Searching For His Omega - Harper B. Cole Page 0,30

all around and right here.” I patted his chest.

Our eyes locked on one another, and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but apparently decided against it and snapped it shut. Was that good or bad that he stopped himself? As usual, I could never let something go. I had to examine it from all angles, but I got nowhere and gave up. My therapist would be proud of me for not getting myself wound up about nothing.

As we drove away from the restaurant, Chet pulled up outside the pharmacy. That pharmacy. “What are you doing?” I shrieked.

He gave me a weird look. “Do you need to pee again?”

I shook my head.

“I need razors. Want anything?”

“Nope,” I mumbled.

“Okay, won’t be a minute.”

I sank down in the seat hoping no one would recognize me.

Twenty

Chet

I’m going to be a dad.

Of course I knew that. Stan had told me and I believed him, but there was something so different about hearing it and seeing it.

I saw my baby—our baby. Sure, he was a fuzzy blob of I didn’t even know what, but I saw him and I was going to be a father.

I dialed Glenn, needing to talk to him while Stan was at work. I had half an idea forming in my head and I needed to know if it was possible or not. It had to be. Every single other option I thought of sucked.

“Are you back?” Way to answer the phone, Glenn.

“No. But about that. I was wondering how ironclad my contract is...can I get out of next season if I am not airing content anywhere?” I knew there was a no-compete clause and I wouldn’t dare try to mess with that, but having the time to figure out my life with Stan and our child...that was everything. And he might not want more than co-parenting or whatever, but I longed for it, and if there was a chance of making it work, I sure as shit wasn’t going to let a job get in the way of it.

“Why?” he practically growled. Typical Glenn. Then there was silence, and I let it grow between us. He needed to put some of the pieces together on his own. I refused to give away anything that might lead him to the reality of the situation. He would know soon enough.

“Are you thinking of doing my Route 66 idea?” he finally asked, his voice unsure. “Because I’m pretty sure we can get extra dates added on no problem.”

“No.” He let out a sigh. “I don’t want extra days. I want fewer days.”

“You want a short season?”

“More like I want no season.” I waited for another growl, and I’d have deserved one. My income directly impacted Glenn’s, and for that I did feel guilty. Maybe I could release another cookbook for the network. Then he would get his money and I could let go of some of the guilt. “Not forever, but maybe take next season off.” Probably forever, but I didn’t want to give Glenn a heart attack.

“You need me to get the actual contract, right?” he huffed. It sucked I was doing this over the phone. I pressed the button to add video and he accepted. “You don’t want my two cents.” He wasn’t asking. He knew.

“You’ll just say I need to do it because I could be over tomorrow and I should ride the wave.” Just like he said anytime I tried to do anything outside the box. I couldn’t even be mad at him. He was right more often than not and the reason my career was as strong as it was.

“Fuck you for being right.” He stomped off, leaving his phone on the counter. Great, I was interrupting his cooking. “Let me pull it up,” he called from somewhere in the room.

He came back around with his laptop and set it on the counter next to his phone based on the angle. At least now I could see him. “What exactly are you wanting to know...specifically because this thing is a freaking book.” It was too. I never even read the blasted thing. It was too long for my liking.

“Do I have to do my show next season?”

“The Talent—that’s you—is required to complete no less than thirteen episodes a season until such a time as the network decides the show is no longer viable for their purposes or ten years, whichever comes first.”

Fuck me. Why had I agreed to a ten-year contract? Because it is ten years