8. Lucas
8
LUCAS
S ilver lets me sit in his lap as he works. It’s a silly, stupid thing to stay there. I know that. But once I curl up on his lap, all the fear and stress melt away. Maybe it’s the comforting scent of his skin or the slow thump, thump, thump of his heart. I can feel the pulse of it against my cheek, and it makes me feel so goddamn safe, I want to cry.
Silver types on his laptop like I’m not there most of the time, except for the occasional kiss he presses to my head or the hand he runs down my back. The first time I rise to go to the bathroom, he playfully traps me with his arms until I tell him where I’m going.
“Will you come back?” he asks.
“Do you want me to?”
He nods without hesitation. So I do come back. I try to give his legs a break now and again by grabbing a snack in the kitchen and getting a glass of water, but I return each time and allow myself to take comfort in his big, warm body.
At 4:30, he shuts his laptop. “I’m done for the day.”
“Already?” I ask, not quite ready to get up, even though I’ve already cuddled with him for hours.
“Yep. I’ve been at it since 6:30 this morning.” He wraps his big arms around me and buries his nose in my hair. “Fuck, Lucas. You feel so good.”
My heart soars. Somehow, even with my big belly and swollen cheek, I’ve managed to make Silver feel good. I can hear the truth of it in his voice.
“We could just stay here for the rest of the night,” I say, only partially joking.
“Wouldn’t that be nice? But we need to go shopping before my brothers get here. I’ll never hear the end of it if they see you wearing my clothes.”
Reality returns with all its sharp edges. Silver’s brothers will see me pregnant with a bruised cheek in just a few hours. They’ll feel sorry for me and probably tell their moms about how sad my life has turned out.
That’s fine. It has to be fine. This is Silver’s house, and he should be able to invite his brothers over.
I climb off Silver’s lap. “Okay. I was thinking we could go to Walmart, if you don’t mind. They have inexpensive paternity clothes there.”
He stands up and raises his arms above his head in a big stretch. “Target is closer and their clothes are nicer.”
“Yes, but they cost more.”
He flashes me the dazzling smile that always mesmerized me in high school. “Don’t worry about money, okay? You’re my mate for the next month, which means I get to take care of you.”
That’s a line straight out of my fantasies. I shouldn’t let him. Soon enough, all this will be over, and I’ll undoubtedly have to pay him back for each moment of generosity, but I want the fantasy too much. Not necessarily the free stuff, but the experience of going shopping with Silver and letting him buy me things because he wants to.
This is my brief chance at happiness, isn’t it? What if I just let myself have this?
“Thank you, Silver,” I say.
“No problem. I enjoy buying stuff for the people I lo…ike,” he corrects himself mid-word. Was he about to say that he loved me?
I can’t read too much into that. He’s caught up in the way things used to be between us. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have offered to put his paws on me.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He puts his shoes on and leads me out to a clean garage with a white car parked at the center. He grabs a pair of gray flipflops from a bin by the door. “These are the smallest ones I have.”
My feet are still swollen, so the straps almost fit. The sole is far too long, though, and they slap the ground as I walk.
“We’ll get you new shoes in just a minute,” Silver says, rushing around the car to get into the driver's seat. His car is as clean as his garage, which is a relief. My pregnancy has made me more sensitive to smells than ever before, and wolf shifters have an excellent sense of smell. The stench of Daryl’s car is almost unbearable.
The Target is only a few minutes away. Silver parks in one of the spots reserved for pregnant omegas near the front of the lot. I expect him to keep his distance from me as we walk to the front doors. My cheek is still very swollen, and the last thing he needs is for someone to think he’s beating up his pregnant mate, but he grabs my hand and laces our fingers together. Pleasure rushes through me, with little sparks emanating from where our fingers are intertwined.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
I nod.
Silver does get a few suspicious looks from the other customers as we make our way into the store. He doesn’t seem to notice.
“Hold on, let me get a cart,” he releases my hand and rushes toward a row of carts, then hurries back. I assume we won’t be holding hands anymore because it would be awkward, but he grabs for my hand again anyway.
“Do we need a cart?” I ask. “I can just hold the clothes.”
“You’ll need more stuff than you can carry,” he says, awkwardly pushing the cart one-handed.
“What do you mean? I just need a shirt and maybe some underwear.”
He scoffs. “You don’t have anything, Lucas. You’ll need a whole wardrobe.”
My stomach sinks. That isn’t what I expected when I agreed to this shopping trip.
He steers the cart to the back of the store where the men’s clothing is. In the corner near the dressing room is a small section of paternity shirts and pants. I scan the shelves for prices and find the clearance rack tucked behind the selection of tank tops.
“Look, they have a few things on sale,” I say, heading for the rack.
He tugs on my hand. “And they have some nice things here. Do you like this shirt?” He points to a pale yellow button-up that looks incredibly soft. It’s my favorite color. But it’s at the front, and everyone knows the clothing on display is more expensive.
“The clearance stuff is fine,” I tell him.
He releases my hand and slides his arm across my back, pulling me in close to press a kiss in my cheek. I squeeze my eyes shut and savor the softness of his lips and the warmth of his body.
“Get what you like,” he whispers, his breath hot on my ear. “This is Target, not Bloomingdale’s. I can afford it.”
“You make that much in the military, huh?” I tease. My alpha dad was in the Army, once upon a time. I wasn’t under the impression that it was a lucrative profession.
“I’m a data analyst for the Air Force. I don’t make a ton of money, but I make enough to be comfortable.” He leans in close, “And support a family.” His tone is soft and earnest. Fate help me, but I let myself imagine what that would be like. Silver coming home from work every day to find me in the kitchen, cooking dinner for our family. In my fantasy, he takes time to hug each of the pups as if they were his own, and then comes over to kiss me.
The idea of a life like that makes me ache deep in my chest. I think that’s what happiness would look like for me, if I were ever allowed such a thing. I reach for the pale yellow shirt. The fabric is just as soft as I thought it would be. I could wear this in Silver’s kitchen during the next month, couldn’t I? Cook for him the way I would if we were mates. I know all his omega mom’s recipes.
I put the yellow shirt in the cart.
“There you go. What else do you like?” he asks.
I run my fingers over a folded pair of denim shorts. Silver used to like my legs. These would show them off. “Would it be okay if I got some shorts?”
He grabs for them and puts them in the cart.
“Do you think the blue denim or the black denim look better?” I ask.
He lets out a breathy laugh and grabs for the black denim, too.
“I don’t need both,” I say.
“Two pairs of shorts isn’t going to break the bank. How about some sleep shorts? You used to like those,” he says, grabbing for some pajama shorts.
“Oh. I thought I was going to wear your clothes to bed.” I try to hide the disappointment in my voice, but I’m not very successful.
He leans over and kisses my cheek. “You can wear my clothing whenever you want, baby.”
The endearment makes me weak in the knees. Baby. That’s what he called me in high school, and I thought I’d die with happiness every time. It made me feel so special.
He tosses the pajama shorts into the cart. “It will be nice to have something to lounge around the house in, though.”
He’s incredibly generous, and despite how selfish it may be, I love it. Just like every other part of him, his generosity makes me feel safe.
“Could I get another shirt?” I ask, eyeing a white T-shirt that looks wide enough to accommodate my baby bump all the way to the end of my pregnancy.
“Of course,” he says. “You’ll need at least five or six, don’t you think? This one looks comfortable.” He picks up a sleeveless workout shirt that’s the same pale yellow as the first one he spotted.
“I like that one a lot. Thank you, Silver.”
He kisses my cheek again. “You’re very welcome. How about you get four more shirts and some pants, then we’ll go get you some shoes. I forgot we were planning to look at those first thing.”
That’s more paternity clothing than I have at home. Daryl thought it was a waste to buy clothes I would only wear for a few months. Maybe it is. But I get to be happy this month, so I carefully select four more shirts and a pair of jeans with an elastic waist big enough to grow with me.
“Are you sure this isn’t too much?” I ask. The cart is halfway full of my clothing.
“Not at all. Let’s get you some shoes.”
He pushes the cart one-handed to the shoe section where he lets me pick out a pair of sandals, some athletic shoes, and a nice pair of loafers. I can’t believe he’s going to spend so much on me. After we’re done picking out shoes, he heads for the personal hygiene section.
“What kind of soap and deodorant do you like?” he asks, leading me down an aisle of bottled shower gels.
“Oh, um, I can just use yours. I mean your soap, that is.”
He stops the cart. “I want you to be comfortable, Lucas. Pick out some soap, shampoo, and deodorant. I also think we should get you some lotion. Pregnant guys like lotion, right? Isn’t that a thing?”
I hold back a smile. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Well, you should get some. Whatever kind you like.”
I scan the shelves of soaps and shampoos. There are so many options. Over the last few years, I’ve bought my soap and shampoo at the dollar store. It always comes in a bar, not a bottle. Even when I was growing up, bar soap was what we bought. It’s cheaper.
“Any kind I like?” I ask. “Are you sure? These are expensive.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Although, I won’t lie. I like smelling my soap on you.” He bites his lip and looks at me with a heat in his eyes that I remember all too well. Surely, he couldn’t be coming onto me. I’m six months pregnant and absolutely huge.
“Then I should use your soap, right? If you like it?” I say.
“Pick out some soap for yourself. You can use mine when you’re feeling flirty.” He smiles at me, and God. I can’t think when he smiles like that.
“Oh-okay. Yeah. Sure.” I turn to the wall of soaps. Even though there are rows and rows of options, one bottle calls to me right away. It claims to smell exactly like prairie wildflowers. I pick up the bottle and flip the lid. It’s close, I guess. I can pick out the floral undertones and the scent of the hardy grass that grows near the trailer park where we grew up, but the smell of dry earth is missing.
That’s probably for the best. My memories of that prairie are both good and bad. It’s the place where Silver and I cuddled and made love, but it’s also the place I took refuge every time my dad got angry. I don’t want to be dragged back in time every time I take a shower.
“I want this one,” I say, putting the bottle in the cart.
We find a shampoo and conditioner with the same scent. He even puts a lotion specifically made for a pregnant omega’s belly in the cart. I feel like a spoiled prince with all this stuff.
“Do you still love chocolate?” he asks, as we walk toward the register, hand in hand.
“Um, yeah, but you don’t have to?—”
He stops and tosses a big bag of chocolate peanut butter cups into the cart.
“Silver—” I protest, but he starts pushing the cart again.
“I’m allowed to buy my mate chocolate,” he says.
My stomach fills with butterflies.