13 - The Space Between

The house was too quiet now.

The twins’ energy had evaporated from the kitchen like steam off the syrupy plates still on the counter. A sock lay in the middle of the hallway, abandoned mid-sprint.

The television in the living room burbled with forgotten cartoons, the same episode looping—a frog wearing a crown bouncing across a lily pad.

Sebastian stood with one hand on the back of a chair, as if bracing against a wave of scent and memory.

The silence pressed in around him, laced with the faintest trace of Ezra—sawdust, sweat, and sandalwood, warm and dry and clinging to the chair where he'd sat that morning.

That scent lived in the grain of the wood now. It curled in Sebastian’s nose, low and grounding, and it made something in his gut ache.

He could still hear Camden’s morning squeal echoing in his skull—“Only when we pretend to be dinos!”—and Mia’s dry snort as she tied her laces.

“Wow. You guys are worse than divorced parents.”

The words had lodged deep, somewhere between his ribs and his stomach—a place already too tender, too bruised by quiet rejection and mornings like this.

He moved slowly now, collecting syrup-streaked plates and cups with floating bits of cereal. Ezra’s scent lingered on the rim of one. Sebastian didn’t need to clean—no one had asked him to—but still, he wiped and scrubbed like muscle memory, as if rhythm might override yearning.

It didn’t.

Ezra’s coffee sat beside the fruit bowl, half-drunk. Still warm. Still his. Sebastian hovered over it, drawn by instinct before thought.

His fingers curled around the ceramic mug before he even realized he’d moved. Heat radiated through the clay. Alpha warmth. Alpha presence.

We're not anything.

His thumb brushed the rim. His throat ached.

He hated how much those words had gutted him. Ezra hadn’t said them cruelly. Worse—he’d said them like they didn’t mean a thing.

Not anything.

Not even a regret.

Sebastian exhaled and set the mug down harder than he meant to. The porcelain clicked sharp against the countertop. He winced.

The breeze through the open window lifted the sheer curtain, brushing it softly against the edge of the counter. A cool whisper against the back of his neck, chasing away the cloying stillness. But not the scent. Not the memory.

Sunlight filtered through the trees outside, dappling the worn floorboards, the scuffed legs of the dining table. The spot where Ezra always sat.

Sebastian sank into that chair without thinking, inhaling shallowly, nose twitching as the Alpha's scent welcomed him like a betrayal.

His hands trembled slightly in his lap.

There was no one to see him fall apart.

The hum of the fridge grew louder. A bird screeched in the back paddock. Somewhere deeper—under his skin, in the base of his spine, in the glands just beneath his jaw—a slow hunger bloomed.

He tilted his head back and shut his eyes.

His thoughts betrayed him.

That night.

The way Ezra had kissed like he was starving. Like he'd never done it before and never wanted to stop. The growl in his chest when Sebastian had gasped.

The press of their bodies—Ezra's calloused hands guiding him, grounding him. The way Ezra had breathed in deep at the curve of Sebastian’s throat, like he needed that lavender-sweet scent more than air.

Other men had called him soft. Fragile. Pretty. They’d pawed at him without care, gotten off on the novelty of someone delicate. But Ezra—

Ezra had never treated him like a novelty. Or a mistake. He’d held Sebastian like something claimed—without the words, without the commitment, but with a reverence that had undone him.

Sebastian shifted in the chair, legs pressing together, thighs clenching tight. His scent spiked slightly—lavender, warm sugar, a throb of need—and he hated that even now, even after what Ezra had said, his body betrayed him like this.

It had been the best sex of his life.

And it was ruining him.

Because Ezra didn’t remember it the way he did.

Because Ezra could say we’re not anything with no hesitation. Like it had meant nothing. Like he hadn’t kissed every inch of Sebastian’s skin like it mattered.

Because Sebastian had stayed, thinking maybe—just maybe—this could be something. Not just for the kids.

But for them.

He opened his eyes and looked around the kitchen.

Crumbs on the counter. Juice rings on the table. A crayon half-tucked under a chair. The scent of pancake syrup still clung to the air, laced with that faint, ever-present undercurrent of Ezra: warm cedar and skin, the salt tang of a man who worked with his hands.

This was his world now. Built from small hands and sticky hugs and bedtime stories.

And Ezra.

Ezra’s tired laugh. His quiet strength. The soft way he said Seb when no one else was listening.

Sebastian closed his eyes again, just for a moment. Let the ache rise and crest.

There was nothing for him back in the city. No pack. No Alpha. Just his too-small apartment and half-dead plants and therapy clients who saw him as a curious anomaly.

This was home now.

Even if it hurt.

He dragged in a breath, eyes fluttering open as the front door creaked and settled again.

The space between them was growing wider by the day.

He didn’t know how much longer he could keep reaching across it.

Sebastian stood, cleared the rest of the dishes with practiced care, and rinsed Ezra’s mug like it didn’t mean a thing. Like he hadn’t wanted to drink from it just to taste the Alpha’s mouth again.

Then he caught his reflection in the window—sunlight making a halo of his curls—and saw how tired he looked. Worn. Wanting.

He sighed, long and low, and shook himself free from the weight of it.

One step at a time. One lunchbox packed. One pancake flipped.

Even if Ezra never looked at him the same way again—

He had chosen this.

He chose to stay.

The twins were loud in the backseat, arguing about dinosaurs. Ezra barely heard them.

The truck rumbled down the gravel court, sun catching in the dust rising behind them. The house disappeared in the rearview.

Mia sat in the front, scrolling her phone, one foot tapping against the dashboard. She didn’t speak, but Ezra could feel her eyes flick toward him occasionally, assessing.

There was still a hint of lavender on his skin, clinging at the collar of his flannel. His shower hadn’t washed it all away. He’d caught himself leaning into it earlier—nose brushing his own wrist like a man starved—and hated what it did to him.

At the school, Camden was the first to unbuckle. “Race you!” he shouted, launching himself out the door.

Caleb shrieked after him, backpack bouncing, and they were off—barreling toward the building like they hadn’t just spent the morning half-dressed and bickering.

Ezra stepped out and exhaled through his nose. The air was crisp. Clean. Mia slid out beside him, already clocking her friends.

“There’s Kara,” she muttered, tucking her phone away. “I promised I’d help her with her bio notes.”

Ezra raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been here four days.”

“I’m magnetic,” she said flatly, but there was a flicker of pride in her smirk.

Ezra watched her join the girls. She slipped into the group with ease—confident, contained. A survivor.

The twins were already at the front doors. Camden waved. Caleb beamed.

Ezra smiled. He didn’t wave back, but something inside him warmed.

He ducked into the front office just long enough to sign the late log. Routine now.

When he came back out, he hesitated beside the truck.

At least the kids were okay.

No tantrums. No crying. No late-night fits. They’d settled into this life like they belonged. Like Sebastian had wrapped them in his scent and made them feel safe, and they’d believed it.

He thought of what Seb had said, quietly, weeks ago. Offhand.

“For kids from a divorced home, with a deadbeat father and a dead mother… they’re startlingly well-adjusted.”

Ezra hadn’t known what to say.

Still didn’t.

Maybe kids were tougher than they looked.

Or maybe they were still waiting to break, and he just wasn’t paying close enough attention.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, slid back into the driver’s seat. The faintest trace of lavender clung to the headrest. To the air where Seb had sat the night before.

Ezra sat for a moment longer than necessary.

Then he started the engine and turned toward the east road—toward the site near the old mill. Half-built stairs, stubborn plumbing.

Work. Keep moving.

Anything but sit still long enough to miss him.