Page 25 of His Best Friend’s Heat

"Both?" I lift my head to look at him. "It's everything I wanted for so long, but now that I have it, part of me keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Nick's expression grows serious. "What would it take for you to believe this is permanent? That I'm not going anywhere?"

The question catches me off guard with its directness. "I don't know," I admit. "Time, maybe? Proof that you won't wake up one day and realize what you've given up?"

"I haven't given up anything, Micah." His voice is gentle but firm.

"I've gained everything. You, the baby, a future I didn't even know I wanted until I had it.

" He cups my face in his palm. "I can't convince you with words.

I know that. But I can show you, every day, that I choose this. Choose us."

The steady certainty in his voice, echoed through our bond, makes my chest tight with emotion I can't quite name. "Okay," I whisper.

"Okay?"

"I'll try to believe it. That this is real. That you want this as much as I do."

"I want it more," Nick says, leaning down to kiss me softly. "Because you've been wanting us for nine years. I'm just catching up."

***

"So you're really doing this," Ryan says, gesturing vaguely around Nick's—our—apartment with a slice of pizza. "The whole domestic thing. Moving in together, having a baby, playing house."

I exchange a glance with Nick, who just shrugs. Ryan's been like this all evening—not hostile, exactly, but clearly struggling to process the rapid changes in his friend's life.

"We're not playing anything," Nick says mildly. "We're building a life together."

"Right, but..." Ryan takes a swig of beer, gathering his thoughts. "A month ago you were straight, dude. Now you're bonded to your male best friend and having a baby. That's a lot to adjust to."

"He's got a point," Jason chimes in from his spot on the floor, where he's been assembling Nick's new coffee table with suspicious enthusiasm. "Though I'd phrase it more like 'a month ago you thought you were straight.' There's a difference."

Nick's hand finds mine automatically, his thumb tracing familiar circles on my palm. "I know it seems sudden from the outside. But it doesn't feel sudden to us. It feels like...like finally admitting what was already there."

Ryan studies our joined hands with an expression I can't quite read. "And you're okay with this?" he asks me directly. "Being someone's gay awakening experiment?"

Irritation flares through me, sharp and protective. "He's not an experiment," I say, probably more sharply than necessary. "And he's not gay. He's just...mine."

"Exactly," Nick agrees, squeezing my hand. "I'm not attracted to men generally, Ryan. I'm attracted to Micah specifically. I love him specifically. The fact that he's a man is just one part of who he is."

Ryan nods slowly, as if processing this distinction. "And the baby? You're really ready to be a dad?"

"Terrified," Nick admits with a laugh. "But yeah. Ready as anyone can be for something they've never done before."

"Well," Ryan says, raising his beer, "here's to figuring it out as you go. And to Micah for putting up with Nick's learning curve."

It's not exactly a ringing endorsement, but it's progress. And as the evening winds down, I watch Ryan gradually relax into our new dynamic, making an effort to include me in their shared jokes and memories.

It occurs to me that we're all figuring this out together—how to integrate me into Nick's existing relationships, how to expand our circle to accommodate our new reality. It's messy and imperfect, but it's real.

***

Later, after Ryan and Jason have left and we've cleaned up the dinner dishes, Nick leads me to the spare room that will become the nursery. It's currently a chaotic mess of boxes and exercise equipment, but as we stand in the doorway together, I can almost see what it could become.

"What do you think?" Nick asks. "Sage green for the walls? Gender-neutral but not boring?"

"I like it," I agree, trying to imagine the space transformed. "Calming but not bland."

"We could do an accent wall," he suggests, pulling up paint swatches on his phone. "Maybe behind where the crib will go? Like a forest theme or something nature-inspired?"

I smile, charmed by his enthusiasm. "I didn't know you had such strong opinions about nursery decor."

"I'm full of surprises." He grins, setting his phone aside to pull me closer. "But seriously, I want it to be perfect. For both of you."

The simple declaration, delivered with such earnest sincerity, makes my throat tight with emotion.

This is Nick—my best friend of nine years, the person who knows me better than anyone—and yet there are still moments when he surprises me with the depth of his commitment, his wholehearted embrace of our new reality.

"It will be," I say, standing on my toes to kiss him softly. "Perfect doesn't mean fancy. It just means loved."

"Then we've got that covered," Nick murmurs against my lips.

As we head back to the bedroom—our bedroom now—I catch sight of us in the hallway mirror. Nick's arm around my waist, my hand resting on his chest, both of us rumpled and content and thoroughly domestic. We look like exactly what we are: two people who've found their way home to each other.

"What are you smiling about?" Nick asks, following my gaze to our reflection.

"Us," I say simply. "We look good together."

"We do," he agrees, pressing a kiss to my temple. "We really do."

In bed, as we settle into the familiar comfort of each other's arms, I rest my head on Nick's chest and listen to the steady rhythm of his heart. His hand finds my stomach, palm flat against the place where our child grows.

"Hard to believe there's someone in there," he says quietly.

"Someone who's half you and half me," I add, the reality of it still overwhelming in the best possible way.

"Think they'll have your eyes?" Nick asks, his voice soft with wonder.

"Or your smile," I counter. "God help us if they get your stubborn streak."

"Hey," Nick protests, but he's laughing. "That stubborn streak is what got us here. I had to be stubborn enough to fight for you."

I lift my head to look at him, this man who's somehow become my everything without me quite knowing how it happened. "You didn't have to fight very hard," I admit. "I was already yours. I just needed you to realize it."

"Best nine years of my life," Nick says, his voice rough with emotion. "Even when I didn't know what I was working toward."

"And now?"

"Now I know exactly where I'm going," he says, pulling me up for a kiss that tastes like promises and new beginnings. "Right here. With you. For as long as you'll have me."

"Forever, then," I whisper against his lips.

"Forever sounds perfect," he agrees.

As sleep begins to claim us, I think about the future we're building—not the fantasy version where everything is easy and perfect, but the real one where we'll figure things out as we go.

Where we'll make mistakes and learn from them, where we'll grow into the people we need to be for each other and for our child.

This isn't an ending. It's barely even a beginning. It's just the next step on a path we've been walking together for nine years, finally moving in the same direction with the same destination in mind.

And for the first time in my life, I'm not afraid of where that path might lead.