Page 57 of Omega's Fire

My child. Leo’s carrying my child. Soon, there will be a baby. Our baby.

I run my fingers along a display of impossibly small sleepers, soft cotton in a range of colors. The sales associate hovers nearby. He’s got that look on his face that indicates that he recognizes me but is pretending he doesn’t. Either way, I suppose he’s curious.

“Can I help you find anything specific?” he asks, smile professionally bright.

“Just looking,” I reply, lifting a tiny onesie decorated with dinosaurs. It’s smaller than my hand. How can something so small possibly hold a whole person?

The bigger items—the crib, the changing table, the stroller—those decisions should involve Leo. But these smaller necessities, the day-to-day essentials... I can provide these. I should provide these.

I select carefully: a pack of newborn onesies, soft cotton blankets, diapers in multiple sizes because I have no idea what we’ll need. Bottles and burp cloths that look more like tiny towels. Everything practical, nothing presumptuous.

At checkout, the total makes me blink. How do new parentsafford this? Leo certainly can’t.

“Your first?” the cashier asks, scanning the last item with knowing sympathy.

“Yes.” The word comes out rougher than intended. My first. Possibly my only, if Leo continues keeping me at arm’s length.

When I get home, I see my apartment through Leo’s eyes. It’s not ready for a baby. I have too much glass, nothing is baby-proofed, but that can be done later.

The problem is that is isn’t ready for a pregnant omega either.

I’m not stupid. I know Leo is going to keep fighting me. He’s going to keep saying no, but the last thing I want is for him to say yes and I’m not ready.

It gives me something to do so I’m not going crazy over him.

This is more important than work. It’s sure as hell more important than Jones. I call into the Dean’s office at the university, telling them that I’m going to take a personal day tomorrow.

I wake up with the sun in the morning, shower and have a coffee, then I roll up my sleeves and get to work clearing out the room. I’ve used it as a store room since I first moved here so it takes some time.

There are academic journals stacked on every surface. Books I’ve been meaning to shelve. The treadmill I bought with good intentions and used exactly twice. Boxes of conference materials I’ll never look at again.

The day passes in a blur of productive energy. Books sorted and boxed for donation. The treadmill disassembled and listed on eBay within minutes—apparently unused exercise equipment sells quickly. I vacuum behind furniture that hasn’t been moved in years.

By early evening, the room looks completely different. Clean walls, polished hardwood floors, afternoon sunlight streaming through windows no longer blocked by towering book stacks. Iarrange the baby items on the built-in shelves.

The spare bed is made and ready for him.

Perfect. Simple. Ready.

I make coffee and settle into my leather armchair, muscles pleasantly tired from the physical work. For the first time in months, my apartment feels like a home rather than just a place to sleep between obligations. A place Leo might actually want to stay.

My phone buzzes against the coffee table. Halvorsen’s name flashes on the screen.

“Ben.” I settle back.

“Nash.” His voice carries an odd tension that makes me straighten. “I just heard something you need to know. Leo’s building—the squat he’s been living in—they evicted everyone today. Police are there now.”

“What?” The word comes out strangled. “When?”

“This afternoon. Court order came through faster than expected.” Halvorsen’s voice gentles with sympathy. “I thought you should know.”

I don’t hesitate. “Do you know where he is?” I’m already moving, grabbing my keys, pulling on my jacket with one hand while clutching the phone with the other.

“No idea. I’m sorry, Nash. I just heard through university channels.”

I’m out the door before Halvorsen finishes speaking, taking the stairs two at a time rather than waiting for the elevator. The drive to Leo’s neighborhood passes in a blur of traffic lights and mounting panic.

Police cars still line the street when I arrive, their flashing lights painting the abandoned building in harsh red and blue. A massive dumpster sits outside, overflowing with detritus. Officers direct the last stragglers away from the cordoned area.

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