28 - The Repeat Pattern

The house hummed with its usual evening noise—Mia was curled on the couch, thumbs flying over her new phone, but the tight set of her mouth betrayed her frustration about still being grounded.

The twins had stripped off their shirts, galloping barefoot through the hallway like wild ponies, their laughter echoing off the walls, light and free.

Sebastian had helped clear the table. Now, everything was dim—just the warm kitchen light glowing across the floor and the soft thump of Ezra’s boots kicked off at the door.

The bedroom was dark. Ezra lay shirtless, one arm flung across the bed as if he’d passed out mid-thought. His chest rose and fell in even rhythm. He looked tired. Older. Still unfairly gorgeous.

Sebastian stood at the edge of the bed for a long moment, caught between the need to touch and the knowledge of how volatile this moment felt.

The subtle, intoxicating musk of his own scent—the deep lavender laced with a heady, almost fertile sweetness clung to the air, but Ezra’s scent of warm sandalwood and spice wove through it like an anchor, drawing him closer and maddening him at the same time.

He crawled in without sound, careful not to shift the mattress, careful not to disturb Ezra’s sleep. He didn’t touch him. Not yet.

Instead, he curled close but kept a breath’s space between them.

He stared at Ezra’s broad back, the sharp plane of muscle and skin glowing faintly in the low light.

A flash behind his eyes—another bedroom. Darker. Colder. The cold sheets of a much bigger bed. The sound of leather buckles hitting hardwood. A low, possessive laugh, cruel in its casualness.

“You’re so easy to keep, Seb. Soft. Quiet. That pretty mouth was made for obedience.”

Raymond. Twice his age. Married. With kids.

Sebastian hadn’t known. Not until the photos popped up on social media—Raymond in a tux, arm wrapped around a smiling woman, daughters on each hip.

A caption about 25 years of love. Sebastian had looked at that post and felt hollowed out, discarded, dehumanized.

A toy.

That night, he’d gone to a club with too much eyeliner and a shirt a little too sheer. Kissed strangers. Taken shot after shot, waiting for someone to touch him like he was more than hollow.

And then Ezra had appeared.

Big. Rough around the edges. Drenched in cologne and masculinity. But he touched him like he was… precious. Like a sin to savor.

Now, here he was, in Ezra’s bed, craving the same affection—starved for it—and yet afraid, small, wondering if he was just a warm body again.

If Ezra would ever stop hiding him.

If he mattered.

Sebastian blinked, forcing himself to breathe evenly, to pretend the room wasn’t spinning with unspoken things.

He edged an inch closer. His knee brushed the back of Ezra’s calf. Just that.

The faint scent of Ezra’s sandalwood and spice deepened as he moved closer, mixing with the rich lavender of Sebastian’s own scent—now thick with that almost fertile sweetness, despite his heat being over. It hung heavy, like a promise and a warning.

Sebastian’s breath hitched, a low hunger rising deep in his chest. He wanted to reach out, to nose Ezra’s neck, to press against the curve of his waist. He could almost feel Ezra’s strength beneath his fingers, the taut muscle ready to rut, to claim.

But he held back.

Ezra shifted slightly but didn’t wake. His breath was warm and steady in the hush of the room.

Sebastian closed his eyes.

Behind his lids, Raymond laughed again. Called him easy. Disposable.

Sebastian pushed the voice away, breathing slowly. He let himself listen to Ezra’s breathing, let himself be close, even if it wasn’t safe, even if it wouldn’t last.

Because in that moment, with the twins’ distant laughter faint through the walls and Mia sulking quietly with her phone, Sebastian let himself believe—just for a second—that maybe this wasn’t the same.

Maybe he wasn’t the same.

And maybe Ezra, in all his rough silence and bottled-up affection, might one day see him fully.

Not as a secret.

Not as a convenience.

But as someone worth loving out loud.

A soft creak pulled Sebastian from his half-sleep. His eyes fluttered open, heart knocking in that startled way it did after too much thinking.

Another sound—thuds. Fast. Little feet.

The twins.

Of course.

He sighed and eased out from under the blanket, careful not to disturb Ezra. The man grumbled but didn’t stir, turning slightly toward the warm side of the bed Sebastian had left.

Sebastian stood barefoot, glancing once over his shoulder.

Ezra’s back was smooth in the low light, marred only by the faint shadow of nail scratches and love bites blooming like secrets across his neck, collarbone, and ribs. His hand twitched once, as if reaching for something—someone—but didn’t.

Sebastian swallowed and stepped into the hall.

The house was dark but familiar. Lived-in. Quiet in that lazy, late-Saturday way.

The faint smell of dinner lingered—leftover grilled meat, sweet fruit punch, Ezra’s cologne clinging faintly to the walls, but beneath it all was that thick, pervasive lavender mixed with something far more ripe and potent—Sebastian’s scent, saturated into everything.

A soft giggle came from the twins’ room.

Sebastian peered in, voice low.

“Boys?”

He stepped further inside.

Camden was halfway on the bed, tangled in a blanket, while Caleb stood on a chair holding a flashlight like a magic sword. Both froze at the sight of Sebastian, blinking as if caught mid-heist.

“Daddy said we could be pirates,” Camden whispered seriously.

“Daddy said you should go to sleep,” Sebastian corrected, hands on hips, though the corners of his mouth threatened a smile.

“But pirates don’t sleep,” Caleb insisted, pouting. “Pirates watch the stars and fight sharks and—”

“And get eaten if they don’t rest,” Sebastian said softly, walking over to take the flashlight. “Come on. Into bed, first mates.”

“But we’re not sleepy,” they chorused.

Sebastian knelt and tucked Camden in first, smoothing back damp curls. He kissed Caleb’s forehead before scooping him off the chair and laying him down.

“We had a fun day, huh?” he asked softly.

“Yeah…” Camden yawned, voice drifting.

“Even with the mean lady?” Caleb asked suddenly.

Sebastian stilled.

Rachel. The mean lady.

He smiled gently, masking the sting. “Even with her.”

“She didn’t like you,” Camden said matter-of-factly.

“I don’t like her either,” Caleb whispered, curling up.

Sebastian brushed a hand over their blankets. “Well, I like you two. And your dad. That’s enough, right?”

The boys nodded sleepily. Camden was half asleep, Caleb blinking slow, thumb in mouth.

Sebastian stood, flicked off the flashlight, stepped out, and pulled the door nearly shut.

He leaned against the wall, listening.

The silence was soft again.

But something Caleb said tugged at his chest.

She didn’t like you.

It didn’t matter that Sebastian was used to it. That Ezra hadn’t exactly jumped to his defense. Not properly. Not when it counted.

Sebastian ran a hand through his curls, sighed, then padded softly back toward the bedroom.

The door creaked as he opened it.

Ezra hadn’t moved much—just shifted to the center like he’d unconsciously missed something.

Sebastian stared for a second, then crawled in again.

This time, he didn’t hesitate.

He curled behind Ezra’s back, close enough to feel the steady heat of him. Carefully—so carefully—he placed one hand on the curve of Ezra’s waist, thumb brushing the hem of his boxers. The kind of touch that grounded more than seduced, a tether to keep him present.

Ezra didn’t wake, but his breathing shifted. Just enough.

Sebastian pressed his forehead to the back of Ezra’s shoulder.

The scent was overwhelming—the mix of Ezra’s spice and sandalwood and his own thick lavender ripe with unspoken desire. His scent filled the room, fused with the bed, the walls, the very air itself.

And Sebastian made himself a promise:

He wouldn’t be a secret forever.

Not this time.