39. Steve
Chapter 39
T hese pancakes are going to be as chewy as a damned rubber boot. I should probably start over and mix with less aggression but shit. Teddy loves pancakes, and I figured I could take over from Kelly since she wasn’t here, maybe do something to help me get back in his good graces. Now my frustration's just led to a mess and bullshit pancakes. I could fix these for everyone else and then make Teddy his own…but I would need to serve him last. Shit.
If he’d only accept my apology, or at least let me apologize properly. I don’t even know. It started because when I woke up, I was the big spoon…unfortunately it was in a trio, and when I tried to tug my omega away from Kelly, he got defensive. I can’t even put all the blame on him. I know he’s hurt. But I need to find a way to fix this.
He won’t even entertain the idea of coming back with us. He says he won’t leave his pack—but there’s no bite, so he could. If he really wanted to. I can’t believe I’m being thrown over for a beta, and a girl at that. If this is a family thing, where he wants kids, I’m probably screwed. Maybe we can find a female alpha for our pack who he’d go for. Then Sam could keep Kelly, and Teddy could come with us. Heck, maybe Garret would even hit it off with said lady alpha. He’s pretty flexible.
Not that I’ve ever seen him with anybody, but maybe he’s just not interested. Is it messed up that I don’t know if my brother is asexual or just picky? It doesn’t matter, Teddy is so obviously ours that he can’t even argue about it, I know he felt it too. I saw him chasing Kelly through the damned store after Teddy’s scent. He thinks she’s the one he wants, but he must be confused, she’s not even an omega.
Teddy left me alone when I started cooking, I don’t know where he went. Giving up on the batter, I check the fridge for any sort of berries or anything I can top these with that might make them salvageable. This isn’t helping my frustration.
Footsteps sound behind me. Thank goodness Teddy’s back. I can try to fix this. “So, what do you like on your pancakes? I don’t see any strawberries, are you still good with just maple syrup and way too much butter?”
Instead of a reply, I hear Sam’s deep growling voice. “What the hell happened in here?”
Ok, so on top of my aggressive mixing, I may have also made a bit of a mess with my measuring, but I was going to clean it up. Still, that’s not Teddy. Straightening up, I turn to face the alpha that owns the kitchen where my life is currently falling apart. He really is attractive, and I can see why Teddy’s drawn to him, he has that commanding presence going on. Oh look, he brought the beta too.
Yeah, no.
Still, Garret follows her through the door, and she accepts his hand when he winds his fingers through hers. Maybe it won’t be so hard to keep her away from my bear. I reach up, rubbing the spot over my heart. When I turned eighteen I got a small tattoo of a teddy bear there. Garret knows about it, and he probably understands, but nobody else has seen me shirtless in years. It isn’t as obvious now with all the coverups, but it was my first. Of course, Dad freaked out. I doubt I’d have to have gotten any of the rest of my ink if he hadn’t seen that one.
Sam glares down at the mixing bowl like it’s personally affronted him. He picks the spoon out of it and I watch the batter fall in a thick, smooth sheet from it. That doesn’t look quite right, I thought this was supposed to be kind of lumpy, but not too lumpy. Shit.
“Yo, man, what recipe did you use for this?” Sam asks, still staring down at the bowl.
This is embarrassing to admit. “I…uh…I didn’t? I mean, I used to watch the dads’ chef make breakfast, so I just tried to do what they did.”
Shit, ok, that sounds a lot worse when I say it out loud.
Teddy will be so disappointed if I make these for him.
Sam sighs, rubbing the end of his nose. “Ok, well, I don’t want to just pitch it, cause it’s a waste of food, so we can try making up a few after we get everybody fed. For now, hand me out a clean mixing bowl, they should be over the stove. Kelly, can you please go find Teddy? I want to make sure he gets food. We don’t want him getting sick again.”
Teddy was sick?
Shit!
Kelly leaves, dragging Garret along behind her like an obedient dog, and Jake, the actual dog, follows along happily wagging his tail. Sam grumbles to himself. He’s pulling out an old book from under the cabinet when I turn around with the clean bowl he asked for. He starts flipping pages, and this thing looks like it’s older than he is. There are notes scribbled in the margins, and some recipes have things crossed out and replacements carefully penciled in. My fingers itch with the desire to look through it myself, it’s probably some sort of family heirloom though.
I always wanted to learn how to cook, but Dad said it wasn’t something alphas should do. Of course I expect he’ll lose his shit when he hears about Teddy being our scent match, so maybe giving him something less drastic to be pissy about will be a good start. I hand the bowl off to Sam, staring over his shoulder as he finally finds the section he wants. Homestyle Buttermilk Pancakes according to the title. There are so many pencil and pen marks on this page, the original recipe is nearly illegible.
Sam starts opening drawers and pulling out measuring cups and spoons, and in no time he has a lumpy batter sitting in a bowl on the counter next to my monstrosity. “Ok, gonna let that rest and rise for a few minutes while I get out a griddle. You wanna stand back there, Steve?”
Shuffling sideways, my eyes are still drawn to the book as he moves around behind where I was standing, pulling out an electric griddle and putting up ingredients. He lets it preheat while he pulls out six plates, a butter dish, and a small pot of maple syrup from the fridge. At least he doesn’t use the imitation maple flavored whatever the-fuck-that-is. That’s all they kept at college in the Dining Hall, and it was horrible compared to the real thing. Garret never seemed to notice the difference and it often makes me wonder if my brother’s taste buds work at all.
Finally, the griddle's hot, and he grabs a new stick of butter out of the fridge and runs it across the surface before adding a ladle full of batter for each pancake. This part I remember, the smell of the frying flatbread and the singed butter drags up old memories of sleepovers when we were kids. Waking up with Teddy and Garret, stampeding into the kitchen to climb up at the bar and watch Cook make breakfast. If Dad wasn’t up yet, she would try to make shapes for us. They never looked quite like what she said they were, but young me thought it was the most amazing thing that someone could pour a pancake in the shape of a smiley face.
I’m drawn back to the present to see Sam start turning them on the griddle. He doesn’t flip them in the air like Cook used to, but the memory still brings a smile to my face, and pokes little holes in the defenses I’ve raised towards this big growly alpha that stole my omega. Shit, I can’t even blame Sam. The fault lies squarely with our old man, and us…me. I should have said something sooner. Shit.