Chapter 35
Jack
I run until the salty air of the sea is burning my lungs, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except the fact that every time I blink, I see it again.
The kiss.
His lips against mine. The sound he made—small, surprised, real.
I keep replaying it over and over again, like some deranged fool who just discovered what happiness feels like.
I skid to a stop on the sand, clutching my knees, chest heaving. My face is hot, my heart pounding, and I can't decide if I want to scream or laugh. Maybe both.
"Goddammit."
I straighten slowly, hands dragging down my face. The ocean roars back at me, mocking, like it knows.
I take off running again, as if I can leave the memory behind me, as if I can outpace the ache spreading in my chest. The sand kicks up under my feet, my breath ragged, but it doesn't help.
I still feel his lips.
I still hear his voice.
And worst of all?
I know I'll never forget it.
***
Nolan
That feeling I often get, when I see Jack and Ciel together—like I'm an outsider?
Well, it's pretty fucking cemented now.
I am an outsider.
My fists clench at my sides as I watch them by the pool, mouths pressed together like the perfect picture-book family. Jack, all golden and steady, kissing him like he's the prize at the end of some hero's journey. And Ciel, glowing—actually glowing—as if every nightmare, every scar, never existed.
Earlier they had the decency to keep it subtle. A glance, a brush of fingers, a smile that lingered too long. Now they don't care.
Now they kiss in the open. In my line of sight.
I've been avoiding Jack, not that I need to. With Ciel this far along, he barely notices me anymore. His attention's locked—solely, completely—on the omega with the swollen belly and sunshine laugh. And maybe that's good.
Maybe it means Jack's serious.
It means those moments between us—the stray glances, the push-and-pull, the way his hand lingered where it shouldn't—were nothing.
That should be a relief.
It isn't.
What did I expect him to do? Keep toying with me? Split himself in two between me and Ciel?
Ciel deserves better than that. He deserves someone who won't falter, won't stray, with his best friend no less.
But what about me?
The thought cuts deep, sharper than I mean it to. What about what I deserve?
I deserve nothing, maybe. Or maybe I deserve everything and just can't reach it. I don't know anymore.
All I know is this—when I see them like that, lips brushing, Jack's hand resting on Ciel's cheek like he's holding something holy—I burn.
It's not fair. It's not right. But the jealousy claws through me all the same.
***
Jack
Ciel's due date is almost here.
I'm crawling on the floor with a roll of foam padding in one hand and a screwdriver in the other, and I don't think I've ever looked more ridiculous.
But I don't care.
Because I'm baby-proofing.
For our baby.
Our baby.
I mean—the baby.
His baby.
Ciel's baby.
I swear, half the time I forget to correct myself. I feel like the father, and on my worst days I wonder if I've tricked myself into believing it. But then Ciel laughs, or rests a hand on his belly absentmindedly while I'm near, and the thought comes back uninvited, stubborn.
It's okay. I'm not the father by blood, but I'm the one who stepped up.
And that has to count for something.
The baby.
I'm so excited I could combust.
A child.
Not just any child—Ciel's child. Which makes it feel like mine, too. Our home is going to have laughter bouncing off the walls, tiny socks mixed into the laundry, bottles clinking in the sink. Maybe even a trail of toys across the carpet that I'll trip over and curse about—but secretly love anyway.
I grin, shaking my head. "God, I'm going soft."
The truth is, I've always been soft. Just… my old life didn't give me room to show it.
Now? I'm standing here sticking foam guards on coffee table corners, and they look like the deadliest weapons I've ever seen. Waiting to ambush a crawling baby's forehead. I press the pad down extra hard, testing it twice, imagining little hands tugging at it.
And then I see it in my head. The baby giggling when I scold, "No, that's not a toy."
The image slams into me like a truck, my chest tightening. I actually sit back on the floor, blinking at nothing.
God, this is real.
I move on autopilot, checking the stair gate, pulling it twice to make sure it clicks into place. Then I squat down and shove outlet covers into the sockets, one by one. Who knew electrical outlets could look like tiny portals to hell until you pictured your kid sticking a fork in one?
My heart does this stupid squeeze thing.
A family.
I swallow hard, suddenly overwhelmed.
I never thought I'd get this. Ever.
I run a hand through my hair and chuckle under my breath. "You better appreciate this, kid. Your old man's been on his knees all afternoon."