1 fourth of july #2
“Yep, that’s the one. I don’t know if it’s true, but looking at him now, he definitely seems like a guy who can handle himself. Dad said he retired and moved back to town. Kept his parents’ old house here or something.”
“He doesn’t look old enough to retire, though,” I say. “He’s what, forty?”
Jax shrugs. “I dunno. Forty, forty-five? Twenty-something years in the military seems like more than enough for me. Hell of a lot longer than Dad lasted.”
We both snort, but don’t voice the rest of the joke out loud.
It’s been nothing short of a bitter disappointment to Dad that none of his sons—until Atlas, at least—wanted to follow in his glorious footsteps. But he crapped out with a back injury before his MSO was even done, and he’s been a long-haul truck driver ever since most of us can remember.
Couldn’t have been that bad of a back injury, I always thought, if he can drive a truck all day. Doesn’t stop him collecting his VA benefits, though.
I don’t understand why he’d want us to do something that worked out so shitty for him, but legacy means more to that man than I’ll ever understand.
I just try to make him proud, however I can.
If I joined as a beta, I’d be limited in what roles I could do anyway, especially when it comes to combat, so he’d still think of me as an embarrassment, I’m sure.
I pull myself out of that familiar spiral just as Dad is leading Gray over to us, one arm around his broad shoulders, introducing him to Jax, who reaches out to shake his hand.
Dad lists some of Jax’s accomplishments—he doesn’t really have any, but he is an alpha and he has a hot omega girlfriend, so that’s good enough for Dad—before they both turn to me.
“I don’t know if you ever met the two younger ones,” Dad says as Gray nods. “This is Tanner, second youngest. Up at college right now.”
Dad successfully keeps his voice neutral for once, like he also doesn’t want to dig into that fight again and will just pretend he thinks that’s something to be proud of.
“Sir,” I say, inclining my head. I forget to reach out and shake his hand, but he doesn’t reach either.
I forget shit like that all the time. It bothers Dad, but I don’t see why it should matter.
Gray is looking at me with an expression I can’t place. It seems neutral at first, but feels more intense than the way most people immediately glance over me before moving onto the next thing.
Dad is still rambling, of course.
“I know, I know, he’s too pretty for his own good. But he’s bound to present any day now, and then that alpha testosterone will take care of all of that.”
He waves his hand at my face in a vague way, like he’s done so many times before. I try desperately not to blush. I should be used to it.
But the humiliation hits me fresh every single time, and the blush crawls up my cheeks regardless, making it all so much worse. I set my shoulders and pull up my chin, trying to posture my way through the embarrassment, but it’s pretty ineffective.
“Nice to meet you,” Gray says, pretending I’m not blushing like a damn girl right now.
Shame tightens in my gut, but I power through.
Up close, this new alpha’s scent is strong.
Cinnamon and cloves; very traditional, but mellow.
It’s even, and though it’s overwhelming, the scent of it seems to help ease the churning in my gut instead of making it worse, the way Dad and my brothers’ sometimes erratic scents do.
Gray is just… there. Solid. Still.
His eyes flick over my face, and I know he’s taking in the features Dad always insists on calling “pretty”.
Lips too plush, cheekbones too defined over a softer jawline, eyelashes just a touch too thick and long.
Things that all my girlfriends have claimed to be jealous of, but I’ve seriously considered taking a blowtorch to my face until they’re mangled beyond repair.
Jax and Karl look a lot more like Dad, but I take after Mom with black hair and pale skin that could be described with words like “delicate” or “porcelain” or any number of things that you don’t expect to attach to men.
Gray doesn’t say anything, though, or even frown with subtle disapproval like so many of Dad’s friends do. The relief of that is like a cool goddamn glass of water hitting my gut for once.
“I wish you could meet Atlas,” Dad continues, oblivious.
He starts telling Gray all about his favorite son’s accomplishments, but Gray continues to quietly watch me for long enough that I feel uncomfortable and fiddle with the label of my beer. It’s a solid minute before he looks away, and it’s like a weight lifted off me.
Jax, normally as oblivious as Dad, looks between us for a minute before asking Gray if he’s hungry.
“Meat’s up!” Karl’s voice calls out from behind us, the only one left manning the grill during all the commotion.
“Thank fuck.”
I mutter the words under my breath, but another sharp look from Gray makes me wonder if he heard it, before he slowly turns away from me and follows my father over to the table.
I don’t know why it feels like this man was suddenly airdropped into our lives, but so far, I don’t like it. He’s giving me the creeps. I chug the rest of my beer and pick up a water, trying to find my equilibrium that I can’t remember losing.
Clearly, he’s at fault here. Before he showed up, I was fine.