Page 20 of His Best Friend’s Heat
Micah
" I want to take you to Amara now."
Nick's words hang in the air as we stand outside the café, the cool evening breeze carrying the scent of approaching rain. I blink at him, processing.
"Now? It's almost eight. Her office will be closed."
"She gave you her card, right? With her cell number?" Nick's eyes are determined, his jaw set in that way that means he's made up his mind. "Call her. Tell her it's important."
I shake my head, practical instincts kicking in. "Nick, even if she agreed to see us, the early detection tests aren't completely accurate. That's why she told me to wait a week."
"I don't want to wait a week." He steps closer, his hand finding mine with casual certainty. "I don't want you to spend seven more days wondering and worrying. Let's just...know. Whatever the answer is."
The bond pulses between us, carrying his emotions to me—determination, yes, but also excitement that doesn't quite make sense given the circumstances. Not panic or resignation, which is what I'd expect from someone who just learned they might have accidentally impregnated their best friend.
"You're really not freaking out about this," I observe, studying his face for signs of hidden distress.
Nick's smile is small but genuine. "I'm surprised too. But no, I'm not freaking out." His thumb traces circles on my wrist, sending warmth up my arm. "Call her, Micah. Please."
I sigh, knowing that tone. Nick has always had a stubborn streak, especially when it comes to taking care of people he cares about. Apparently, that now extends to potential pregnancies.
"Fine." I pull out my phone, scrolling to find Amara's contact information. "But don't be surprised if she tells us to wait until regular office hours."
To my surprise, Amara answers on the third ring, her voice crisp and professional despite the evening hour. When I explain the situation, she agrees to meet us at her private practice office in thirty minutes.
"She said yes," I tell Nick after ending the call, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.
"Of course she did. You're a colleague, and this is important." He takes my hand again, leading me toward his car. "Come on."
The drive to Amara's office passes in nervous quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
I watch Nick's hands on the steering wheel—steady, confident—while my own pulse hammers against my throat.
His scent carries notes of concern but none of the bitter distress I'd expect from someone facing unexpected fatherhood.
Instead, there's that same undercurrent of contentment that still confuses me.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks, glancing at me at a stoplight.
"You," I admit. "How calm you are. It's...unexpected."
Nick considers this, his brow furrowing slightly. "I think I'm past the initial shock. When you first told me, everything kind of stopped for a second. But then it started again, and it just...made sense, somehow."
"Made sense?" I repeat incredulously. "Nick, nothing about this makes sense. We're best friends who accidentally bonded during a heat that wasn't supposed to happen, and now I might be pregnant. That's the definition of chaos."
"Is it?" He looks at me again, his blue eyes serious. "Because from where I'm sitting, it feels like everything that happened was leading us here. Like we were always heading toward each other, and the heat just accelerated the timeline."
The sentiment is so unexpectedly romantic that I don't know how to respond. This is Nick, my practical, straightforward best friend who's never been one for flowery declarations. Yet here he is, talking about destiny as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
"The bond is affecting you," I say finally, grasping for familiar explanations. "It's influencing your emotions, making you feel more accepting of the situation than you would otherwise."
"Maybe," Nick concedes. "Or maybe the bond is just making me honest about feelings I've had all along."
The certainty in his voice makes my chest tight. Through the bond, I feel his emotions—steady, unwavering, with an undercurrent of joy that should terrify me but somehow doesn't. He really means this. All of it.
Before I can formulate a response, we arrive at Amara's office—a modern building in the medical district, its windows dark except for a single light on the third floor. Nick finds a parking spot and cuts the engine, turning to face me fully.
"Whatever she tells us in there," he says, his voice low and serious, "we'll handle it together. Okay?"
I nod, not trusting my voice. The bond between us thrums with shared emotion—his certainty mingling with my anxiety, a tension that crawls under my skin and makes everything feel electric.
The lobby is dimly lit when we approach the entrance, and I spot Amara through the glass doors before we even reach them.
Amara is waiting for us inside, dressed in casual clothes rather than her usual professional attire.
Even so, she carries herself with the same composed authority I've always admired.
"Thank you for meeting us so late," I say as she lets us in, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor.
"Micah, Nick," she greets us with a nod. "Follow me, please."
She leads us to an examination room that feels both familiar and strange in the after-hours quiet. The standard equipment is there—examination table, ultrasound machine, computer terminal—but the usual bustle of a medical practice is absent, creating an intimacy that makes my pulse quicken.
"I'll need a blood sample, Micah," Amara says, all business as she pulls on latex gloves. "The early detection test for male omegas looks for elevated levels of hCG along with specific hormone markers unique to male omega pregnancy."
I nod, rolling up my sleeve automatically. As a nurse, blood draws are routine—I've administered thousands and received my share. But there's nothing routine about this moment, about Nick's steady presence beside me as Amara prepares the needle.
"This will take about twenty minutes to process," she explains as she draws the sample. "I have a specialized testing unit here for omega health emergencies."
"Is this an emergency?" Nick asks, his hand finding my shoulder.
Amara's expression softens slightly. "Not medically, no. But I understand the emotional urgency." She labels the vial of my blood with efficient movements. "I'll be back shortly. Make yourselves comfortable."
When she leaves, Nick and I are left in a silence that feels weighted with possibility. He takes the chair next to the examination table where I'm sitting, his knee brushing mine.
"Twenty minutes," he says, taking my hand. "How are you doing?"
I consider deflecting with humor or changing the subject, my usual tactics when emotions run too close to the surface. But the directness of his gaze, the warmth of his hand around mine, deserves honesty.
"Terrified," I admit. "Not just about the test results, but about...everything. Us. What happens next. Whether this is all just some heat-induced fantasy that's going to collapse once reality sets in."
Nick's fingers tighten around mine. "This isn't a fantasy, Micah. And it didn't start with your heat. It started nine years ago when I sat next to you in chemistry lab and you corrected my equations without making me feel stupid."
The memory catches me off guard—Nick in his varsity jacket, looking completely out of place in AP Chemistry, flashing me that disarming smile when I quietly fixed his lab work. "You remember that?"
"I remember everything," he says simply. "Every movie night, every road trip, every time you fell asleep on my shoulder. I just didn't understand what it all meant until now."
Through the bond, I feel the truth of his words—a certainty so complete it makes my throat ache. "And if the test is positive? If we're having a baby?"
Nick's expression transforms, a softening around his eyes that makes him look younger somehow. "Then we figure it out. Together. We find a place big enough for the three of us, we read all the books, we call my mom for advice because she's been dying to be a grandmother."
The casual way he includes me in this future—our future—steals my breath. "And if it's negative?"
"Then we still figure us out. Together." His thumb traces my knuckles. "The baby would just be an acceleration of a timeline, Micah. It doesn't change how I feel about you."
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe that this isn't just alpha instinct or bond-induced affection. That Nick truly wants me, has always wanted me, the way I've wanted him for nine years.
The waiting stretches between us, heavy with unspoken fears and hopes. Nick doesn't try to fill the silence with empty reassurances. Instead, he just holds my hand, his thumb making those slow circles on my wrist that somehow ground me when everything else feels like it's spinning out of control.
"Nick?" I say finally, needing to voice the fear that's been eating at me. "What if this is too much? The bond, the baby. It's not exactly how most people start a relationship."
"Most people don't get nine years of foundation first," he says, his voice gentle but certain.
"Most people don't get to know each other's favorite coffee order and worst fears and the way they laugh when they think no one's listening.
" He squeezes my hand. "We're not starting from scratch, Micah.
We're just...finally admitting what was already there. "
Before I can respond, the door opens and Amara returns, her expression unreadable as she takes a seat at the computer terminal. She types for a moment, then turns to face us, her eyes finding mine.
"The test is positive, Micah. You're pregnant."
The words land like physical weight, pressing the air from my lungs. Positive. Pregnant. A life growing inside me, created in that moment of perfect connection when Nick claimed me, when our bodies recognized each other in the most fundamental way possible.