2 everyone, come meet gray
Once people get their food, Dad starts to do what he does best—hold court.
Except this time, he has Gray as his shiny new accessory. So of course, all the stories are old war stories. And as soon as he starts to spit them out, I remember where I know Gray from Dad’s memory.
Dad’s not immune to a humble brag, but no one came out of his war stories better than Gray.
He was always the biggest, strongest, toughest alpha out there.
Apart from the time he saved Dad’s life, there are countless other stories of him sweeping in like Superman or the fucking A-Team to save the day.
Honestly, if I’d thought about what the guy would be like in real life, I’d have pictured a more arrogant version of my father.
There’s no one else they served with living around here, but Dad attracts both real veterans and the guys who aren’t but love that shit, so there’s been a lot of the same personality types moving in and out of our lives over the years.
Especially since Mom left and Dad had a lot more space to fill in his life.
I’ve grown up around men like this. I know men like this in my bones, which is why I’m shocked when Gray doesn’t live up to any of the stereotypes I was expecting.
Despite his big body and bigger alpha presence, he manages to radiate calm in a way I’ve never experienced before.
The man has fucking aura. His scent stays even and soothing, just like before, and he stands next to Dad, seeming content to smile softly or laugh at a joke, pitch in a comment from time to time, but not really take up space in the conversation.
He’s polite and gentle when he’s introduced to the women, engaged but not leering, which is also not a kind of alpha I’ve ever encountered before.
I mean, at school things are different, obviously.
Almost everyone is my generation, which Dad loves to tell me is the softest group of people on the Earth.
The professors are used to working with young people, so they have to be softer, I guess, and there are very few alphas among them.
A lot of people haven’t even presented by the time they get to college, so they haven’t had to truly settle into the alphahole or other stereotype they will inevitably embrace.
I’ve always assumed it was just something that happened as you got older.
All the men I know that are Dad’s age are like him, and all the women are meek, but just as fervent defenders of the “traditional” shit they all love to talk about.
I assumed that one day I’d have to have children of my own, whether I want them or not, and I’d get old and bitter and tell them about how soft they all are. It seems like the nature of things.
Of course, Dad already had two out of the four of us by the time he was my age, so I’m already behind him there. But what else is new?
This maudlin mood is ridiculous and I wish I could shake it off, but everything that happens seems to make it worse.
I’m desperate not to be spoken to by anyone, so I shrink in on myself further.
Jax was right. I had no idea how much Atlas used to run interference for me when I was in a mood like this until the day he was gone.
If Atlas were here right now, I’d be inside reading my book in peace while he kept everyone from noticing I’d ducked out.
Occasionally, I’ll look up and catch Gray watching me. His expression is inscrutable, so I have no idea what he could possibly want. I try to focus on hoping he also won’t come over here and try to make stilted, condescending conversation like the others do from time to time.
I sit next to Karl’s wife Sarah to eat, because she’s nice, even though I don’t know her well, and she’s always too distracted with her pups to do more than offer me a small smile before turning away.
The angle shows off the scar of her mating bite, large and gnarled for everyone to see.
They mated young, and I guess younger Karl wanted to make sure there were no questions about her being claimed, so he made the bite as obvious as possible.
Sarah always seemed to like it, too. At least they’re on the same page.
I can’t personally imagine caring so much about a girl that I want to rip her neck open just to prove I own her. The whole thing gives me the creeps when I think about it. Everyone says it’s a high like nothing else, but still.
While I sit quietly at the women and children end of the table, Gray stays next to Dad, roped into one story after another, but his gaze never seems that far from me.
Look away, pal. I promise you, there’s nothing here but mediocrity beneath a too-pretty face, just like Dad said.
That cinnamon scent seems to follow me everywhere, though, no matter how far away from him I stand or how much the stench of smoke and charred meat fills the air.
It never insists upon itself, but the scent is always there.
Like background noise, but louder than the scents of my own family.
I don’t know why that would be or what zen-alpha magic he’s working, but all I can do is ignore it.
It must be because of how much I’ve been smelling him that he’s able to fucking sneak up on me. Or maybe it’s because this is my fourth beer on not a lot of food—I never have an appetite on days like this—and I’m starting to let a little of my overactive awareness slip.
I’m reaching into the ice chest to replace my empty bottle when a hand brushes against mine, and I turn to my right.
There he is, all one billion feet of him, smelling like cinnamon and fresh shampoo and some kind of subtle, expensive product. And watching me.
I thought his eyes were dark at first, but now that I’m closer, I can see that they’re blue. Just a very dark blue. A fucking piercing dark blue, I think, until I remind myself that flowery language like that makes me sound like an idiot. Especially in front of Dad and his friends.
I’m frozen, my hand outstretched but not picking anything up, and Gray is still watching me with something bordering on concern.
“Uh, can I get you a drink, sir?”
My conditioning hits long before any other part of my brain comes back online from the surprise.
He frowns. Just a little one, a small crease forming between those dark eyebrows and a slight downturn to his mouth.
“You don’t need to call me ‘sir’.”
I’ve heard him speak already, but now that we’re so close and I’m the only one he’s talking to, it strikes me just how deep and resonating the sound of his voice is.
I’m starting to see why Dad always sounded half in love with him in those stories.
He just has that vibe. Dad has explained to me on multiple occasions that a little alpha-worship is normal, even between two alphas.
It’s important to recognize it for what it is, according to him.
It’s a natural evolutionary respect for a strong leader.
Pack mentality, leftover from our more primitive selves.
Recognizing it helps you not to confuse it with “that gay shit”, which is what he calls any romance that isn’t a traditional male alpha with a female omega, or two betas.
He’s not even wild about a male alpha with a female beta.
It dilutes our ‘superior bloodlines’ or some shit, according to him.
Not our, I guess. I’d always assumed I would present as an alpha eventually, because the gene runs so strong in our family. Sometimes betas just pop up, though. And Dad never had daughters, thank fuck, so Mom’s omega genes left our family when she did.
Technically, men can be omegas and women can be alphas, but it’s an abomination according to the old man and weird as fuck to the rest of the world.
There are a handful of male omegas at my school, although it’s not the biggest, but you can see them a mile away.
They carry their softness around them like armor.
He’s still looking at me. Gray. And I realize he was the last one who spoke, and I’m the one standing here silently like a dumbass.
“Are you alright, Tanner?”
The words pour over me like melted butter, and I accept that Dad was not fucking around about the alpha worship thing.
“Yes, sir. I mean… Gray. Sorry.”
Nice. Not bumbling at all.
“Are you sure? You’ve looked a little upset today. Tanner.”
He adds ‘Tanner’ in at the end like an afterthought. For some reason, the sound of my name in his imposing voice hits me in a weird way. I can’t articulate what it feels like, but it’s not something I’ve experienced before. My stomach clenches.
Am I intimidated by him? That’s the closest thing I can think of.
He’s clearly everything that Dad wishes I would grow up to be but never will. That’s intimidating. And he’s also obviously a powerful alpha in his own right.
A tingle of something runs under my skin, like it does just before I have one of my episodes, so I push it down as far as I can and slap on a neutral expression.
I have to lick my lips before I can focus enough to talk, because the hint of sudden panic has thrown me. Gray continues to watch me, waiting for me to speak.
“It’s weird not having my brother here,” I say, because it’s as close to the truth as I can get. “It doesn’t feel the same without him.”
Gray nods, solemn, like he’s actually listening to the words and absorbing them as they tumble out of my mouth.
I see his nostrils flare. Just for a second.
A little rude, but whatever. As a most-likely beta I barely have a scent, so he shouldn’t be able to pick up the hint of panic that’s probably threading through it.
That crease between his eyebrows returns, but he doesn’t say anything. Finally, he closes out this painful encounter by grabbing whatever drink he was reaching for and leaning out of my space, letting me take in a deeper breath for once.
“It was very nice to meet you, Tanner.”
He doesn’t say my name the same as before, and he’s still frowning. I hope I haven’t pissed him off somehow. Dad will lose his shit.
I upnod him, trying to look casual. It probably doesn’t land, but he doesn’t say anything else before wandering away.
My eyes track him for longer than they should while I try to process that encounter. It was weird, but I don’t know why. And although that tingle of panic has faded, the clench in my stomach is still there, and I have no idea what it means.