Page 71 of Omega's Fire

“No, it’s... it’s good.” His voice sounds strained, but not from pain.

I work my thumbs in slow circles, finding the knots and gently working them loose. Leo’s breathing changes, deepening, and I catch the shift in his scent that means he’s affected by my touch.

We move to the next position—squatting, with me supporting Leo’s weight from behind. It’s intimate, his back pressed againstmy chest, my arms wrapped around him.

“Breathe through it,” I murmur, not entirely sure if I’m talking about the pretend contraction or the chemistry between us.

“Trying,” he whispers back.

“Why did you invite me?” I ask as we hold the position.

Leo’s quiet for so long I think he won’t answer. Then: “Because she’s your daughter too. Because despite everything, you’ve been trying. Because...” He trails off.

“Because?”

“Because I’m tired of being angry,” he admits. “It’s exhausting, and it’s not good for her.”

We shift to hands and knees, and I kneel beside him, rubbing circles on his lower back as Susan instructs.

“Good,” Leo says quietly, so only I can hear. “This is good.”

“Yeah,” I agree, breathing in his scent. “It is.”

“I’m still not ready to forgive everything,” he warns.

“I’m not asking you to.”

“And I still think you’re wrong about the science justifying any of this.”

“Noted.”

“And my mom’s probably going to interrogate you every time she sees you.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Leo turns his head slightly, meeting my eyes. “But maybe... maybe we can figure out how to be parents together. Find some middle ground.”

“I’d like that,” I say softly. “Very much.”

Susan’s voice breaks the moment. “Wonderful work, everyone.”

After class, we pack up slowly. The other couples filter out, leaving us alone with our awkwardness.

“Thank you,” Leo says as we walk to the car. “For coming.”

“You don’t have to thank me for wanting to be involved.”

“I know, I just—” He stops suddenly, face contorting. “Oh.”

“Leo?”

He grabs my arm, grip tight. “I think... oh god, I think something’s happening.”

“Braxton Hicks?” I suggest, though I can already smell the change in his scent.

“No, I’ve been having those. This is—” He gasps, doubling over. “Nash, this is different.”

My heart rate spikes as I recognize what’s happening. The pheromone shift, the way he’s breathing, the intensity of his grip.

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