As I tossed my carry on suitcase into the bag of my car after returning home from yet another too-fast trip to Japan, with another one to New York coming up tomorrow, I considered taking an actual vacation after his project wrapped up. I hadn’t had one of those in, fuck, forever. As I paid my parking fee, I realized I didn’t know where I was headed. It was mid-day, so the office would still be in full swing, but they didn’t expect to see me until tomorrow. My sleep schedule was all kinds of messed up from switching time zones so rapidly, so I was pretty tired, but if I didn’t want to fuck up the rest of my week, I knew I couldn’t go home, or I’d just crash.

The Café Om list taunted me invisibly from the glove compartment. The odds of finding Zeke were pretty low at any given location. My last attempt had hammered that truth into me. And I could really use some coffee. It wasn’t like I’d actually have to process my emotions about Zeke’s abandonment while I was in such a zombie state, and it would let me mark another one off my list.

While I waited at a stoplight, I opened the glove compartment and retrieved the list, giving my GPS the first address that seemed reasonably close.

As I drove, I let my mind drift to the trip, mentally reviewing it before I typed up a personal report. It had been somewhat productive. The problem I was having was interpreting the difference between someone trying to tell me about a problem while making sure everyone saved face and just linguistic quirks. As much as I preferred to handle negotiations one hundred percent on my own, I was actually considering hiring a cultural consultant. I couldn’t afford many more delays. If this project fell through, it would cost me nearly twenty percent of my operating budget. If that got out, clients and investors might lose faith in me, and it would just be a downhill spiral from there, depending on whether I was smart enough to figure out when to cut all my losses or linger stubbornly until the bitter end.

But enough of that defeatist thinking. Sleep deprivation always made me a little loco.

The GPS directed me to leave the interstate, and a few minutes later, I was at the café. I could practically smell the caffeine—the rich roast beans, the steamed milk—just the thought gave me a little boost as I parked and stepped out of the car.

But another scent grabbed my attention as soon as I stepped out of the car—honeysuckle and strawberries—a scent that niggled at my subconscious for only a moment before I was able to name it.

“Hey, Marcus! You clean up…” Miles’s voice trailed off.

I stared in disbelief. We could have been a million miles away and a hundred years could have passed, but I still would have recognized Miles. That honeysuckle and strawberries scent made me feel like I'd finally come home. But at the same time, I couldn't look at him without remembering the worst time of my life. I could never make it up to him.

It finally dawned on me that he'd called me by another name, by my brother's middle name. Marcus. I felt an irrational surge of jealousy. Were he and Zeke--but no. Neither Miles nor Zeke were interested in other omegas. Unless things had changed. I liked to think I knew my former lover and brother better than that, but... I wasn't the pretentious asshole I'd been when I was younger. But I dismissed my concern as unlikely. It was odd that Miles would call me by Zeke's middle name, but I couldn't get my thoughts to focus on that with his scent filling my nose and memories filling my mind.

Miles was still staring at me without saying a word. As I slipped into uncertainty, I felt my business smile settle on my face. I cursed inside, but didn't do anything to stop the plastic smile. After years of dealing with international CEOs and top alpha types, I could no more slip off my armor than I could remove my own skin. But this wasn't who I had ever been with Miles. It wasn't something I wanted him to see me as. But I smiled and tilted my head confidently and walked over to shake his hand.

To shake. His fucking. Hand. Like we were just acquaintances. Like I'd never caressed his naked body with absolute worship. Like I'd never been buried deep inside him while we screamed each other's names.

He ignored my hand and, outside, I rolled with it, but inside, I was falling apart. I'd rarely let myself hope that I might someday see him again, but I had hoped that if I was lucky enough, he might at least have forgiven me a little bit.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

I'd pretty much forgotten I was here to look for Zeke, along with nearly every other thought in my brain, but Miles probably didn't want to know all about my brother troubles. "Grabbing coffee on my way home. You?"

"Same."

"Oh. Want to have coffee together?" I was prepared for him to say no, to get the fuck out of his sight, but he stared at me, and I would have given anything to be able to read him. Finally he nodded.