Chapter 57: Not me
Chapter 56
Ciel
I watch as the doctor and nurse do their checks on Lanny for his monthly health visit. His little chest rises and falls as the stethoscope touches his skin, and he babbles like this is all just another game.
Nolan stands at my side, posture stiff, arms folded. He’s always so serious in hospitals, like he’s bracing for bad news that never comes. I don’t say anything, just stay close enough that our shoulders touch.
"Weight’s good, height’s on track, reflexes strong," the doctor says, jotting notes. The nurse coos at Lanny when he giggles at the cold stethoscope.
My chest loosens. Every time we come here, I hold my breath until I hear those words—he’sfine.
"Everything looks excellent. He’s a healthy boy," the doctor adds, handing Lanny over to me.
Nolan exhales quietly beside me. His relief mirrors mine, but he hides it better.
"His vitals are good. You can also check our website for tips on stimulating his brain activity..." the doctor continues, flipping through his notes. Then he glances at Lanny and adds, "And I think you can try to introduce solid foods."
"Already?" Nolan blurts, brows furrowing.
The doctor chuckles, amused. "Key word: try
. Lanny is nearly five months old now. He’s healthy, his growth is on track. It’s time. Of course, go slow, and monitor his reactions."I look down at Lanny in my arms, his big golden eyes blinking up at me, a tiny fist clutching my shirt. He coos like he understands, and my chest tightens.
Already. Too fast. My baby’s growing too fast.
The nurse hands over a pamphlet, which the doctor passes to Nolan. "Follow this guide. If you have any concerns at all, don’t hesitate to check in. And he’ll need an allergy panel soon, so keep that in mind."
Nolan nods stiffly, taking the pamphlet like it’s some kind of sacred text. The doctor rattles off the rest of his advice, but my thoughts blur.
Jack is going to be furious he missed this.
When we finally step out into the hallway, the smell of antiseptic clings to us. The noise of pediatrics swells around—children crying, parents murmuring, nurses gliding past with clipboards. It’s chaos, but it feels muted, distant.
I glance at Nolan. His jaw is tight, his eyes locked straight ahead like he’s staring at something far away only he can see.
"You okay?" I ask gently.
"I’m fine," he says too quickly.
Which, of course, means he isn’t.
"Jack said he spoke to you about something last night," I say, shifting Lanny higher in my arms.
Nolan exhales, sharp and loud, his shoulders stiffening.
We pass a struggling omega dad with a wailing infant, his husband trailing behind with dark circles under his eyes and a diaper bag that looks ready to split at the seams. The sight makes me clutch Lanny tighter. Honestly, I can only handle it because I have two extra pairs of hands—Jack’s and Nolan’s.
"He told you," Nolan mutters finally.
"Mmhmm."
Silence stretches. Our footsteps echo down the hall, nurses gliding past, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to everything.
"It just caught me off guard," Nolan says at last, his voice low, tight. "I’ve never really thought about it. And I don’t know. I don’t know what I even like."
The guilt strikes sharp, heavy. Because I know why. Nolan sacrificed so much—for me. He says it’s fine, but it’s not.
"I’m sorry," I whisper.
"Don’t, Ciel." His tone is sharp, final. No room for argument.
So I swallow my words and walk beside him, silence pressing down like a weight.
"Math," I say eventually, the word slipping out before I can second-guess myself.
Nolan blinks, caught off guard. "What?"
"You always loved math. And ones and zeros. Computers. Back when we were in high school." My voice softens, like I’m holding out something fragile, something I don’t want him to drop.
I can still see it—Nolan hunched over that ancient laptop, light from the screen catching his face as he scribbled equations in the margins of his notebook, eyes alight in a way I rarely saw otherwise. He used to stay up all night coding nonsense programs, laughing when they crashed, trying again until they worked. It was the one time he ever seemed... free.
"What?" he says again, slower this time, like he’s testing if I mean it.
"It’s what you liked," I murmur, almost ashamed I hadn’t remembered sooner.
Silence stretches between us, filled only by the squeak of my sneakers against the hospital floor and Lanny’s soft cooing.
"...Right," Nolan says finally, but his tone is strange. Not quite agreement, not quite denial. More like he’s turning the word over in his mouth, tasting it for the first time in years.
And my chest aches, because it hits me then—Nolan has been carrying so much weight for me, for so long, that he’s forgotten the boy who used to light up over numbers and patterns and puzzles. Forgotten the way he’d scribble equations in the margins of his notebooks, forgotten how he used to explain algorithms to me like they were magic.
He’s forgotten who he was.
And it breaks my heart.
I adjust Lanny in my arms, his tiny hand fisting into my shirt, clutching tight like he’s grounding me.
"Nolan," I whisper, voice rough, "you’re allowed to want something. For yourself."
His steps falter. Just slightly. Not enough for anyone else to notice—but I do.
He doesn’t answer.
But I know he heard me.
We step out through the automatic doors, the smell of antiseptic giving way to the faint salt of ocean air and the hum of traffic outside. The afternoon sun is bright, glinting off cars in the parking lot. I squint, scanning for Jack’s ride.
Not the massive truck anymore.
No, now it’s the mom car. Still expensive, still sleek, but safe. Jack said he liked the way it handled, and though I teased him for looking so out of place in it, secretly I was relieved.
What the fuck?
I stop dead in my tracks.
"What’s wrong?" Nolan asks, turning toward me—until he follows my line of sight.
His expression twists to mirror mine.
"What the fuck?" he mutters.
Because there is Jack. My alpha.
Standing by the car.
With a beautiful omega draped over his arm. An omega that’s not me.