Chapter 5Gavin
CHAPTER
FIVE
GAVIN
After Jules finishes, I clean the kitchen and usher him to my car. He doesn’t settle easily in the passenger seat—constantly picking at his fingers, chewing his nails, shifting back and forth. There’s no way to ease his mind, and meaningless conversation isn’t a strong suit of his. Or mine.
Since I only live fifteen minutes outside of town, it’s not a long drive. Just awkward. When I pull into the driveway and throw the car into park, Jules swallows and rubs his hands on his thighs as he inspects my house.
It isn’t anything grand—just a single-story white brick ranch house, built on the edge of the cliffs that overlook the Atlantic. The ocean stretches out behind it, an endless blue in the early afternoon sun. It’s been home since Baz was a toddler, and I love it.
“How about after you look through Altair’s old clothes, I throw them in the wash? And maybe you’d like a hot shower?” I unbuckle as I wait for an answer.
It’s probably been a while since he had a shower—hot or otherwise. Altair’s badly timed fishing expedition didn’t tell me anything I don’t already know. Jules is homeless.
“I... can’t thank you enough for all the kindness you’ve shown me.” There’s a quiver in his voice I can’t identify. Maybe shame, or fear. Maybe a little of both. He has no reason to be ashamed or scared but it’s going to take him a while to figure that out.
“Once is enough, Jules.” We get out of the car and I unlock the door that leads into the garage. “You’ll have to excuse the mess. Over the years, the boys have used the garage as a catchall for their crap and I haven’t bothered to clean it out.”
One day, I will. Maybe after Altair takes over Strange Brew I’ll have the time.
“Oh, it’s fine; I don’t mind.” Jules follows me into the room and I flip on the overhead light. It really is a vast collection of junk, slowly built over the last twenty-plus years. Altair’s old clothes are a new addition to the chaos; I find the bags easily and drag them out of the maze of memories.
We both look down at the overstuffed bags. “Take whatever you want,” I tell Jules. “My future grandchildren will be in your debt. No teenager wants their parent’s hand-me-downs.”
He grins even as he squats in front of the bags and picks at the knots. “Fashion works in cycles, so your great-grandkids might.”
I squat across from him so I can open one of the other bags. “By then, the moths will have developed a complex ecosystem we shouldn’t disturb. For science’s sake.”
“One step forward in evolution and the first moth shifter is born in your garage.” He pulls the knot on his bag and opens it. I don’t have a clue what he’s going to find in there. My middle son has... interesting taste in fashion, but all of it will be in good condition and nothing will get him any side-eye from the locals. Mostly.
“There might already be moth shifters. Who can say? I didn’t know pikas were a thing until today.” Later, I’ll google what the hell a pika looks like. Small and cute, if Callum and Altair’s reaction is any indication. I already knew Jules is something small, though. I’d been leaning towards a mouse. Maybe a pika is like that.
“That’s because most people don’t know what a pika is.”
“Callum approves. But he’s a hawk so small and cute is his jam.”
Jules glances up from the clothes he’s sorting into two piles after checking the size. “Are you all hawks?”
I sit and stretch my legs out in front of me. After being on my feet all day, I might never get up again. “Yeah. Before I came to Pine Glen with their mother, we were part of an aviary. When our marriage was arranged, like went with like. After we left and she had Callum, we owned up to the fact we weren’t all that well suited, even if we were both hawks. She’s out there somewhere, spreading her wings. If you stick around, you’re bound to meet her. She comes back for the boys’ birthdays and holidays. Or to give me a hard way to go.”
Iolani is one of my best friends. She was my best friend when we were little, and I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did. In those days, she used a different name and went by different pronouns, but just like then, she’s still someone I consider one of my own. We may not be married anymore, and I may not love her the way a husband is supposed to love a wife, but I still love her. She’s family. Always will be.
“Pine Glen wasn’t supposed to be my last stop.” Jules picks at some lint on one of the shirts and flicks it away. “But it’s not like I have a destination in mind.”
I shrug because I understand more than he might know. “Pine Glen is never really the last stop for anyone, but they get here, and something about this place just gives you roots. At least, that’s what my mother told me when I showed up with a wife and two kids.”
He chews his bottom lip before shaking his head and going back to sorting through the bags. “I can’t put down roots. Eventually I’ll have to leave.”
“If you’re in some kind of trouble, Jules...”
“It’s nothing.” His smile is weak, and I can read the lie in his eyes. “You don’t have to worry about it.”
“Hey.” I tap my foot against his knee. “It’s an open offer. Anytime, alright?”
He doesn’t know me, not really. For the past three weeks, I’ve been giving him food, and we’ve spoken about one thing or another, but we’re still strangers. I don’t expect him to trust me or to spill his secrets, but if he needs help, I’ll do what I can for him.
“You’re really nice, Gavin,” Jules whispers. Nice isn’t something he’s used to. Someone has hurt him, mistreated him, and if his inability to put down roots tells me anything, it’s that whoever abused him in the past is still after him now. “But I can’t accept that kind of offer. If you or your family get hurt because of me, I’d never forgive myself. Not after all the kindness you’ve shown me.”
“Just keep it in mind. Yeah?” I can’t make him accept help he doesn’t want, but if the time comes when he needs someone to trust, someone to listen to his troubles, someone to keep him safe from them, I can be that guy. He won’t be the first omega I’ve helped when they needed it.
“Okay.” He adds the shirt he’s holding to one of the piles.
I groan at the next one he grabs. “Not that one.”
He turns it around and laughs, a soft sound similar to the one he tried to hide at lunch. “Altair has interesting taste in clothes.”
“He presented late, so by the time we knew he was an omega, none of us were prepared. Except him, perhaps. I think he always knew. I didn’t though. I raised him up the same way I did Baz.” And later, Callum.
Jules tucks the shirt into his lap. “Would you have treated him differently if you knew he was going to be an omega?”
I exhale and flop on the concrete floor. “I’ve had a lot of years to think about that question.” Too many sleepless nights scared for my omega son, and the way he moves through the world like an alpha some days. “And I guess no—I wouldn’t have. I might’ve done some things differently, but I’d have raised him the same as I did his brothers.”
“I can tell Altair is a really strong person.” A weight settles around my ankle and when I glance down, his fingers are curled around my lower leg. “I’m sure he’s grateful. I would be if I was him.”
I blow out a breath. “Even well-meaning parents raise their omega children with the expectation they’ll be treated like second-class citizens, so they grow up believing they are, and acting accordingly. And I mean, it’s valid. Omegas are treated like a second class, even outside of the Naturalist movement. But raising them to accept that treatment is a problem. If children don’t expect better, how do they know to demand it?”
“Demand it?” Jules laughs under his breath. “Your son might be the only omega demanding things. Or well, maybe Silo. I never saw a predator look scared of a prey before, but Callum was pretty nervous at lunch.”
I laugh and sit up. Jules’ hand falls away. “Silo bites. The bunny has teeth. Callum only has himself to blame. They’ve been friends since they were young and Callum... I guess he gives Silo the same room I’ve given Altair.”
Altair doesn’t bite, but he’ll claw the shit out of someone, peck their eyes out if needed.
“I told them they shouldn’t hurt each other if they’re friends.” Jules rubs the back of his neck and glances away. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.”
I squeeze his elbow. “You didn’t. They shouldn’t hurt one another—friends or not. But unless I’m way off the mark—” I press my lips together. Jules is easy to talk to, easy to spill my guts to, but I shouldn’t be so quick to talk about my children and their personal lives.
He holds his hands up. “I already heard Callum and Silo. I don’t need to hear more.”
I almost feel sorry for him. Who knows what he overheard those two talking about. “I’d rather not talk about them, anyway. Tell me about pika business. I’m thinking something like a field mouse?”
“We’re actually closer to rabbits than mice. We live in burrows. We have a lot of natural predators. The most troublesome where I lived are coyotes.” He clenches the shirt he’s holding until his knuckles turn white and he pulls it against his chest. The tension that tightens his shoulders and the worry that dims his bright eyes make me want to offer him a hug, but I doubt he’ll accept it. “They’re... relentless.”
“We’ve got our fair share of coyotes around here. Not much trouble out of them. Red-tailed hawks are most common in the region. An adult can lift about five pounds, and well—what they can’t lift, they’ve been known to kill on the ground.”
“We needed more hawks where I’m from then.” His greasy hair, maybe a light brown, possibly blonde, falls over his face as he curls into himself.
My hand itches with the urge to reach for him but I don’t. “Plenty in Pine Glen if you change your mind about putting down roots.”
“I... I belong to someone else,” he says in a single rushed breath. “I just ran away before they could take ownership. A coyote. I was given to them to help the burrow.”
I rest my elbows on my knees and search his face. He looks like he said too much, and not enough at all. “Is this arrangement something you consented to wholeheartedly, without any type of coercion, and one you agree with now? Because if the answer to either is no—then you don’t belong to anyone, Jules. No one but yourself.”
Maybe before, omegas could be bought and owned, but those days are behind us now.
He tucks his chin into his chest as he squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t think I’ve ever belonged to myself. Running was the only choice I’ve ever made without Father’s input. And look how far that’s gotten me.”
“Looks like it got you where you needed to be.” I stand and offer him my hand. He looks at it, but doesn’t take it—not yet. Maybe because he knows I’m offering more than just a hand up. “I told you Pine Glen takes care of its own, and so long as you’re here, you’re one of us. Now, how about that shower?”
He hesitates, then slips his hand into mine. I pull him to his feet before releasing his hand and gathering the pile of clothes that seems most likely to be the one he wants to keep. At least, I hope it’s the one he wants because the pile doesn’t have the omega sex strike shirt my middle son made my life hell wearing for weeks on end.
“Is ‘around’ somewhere you want to keep staying?” I ask as he follows me into the house. “Because if not, Baz’s old room has an empty bed. Just... maybe change the sheets.”
Open a window and air out the stench of teenage boy.
Jules wraps his arms around himself. “I can’t keep imposing on you.”
I glance back. “It’s a good thing you’re not then, isn’t it?”
He might feel like he is, but he’s not. What he is, is young and in need of some help. I hope if any of my sons are ever in his position, whether it be Altair, Callum or most unlikely Baz, that someone, anyone helps them. Not because they expect something in return, but because it’s the right thing to do.
“Then . . . I’ll rent it from you.”
I could ask how he expects to pay rent, but that’s adding problems where there don’t need to be any. “Okay. We can work it out after you shower. The bathroom you’ll share with Altair is down the hallway, the second door on the right. Use whatever’s in there; Altair won’t mind.” He’ll be glad to have another omega in the house. “The third door is your room. I’ll leave some clean clothes on the bed.”
“Umm...” He shifts from one foot to the other before clasping his hands in front of himself. I wish there was a way to put him at ease, but only time will do that. “Thanks, Gavin.”
“Go on,” I coax. He’s probably eager to get clean but doesn’t want to rush off. “Take all the time you need. No one is going to bother you.”
He hesitates a second longer before turning and rushing down the hallway. In the laundry room, I load the washing machine so he’ll have something of his own to wear tomorrow.