Boy Next Door (Last Ditch Omegaverse #1)

1 fourth of july

There are six different apple pies on the table.

Six pies on a long bench table already heaving with food, and there are barely two dozen people here.

And that’s just the apple pies. There are plenty more desserts here, to where we’re going to need to eat half a pie each to get through it all.

Something about it really pisses me off, but I can’t put my finger on why.

All holidays are exhausting, but I think the Fourth might be the worst.

Dad always has to make it this bullshit elaborate display.

As if he’s proving to everyone in town that we’re the most normal, the most American, the most enthusiastically traditional.

It’s never been said explicitly, as far as I know, but this is less of a potluck and more of a test for everyone’s wives.

Between my brothers and all Dad’s friends from town, there are always plenty of mates and girlfriends in attendance, and the pressure on them to provide the best contribution seems high.

This is one of the many, many disadvantages to living in a small town like Ashfall. We’re all in each other’s pockets, and it makes bullshit, unimportant things seem important just because everyone else is staring at you.

My family is very far from wealthy, but this lakeside cabin has been in Dad’s family for generations, and getting an invite out here for the Fourth of July is something he expects the other people in town to covet.

I would personally rather be anywhere else, but unlike the other guests, I don’t have a choice.

Dad’s on the grill, of course, getting louder with every drink as he oversees the cooking of so much meat it’s going to kill our grocery budget for the next month.

My older brothers are with him, equally loud, while Karl’s mate and Jax’s new girlfriend are in a huddle with the other omegas and female betas, the kids running around them. It’s all very Norman Rockwell—in a sickeningly cheesy way—but I guess that’s the point.

Dad thinks this is picture perfect. The point of being alive.

And I want to love it as much as he does, but it all seems so staged.

We can’t afford to throw away this much money on hosting every year, and I’m going to be the one eating box mac and cheese until I go back to college in the fall because of it.

Not to mention how much shit he talks behind these people’s backs.

Jax catches my eye through all the smoke and walks over, picking up another beer for himself and one for me on the way.

“Could you try not to look like someone shit in your soup?”

he asks, handing me the ice-cold longneck.

“It’s a fucking BBQ. I know you hate being around crowds of people, but you could at least make nice for Dad’s sake. He lives for this shit and you’ve spent all afternoon sulking like a little bitch.”

I rankle at being treated like a petulant child, of course. But I force myself to take a deep breath and answer like an adult instead of doubling down and proving his point.

“I don’t hate crowds; I just hate this crowd. Everyone wants to talk about the same shit, and I hate people constantly asking me how I’ve been; like I’m supposed to pull out my list of pre-approved accomplishments for the year. What am I supposed to tell them?

My grades are mid and I’m riding the bench in baseball? My girlfriend broke up with me Junior year and the thought of getting another one is exhausting? You know that would piss Dad off worse than being quiet. He’ll act like I was trying to embarrass him or something.”

Jax lets out an overstated sigh. “Always so dramatic,” he says, but I know he knows what I mean.

“It’s not hard to get another girlfriend, you know. Just pick a decent-looking girl and be nice to her. But not too nice. Pretend to give a shit about her life. Girls want a good-looking guy on their arm just as much as we want a girl; it’s a fair deal.

You literally just have to not be a piece of shit.”

“I don’t think Dakota left because I was a piece of shit.”

That makes him laugh loudly enough that a couple of other people turn to watch.

“Bro, I saw you with her and I’m amazed you actually remember her name. Ignoring someone can make you just as much of an asshole as being rude, you know. There’s a reason she left your candy-ass in the dust and it’s because you barely acknowledged she was alive.”

“That’s not true!” It is. “It’s hard, okay? College is busy. I have shit to do all the time, and I don’t want to turn myself inside out to fit another person into my life just for shits and giggles when I’m barely keeping on top of my own responsibilities.”

Jax puts his arm around my shoulder, which always pisses me off because it makes me feel small. I’m not small, but he got Dad’s height with all the other fucking alpha genes, and I’m just over here looking like a normal guy. Which, for them, might as well be a shrimp.

“Nobody made you go to college, right? None of us did, and we’re doing just fine. I swear, all this stuff you get so stressed about you bring on yourself. You need to relax. Have a drink, get laid, take some fucking deep breaths, whatever. But I swear if you keep going through life this high-strung,

you’re going to have a heart attack before the old man does. Nothing is that serious.”

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter, sounding just as petulant as I feel.

“Hey,” he says, his voice getting a little softer and more sincere as he turns to face me.

Which is unlike him and tells me just how much my mood must be bringing everybody down.

“I get that certain things are easier once you present, but don’t give up hope. You’re 21, that’s not too late. You might just be a late bloomer.”

“Sure.” I don’t agree, but I’ll do anything to extract myself from this conversation. We all know that my window to present as an alpha is rapidly shrinking, and the ways in which I’m a disappointment to my father are growing every day.

“Are you sure this pissy mood isn’t just because your partner in crime isn’t here to run interference for you and do all the talking?”

It’s not like I’d forgotten that Atlas isn’t here, but it hurts like a knife to the chest every time someone mentions it. Of course, it doesn’t help that Dad’s so bursting with pride that he won’t shut the fuck up about it.

He’s bragged to every person here—all of whom live in the same town as us and therefore already fucking know—that Atlas presented youngest out of the four of us and was able to go into the military straight from his high school graduation because of it.

19 years old, a barely minted adult and alpha, and already off in the Army, following in his father’s footsteps like a good son should.

Obviously, Dad has bragged to exactly zero people about the fact that I’m probably just a beta of deeply average everything, who insisted on going to college even though I’m not great at it and Dad still thinks education is for pussies who can’t make it in the real world.

“I miss him.”

I don’t mean to admit it, but the words spill out.

And for a second, Jax looks genuinely sympathetic.

My older brothers aren’t total assholes, I know.

But we’re far apart in age and we’ve never had a lot in common, other than our collective need to make Dad proud, as well as never ever mention our mother in front of him.

Neither of them is exactly the heart-to-heart type.

But Atlas being gone has hit me like a missing limb, and I’m obviously not hiding it as well as I should.

I’m about to tell him as much, but I’m interrupted when a stranger comes through the gate into the yard and captures everyone’s attention, the group going almost completely silent.

“Who the fuck is that?” I whisper to Jax, my eyes still glued to the newcomer.

Dad’s a big guy. Alpha-tall and thick, with a gut from drinking that he’s weirdly proud of but plenty of muscle underneath.

Karl and Jax are both big too, clearly alphas in every inch of their bodies even if they aren’t dedicated to weightlifting like Dad is.

Even Atlas is imposing for his age, considering how early he presented and how long he’d been training before signing up.

He will undoubtedly put them all to shame by the time he’s finished with his first deployment.

Fuck, I’m still relatively tall by beta standards and an athletic guy, even if I look scrawny by constant comparison.

But this guy has every one of them beat.

Maybe only an inch taller than Dad, but with the kind of thickness to his musculature that tells me he’s been built all his life, and a definition that’s not exactly dehydrated-bodybuilder level, but speaks to the kind of discipline no one else here can claim.

He gives off more of an impression of size than anything else.

Size and power. Cut-glass jawline under a short beard—dark, with a little gray in it—and a deep, natural tan, of course.

Fucking alphas and their perfect physiques.

I feel pale, scrawny and short in comparison, and I’m not even standing next to him.

He’s probably Dad’s age or a little younger, with dark brown hair and a heavy brow that makes him look grim. Combined with the stern expression he’s wearing, of course.

But then Dad calls out “Gray!” and the man’s whole face brightens. He gives a small but genuine smile, revealing straight white teeth and dimples under the beard, of all things. It makes him look a little younger and less intimidating, but not not intimidating.

The man waves as Dad pushes through the others to greet him with a handshake that turns into an enthusiastic, back-clapping bro hug, and the rest of us are all left staring as they greet each other loudly.

“Gray?” I ask Jax quietly, both of us still watching.

Jax snaps his fingers, like he just remembered something.

“Fuck, yeah. Dad said he was coming, but it was in the middle of a ramble and I totally spaced out. You remember him, right? He and Dad hung out a lot when I was little, although he might have stopped coming around when you were a kid. He’s the one Dad always tells those fucking war stories about.

Remember? The one?—”

“The one that saved his life?” I ask, interjecting.