Chapter 46 A Perfect Mess

Chapter 46 A Perfect Mess
The house was unusually loud for a Tuesday afternoon.

Camden and Caleb burst through the front door like they were being chased, feet thudding across the floorboards, backpacks swinging dangerously from their arms.

Camden's sweater was half-off, twisted around his torso like a straitjacket, while Caleb had a suspicious smear of strawberry jam across his cheek and a wild gleam in his eye.

Sebastian was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and sauce bubbling on the stove, lavender scent curling warm and sweet in the air, when Camden's voice rang out.

“Daddy! Daddy, guess what!”

“I swear if you brought a frog home again—”

“No!” Caleb yelled, laughing. “It’s better than frogs!”

Sebastian turned, already smiling despite himself, scent deepening with curiosity. “Better than frogs? That’s a high bar.”

“Mom and Me Day!” Camden shouted, spinning in a circle so fast he nearly collided with the counter. “We’re doing Mom and Me Day!”

Sebastian blinked. “You’re doing what?”

“Mom and Me!” Caleb echoed, scrambling onto one of the bar stools and kicking his legs. “Our teacher said it’s gonna be the biggest thing this term. We get to bake something and decorate the table and show the other moms our classroom!”

Sebastian turned off the stove, distracted now. The rich scent of tomato and herbs hung in the air—beneath it, a faint, unmistakable trace of sandalwood and spice lingered. Ezra’s scent. Stronger than it should’ve been. Stronger than he should’ve been feeling it.

“Wait. What are you talking about? This wasn’t in the newsletter.”

“Clara signed us up,” Camden said proudly, puffing out his chest. “She came to school today and told Ms. Tori she was coming.”

Sebastian stilled.

“She came to school?”

Caleb nodded eagerly. “She was wearing your hoodie. The blue one with the strings. It looked kinda funny on her ‘cause it’s too big, and she smelled like... not you. But she said she was gonna help us make cupcakes with surprise jam inside.”

Sebastian’s body went cold. Then hot. Something in his chest shifted out of place—just slightly, like misstepping on stairs in the dark. It wasn’t pain, not yet. But it was the threat of pain.

“She wore my—” He couldn't finish the sentence.

Caleb swung his legs. “She said she was gonna be there early to set things up and bring decorations.”

“I told her you were better at decorations,” Camden offered helpfully. “And you smell nicer.”

Sebastian swallowed thickly. “Thanks, baby.”

Caleb beamed. “You’re welcome.”

He waited until they ran off again—arguing over icing—before turning away from the stove entirely. The sauce was starting to burn, but he didn’t go back for it.

He couldn’t.

Upstairs, the bedroom door was half-open. Afternoon light streamed in, casting golden pools across the floor and laundry-strewn bed.

Sebastian stood in the center of the room like he didn’t remember walking there. The air still held the ghost of Ezra’s scent—wood, spice, warmth—clinging to the sheets, mingling faintly with lavender.

She wore the hoodie.

That hoodie.

He’d folded it yesterday. Washed it the day before.

Ezra had worn it last.

Sebastian remembered how it clung to Ezra’s broad shoulders that morning, sleeves shoved up to his forearms. He remembered tugging the drawstring, brushing the back of his hand against Ezra’s hip. The small huff of breath Ezra let out. The flicker of eye contact that didn’t last long enough.

Now Clara had worn it. At school. Around their children.

His fingers curled into the hem of his own shirt, twisting the fabric.

He didn’t hear Ezra come in.

The knock was soft. More suggestion than sound. Then came Ezra’s voice, rough from the chill air outside and something heavier.

“Seb?”

Sebastian didn’t answer. His scent tightened—sharpened at the edges. Ezra would feel it. He always did.

Ezra pushed the door open. His Alpha presence hit the room like pressure—low and thick, barely restrained.

“I just heard what happened,” Ezra said. He stood in the doorway like he didn’t trust himself to step closer.

Sebastian’s back stayed rigid.

“I didn’t know she was going,” Ezra added. “Clara texted me about wanting to be more involved. I didn’t think she’d—”

“Show up?” Sebastian said flatly.

Ezra hesitated. “Yeah.”

“She wore your hoodie.”

“I didn’t give it to her,” Ezra said quickly.

“She didn’t steal it, Ezra.”

Silence.

Sebastian finally turned. His expression was careful. Too careful. And his scent—usually soft and calming—was sharp now, almost acrid with hurt.

“She wants them to think she belongs here,” Sebastian said, voice low. “And you let her.”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“But it did.”

Ezra’s nostrils flared. He was breathing Sebastian in like it steadied him. But his own scent—sandalwood and heat—had gone restless, responding to Sebastian’s distress, wrapping the room in quiet tension.

Sebastian’s voice was quieter when he spoke again. “You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t think—”

“No, Ezra. That’s the problem. You didn’t think about what it would do. About how it would feel.”

He stepped forward, chest rising fast. His scent pulsed with frustration and heartbreak. “I cook for them. I kiss their cuts. I go to meetings, to playdates. I know which twin wets the bed when it storms. I earned this place. She hasn’t even learned which way to turn the tap.”

Ezra exhaled roughly, eyes closing. His scent throbbed warmer now—guilt and arousal, tangled.

“Seb—”

Another step. Sebastian was almost toe to toe with him now. His presence was smaller than Ezra’s, but it demanded space. Commanded attention.

“And then she walks into their classroom,” he whispered, “wearing the hoodie you wore the first night you kissed me.”

Ezra went still.

Sebastian lifted his chin. “That hoodie means something to me.”

Ezra didn’t speak.

Sebastian’s voice cracked with quiet fury. “You’re still hiding. And she’s not.”

Ezra looked at him—really looked. His jaw tightened, and then relaxed as his hand lifted, slow and tentative.

Fingertips touched Sebastian’s jaw.

Sebastian didn’t move.

Ezra leaned in—not rushed, not sure. Just... drawn. The air between them felt charged. Sebastian’s scent, warm and vulnerable, wrapped around Ezra like a tether. Ezra breathed it in, like it hurt not to.

His mouth hovered over Sebastian’s like a question.

Sebastian didn’t answer it.

But he didn’t pull away.

Ezra kissed him—soft, almost reverent. A kiss made of apologies and longing, not claim. No tongue. Just closeness. Contact. Heat.

Sebastian kissed him back once—brief, a flutter of feeling—and then stepped away.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he whispered. “Taking the pieces of me you like and hiding them when you’re done.”

Ezra’s voice was hoarse. “I’m trying.”

Sebastian’s eyes stung. “Try harder.”

Ezra reached out again, slow and aching—but Sebastian turned his face away. The air thickened, their scents tangled in quiet tension.

“I can’t be your secret anymore, Ezra,” Sebastian said, voice soft but unyielding. “Not when she’s standing in front of our children pretending to be something she’s not.”

Ezra’s hand dropped.

And Sebastian walked past him.

Ezra didn’t stop him.