Home > Searching For His Omega(24)

Searching For His Omega(24)
Author: Harper B. Cole

I made a spur-of-the moment decision. “Why don’t we have it at my place? I have an apartment above the café. And no one has to cook. I can guarantee there'll be an endless supply of coffee, tea, and treats.”

Dave’s eyes watered, and he hugged me. “You’re an angel. But I gotta go and message everyone. Is ten too early?”

“That’s fine,” I replied as he waved and took off.

There was a bounce in my step as I headed home, and I didn’t bother poking my head into the coffee shop as I assumed all was well.

Later that night when I spoke to Chet, the first thing I said was, “I’ve made a friend. His name’s Dave and he’s pregnant with his second baby and I have a group of pregnant omegas coming here tomorrow.” I was practically bouncing off the couch as the words gushed out of me.

“That’s nice.” Chet’s downcast expression and unsteady voice burst my bubble.

“What’s wrong?”

“The usual. Missing you, working long hours, living out of a suitcase.” He peered at his phone. “And I can’t chat for long as we have a reshoot.” He yawned, and guilt flooded over me at being excited while he was miserable.

“I’m sorry.” And I was. We said goodbye and arranged to speak the following day. Another thing to add to my to-do list. How to balance my excitement and not feel bad because Chet was feeling crappy. And offer him support. Life’s complicated!

 

 

Twenty-Six

 

 

Chet

 

 

“Come out with us,” Joe, one of the guys from the restaurant we were filming asked for the third time. It was my fault. I kept saying maybe when I meant no.

“I know I said maybe, but I have plans.”

“Oh.” He dropped his head. “We thought...never mind.” I sometimes forgot how big a deal this whole thing was to people. It wasn’t just their job, like it was mine. It was an opportunity to get some free promotion and a little bit of fame.

“My omega is pregnant. Very pregnant, and I promised him I would FaceTime him after he got off work, and I miss him so much.” I was rambling on to this poor guy, giving him far more information that he probably wanted.

“Have him drink some orange juice.” He took out his phone and started to scroll through, eventually turning it to face me. It was a picture of a belly with a weird almost Alien-type bump. “This is my youngest when he was extra active. My omega had just had a tall glass of orange juice. Not sure why it works, but it does.” He half-shrugged.

“Sorry if I was weird,” he tacked on to the end.

“Not weird at all,” I reassured and grabbed my umbrella. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.” He started to walk away and turned around three steps in to add on, “And don’t forget the OJ.”

My hotel was only a couple of blocks from the restaurant, and even with the rain, I was glad for the walk. It gave me time to clear my head from work and to think of some little stories to tell Stan.

I did my best not to let him see how miserable I was. He was the one who had it the hardest. He was working full-time and growing a human. I was just working and being lonely. He didn’t need my emotional crap piled on top of his real life crap. He just didn’t.

The hotel lobby was blissfully vacant as I walked through, allowing me to skip over the obligatory chit chat with the front desk clerk and the do I know him glances from other guests. I calculated the time zone on my ride up the elevator. It was at least the fourth time that day, wanting to be sure I wouldn’t be disturbing him at work. I’d done that one of the first legs of my trip and wanted to avoid it if I could. One of my goals this trip was showing him how much I valued his job. It had been a sore point with him when I first asked him to travel with me, and I still felt bad about it.

Stan had worked so hard and overcome so much to be where he was. I didn’t know all the details of his head trauma, but it had been bad enough he was still in therapy for it, and though he was currently off his medication, it was a real possibility he might not always be. He’d been very upfront with me on that, even inviting me to a therapy session with him. He was so fucking strong and brave.

I used my keycard to open the door and was already calling Stan. It had been far too long since I heard his voice. Fine, it had been like eight hours, but still.

“Hey, sexy,” I toed off my shoes. “Are you home or should I call back in a bit?”

“I’m not sexy,” he grumbled. “I’m the size of four cars side by side.” I sat on the bed, pushing myself back until I rested against the headboard.

“Prove it,” I quipped.

“Prove what?”

“Add video and let me see this ginormous omega you claim to be.” I pressed the button to add video to my end and he immediately answered.

“I might possibly be exaggerating a little bit.” He held the phone out so I could get a better view of him. “But I did gain a bunch more weight.”

“You look sexy as fuck.” I licked my lips for effect, but it was true...one hundred percent. He was hot, and I was already sporting wood just looking at him in his uniform.

“I call bullshit, but thank you.”

“Dance for me?” I sassed.

“I just walked in. I’m wearing my uniform. All I want is a glass of water and to go to bed.” The click of the cupboard echoed in my ear.

“How about you get a glass of OJ instead? This guy on set said that when his omega drank OJ he could see the baby move.”

“You want to see my belly dance?” He turned the phone so I could see him opening the fridge and grabbing the juice.

“Heck yeah I do.”

“They told us in that dad group I went to that if you aren’t feeling the baby move enough you should try OJ. So maybe there is something to this more than you wanting to see me naked.” He poured the glass and drank it down. “Let's get to the bedroom so I can show you better. Baby moves more when I lie down, or maybe I feel it more. I don’t know.”

“I’m never turning down you getting into bed,” I teased as he got into his—our—the bed. “How was work today?”

“It was good. A little bit slow because they were doing some sort of a bake sale at the senior center. I sent over a bunch of hermits, and I guess they were the first things to sell out, so that was nice.”

“Those are the ones with the molasses?” I’d not heard of them before, but I guess they were a regional favorite, and after trying one, I understood why.

“They were. They currently reside in the bellies of a bunch of more experienced people.” He picked up his shirt, angling the camera so I could get a good look. “He seems to be asleep,” he teased. “How was your day?”

I started to ramble on about the food, one tiny little fire which would make good television, and the hotdog cart that stopped by for lunch with the hopes of getting a spot on air. I left off the part describing the terrible void I felt being so far away from him. He didn’t need that on his shoulders. He already had enough there.

“Look,” he flipped the camera around. “He’s dancing.” And sure enough, his belly did a weird alien thing and brought tears to my eyes.

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