, but he trusted Raph.

And that had to be enough for tonight, when Wyatt stepped into the dining area of the restaurant, just as his new evening staff tripped, trying to avoid a toddler. Mina yelped, losing her balance. Dirty dishes slid off the tray; bowls smashed, drink glasses rolled and clattered. The toddler wobbled his way back to his parents, who had been scolding their other child.

The boy seemed fine. Mina had paled, eyeing the child, then the mess. Wyatt scanned the rest of the diner. There were no server requests, no cries for help. He spun on his feet, headed into the kitchen, and grabbed the broom and dustpan. When he turned back, he found Raph on his knees, grabbing the fallen chopsticks and spoons.

Raph was an alpha. A regional manager at his bank. Grandma would’ve said, Let the servants do it. Max would’ve said, You’re the omega. Clean that up.

Raph stacked the drink glasses together, gathered a handful of spoons, and set them on Mina’s tray. Then he leaned over the soup spills to grab the ceramic shards.

Warm fondness welled up in Wyatt’s chest. He stepped around Raph and Mina, swept up the shards and solid food remnants, and brought the dripping dustpan back into the kitchen. By the time he returned with paper towels and a mop, Raph was on his feet, surveying the floor.

Mina grimaced, looking apologetically at Raph. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to inconvenience you—”

“It’s fine,” Raph said. “It’s no big deal. You hurt?”

Mina shook her head, wincing when Wyatt stepped over. “I’m really sorry about this, Mr. Fleming,” she said. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

Wyatt remembered another time, when glittering shards of maroon glass had scattered across a dining room, and he’d cut his fingers trying to pick them up. Grandma had been there, her eyes bulging. Raph had held his hand and pulled him away, to go find his mom.

Useless child, Grandma had shouted down the hallways. You ruin everything you touch!

He blinked himself back to the diner, squeezing Mina’s shoulder. “Try not to let it happen again, Mina. I’ll clean the spills, but I’ll need you to get back to the tables. Can you do that?”

She flushed, nodding furiously. Wyatt watched as she hurried back to the kitchen with her tray, the tips of her ears red. When he turned, he found Raph watching him, a tiny smile on his lips.

“Something on my face? Wyatt asked, his heart missing a beat.

“You do good,” Raph said. “Need more help?”

Wyatt couldn’t help grinning, then. “No, I’ve got this—go clean up. Thanks for helping.”

Raph smiled and skirted the spill, heading for the washroom. Wyatt tried not to watch him leave. Instead, he mopped the mess from the floor, the memory of Raph picking up the dishes playing over and over in his mind.

Raph didn’t have to help. It wasn’t his restaurant. And maybe he was exactly the sort of alpha that Wyatt had subconsciously been looking for, after he’d left Max. Because he’d grown up with the best alpha there ever was, and no one could replace Raph.

He hid his smile, keeping his face down.

When the floor was mopped and Wyatt had placed a Wet Floor sign in the middle of the gleaming floorboards, he checked in on Mina again. She was shaken, but otherwise fine. Wyatt left her to the patrons, stopping by at the booth next to the kitchen.

“What do you do at the bank?” Hazel asked, her pencil poised above her homework, her eyes glued to Raph.

“I manage people,” Raph said. “It’s a mix of checking reports, approving them, making sure my branches are doing what they’re supposed to.”

Hazel blinked. “Say that in normal people English.”

Wyatt snorted. Raph turned incredulously. “This is your kid?”

“She very much is,” Wyatt said, leaning over to give her a quick hug. “Hazel’s brilliant, isn’t she?”

Raph pressed his lips together, but their corners curled into a smile. “She’s fine. Don’t want her head to grow too big.”

“You’re such a grumpy dog,” Wyatt said. Hazel was halfway through her homework, but it was clear she’d gotten distracted when Raph joined her. And Raph looked good, too. Wyatt had barely noticed earlier, but Raph was dressed in a crisp cotton shirt and dark jeans, his sleeves clinging to his biceps.

“He’s giving you the eyeball,” Hazel said, looking at Raph. “Maybe you did something wrong.”

Wyatt’s cheeks flared hot. “Hazel!”

She looked innocently at him. “You have that look in your eyes,” she said, pointing her pencil at him. “Like when you can’t decide if you want to bite someone’s head off.”

Raph coughed into his fist, but he was smirking. “Really? He bites heads off? This I gotta see.”

“You have so much to see.” Hazel leaned forward conspiratorially. “Dad sometimes has his moods.”

Wyatt froze. Surely she wasn’t telling Raph about the meltdowns. “Hazel.”

She glanced at him, and he shook his head slightly. Hazel pouted. “He needs to know about the Aunt Penny snowlady cookies,” she said. “You gave them to her and she said she didn’t look like two balls.”

Raph snorted.

“Oh. Well, fine,” Wyatt said, relief whispering through his shoulders. “But you need to do your homework, young lady, or there’ll be no Super Alpha for you tomorrow.”

Hazel pouted, looking back at her worksheets.

Raph was watching Wyatt, though, his gaze solemn, as though he’d caught Wyatt trying to keep his secrets.

“Moods, huh?” he murmured. Wyatt’s heart sank. “I’d help you get into a good mood.”

Well, that wasn’t appropriate, either. Wyatt frowned, pointing at the scatter of Hazel’s worksheets on the table. “Help Hazel, or there’ll be no dinner for you.”

“I can do my homework myself,” Hazel said. “Uncle Raph has his own homework.”

“I do.” Raph shook his phone. “I’ll help if Hazel needs it.”

“Fine.” But Wyatt was smiling when he stepped into the kitchen, more relaxed than he was before. Raph and Hazel seemed to get along. That was fine. It just meant he’d have a third babysitter for his daughter, and that was it.

Certainly it couldn’t mean that Hazel might get a second dad.

Wyatt’s heart fluttered. He’s my stepbrother, he told himself. Except he looked over his shoulder again, and Raph was watching Hazel, a soft look in his eyes.

Raph had promised to be around for Wyatt’s new baby.

Wyatt was okay with that. What wasn’t... was that he might fall in love with Raph. And in no universe would that ever be okay.

* * *

When Wyatt unlocked his apartment door that night, he found the living room lights turned off. Instead, a golden glow streamed from the kitchen doorway, lighting the couches. The space under Hazel’s bedroom door was dark; she was asleep.

Glass clinked, and something solid—a bottle?—thumped against the kitchen counter.

Quietly, Wyatt shut the door behind himself, locking it. Until now, he hadn’t glimpsed Raph alone—they’d met all of twice, and each time, Raph was either with him, or someone else.

Wyatt slipped his shoes off, set them on the floor. Then he tiptoed to the kitchen, holding his plastic bag away so it didn’t rustle against him.

In the kitchen, Raph stood by the counter with his head bent, eyes closed, sniffing at the pooled wine in his glass. Then he tipped it into his mouth, savoring it.

Wyatt knew the bite of that wine, the dryness of it, the way it would slide down his gullet, all mellow and warm.

“You had to go for the Moulin Rouge,” he blurted.

Raph turned, glancing at Wyatt sidelong. Then he swallowed, licked his lips, leaving a sheen of damp on his skin. “I’ve never had it.”

“Never?” His cover blown, Wyatt stepped into the kitchen, setting his bag of food in the fridge—the buns were still edible, but weren’t fresh enough for the restaurant’s standards. He’d make sandwiches for Hazel and himself with them.

“You’d think I would, with the sort of booze Mom and Dad have at home, but no.” Raph pressed the wine stopper into the bottle, sliding it back into the wine rack. “Good, though.”

“I wanted a taste,” Wyatt said, pouting.

Raph glanced at the kitchen doorway. In a low voice, he said, “You’re pregnant.”

Wyatt’s stomach gave a jolt. It still hadn’t fully sunken in, the pregnancy. Penny had told him this morning, and he’d had some time to get used to the idea. But an actual baby in his belly? A second child in nine months’ time? Raph’s child? All of it was life-changing.

Especially when Raph had sworn he’d raise the child with Wyatt. Wyatt would see Raph again, for the rest of his life.

He didn’t know what to make of that, except it made his heart pound something fierce.

Wyatt rubbed his palm over his flat belly. “I wish I’d known two weeks in advance. Then I’d have drunken my fill before this happened.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t have a taste,” Raph said. He shrugged, glancing away, his tongue gliding over his lip. And the invitation sent a coil of heat through Wyatt’s gut.

“You have such a dirty mind,” he said.

“Not any worse than yours.”

Wyatt chuckled. Unlike the party, and unlike the drive-in, there was no one here. No one to interrupt them, no one who would judge their actions. And the rest of the night stretched ahead, full of promise.

“Drinking this late?” Wyatt asked, keeping his tone light. His pulse hammered in his veins. “I didn’t promise to be your designated driver.”

Raph met his eyes. “Should I be leaving now?”

“No.” Wyatt swallowed. Calm down. Don’t jump his bones yet. “I figured we might have things to discuss. You know, infant care, visitation, things like that.”

“I’ll be here whenever you need me.”

“Even with your work?”

Raph shrugged. “Yeah, I can take days off for family care. The benefits aren’t bad.”

“What about your boss? Grandma?” The mention of her name sent a chill down Wyatt’s spine. Growing up, Grandma had never liked him—Raph had told him why, time and again, when Wyatt had curled up in Raph’s room and cried.

She was Dad’s mom. When Wyatt was three, he’d broken her precious handmade vase, passed down from four generations ago. Two months later, Wyatt had cringed away from Grandma at Mom and Dad’s wedding. The cameraman had caught it on video, broadcast it on the screen in front of three hundred guests. Grandma hadn’t smiled at Wyatt since.

“Hey, stop thinking about her,” Raph murmured. He set the wineglass down on the counter, stepping over.

“I can only imagine what she’d say about this,” Wyatt said. The possibilities scrolled through his mind. You sick child. Raph is your stepbrother. You’d only disappoint your parents—they never raised you to be this way.

“Shh. Look at me.” Raph stopped in front of him, cupping Wyatt’s cheeks. The kitchen light cast his face in a slight shadow, and his eyes were dark, the brush of his lashes exquisite. “Live in the present, Wy. Stop remembering the past.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Raph winced. Took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t defend you enough from Grandma. I’m sorry I didn’t rescue you from Max.”

It was never his fault—Raph had done plenty. But he was ready to accept the blame for every bad thing that had happened, and Wyatt wanted to lean against him, forget about everything else. “You’ve done enough, Raph. Really. You don’t have to apologize.”

Raph stroked Wyatt’s cheeks with his thumbs. He leaned in, pressed their foreheads together, his breath tinted with wine. Wyatt wanted to taste him, breathe him in, burrow himself in Raph’s arms, and, for the first time in a while, forget who he was.

“I don’t care what everyone else says,” Raph whispered. “I’ll love our baby. And I’ll love Hazel, too.”

Wyatt’s breath caught. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Why was Raph doing this? Wyatt’s pulse thudded in his ears. “You can’t keep saying things like that. I’ll fall in love with you.”

“Aren’t you already?” Raph grinned, his eyes crinkling, blurred with how close they were.

“Damn you. You know we can’t—”

Raph kissed him. Unlike the moments they’d spent at the office, this kiss was slow, languid, Raph’s tongue slipping along Wyatt’s lips. Then he eased into Wyatt’s mouth, damp and soft, and Wyatt groaned, dragging him closer. Raph tasted like wine, like a hint of soup, and they shouldn’t be doing this again.

“We’re stepbrothers,” Wyatt whispered against his lips.

Raph leaned back, his eyes dark, his body a solid, comfortable weight. “Just for tonight... be my omega.”

Wyatt’s breath rushed out of him. Through the years of raising his daughter, he hadn’t met an alpha he could readily trust. There hadn’t been anyone else he wanted in his life. And Raph had walked back in during Wyatt’s heat, had touched him and fucked him, and his hands had been bliss on Wyatt’s skin.

To be Raph’s omega... To let Raph touch his entire body...

Raph pressed soft kisses up his jaw, nipping at his earlobe. “You want my knot. I saw you looking at it.”

Wyatt’s hole squeezed. Yes, he did. And he could already imagine Raph stretching him open, holding him, playing Wyatt’s body like he did his violin.

Wyatt trembled, his cock so hard it ached. “Not—not out here.”

“Your bed,” Raph whispered, slipping his fingers between Wyatt’s legs. He squeezed Wyatt through the denim, a firm, knowing pressure. “Gonna fuck you until you scream.”

Wyatt’s throat went dry. “Can’t—can’t wake Hazel.”

“That’s on you.” Raph’s lips brushed his. “You’re gonna have to keep your voice down.”

Wyatt groaned. Raph scooped him up into his arms, pressing their hips together, his cock a hard line behind his pants. And Wyatt couldn’t find it in himself to say no.