8 forgive me, father
I don’t think I’ve ever slept so hard, but when I wake up, it’s a shock to the system. The room is dim. Cold, blue, early dawn light. I should be cold, but Gray is passed out behind me, pressed against the back of the couch and radiating more heat than seems physically possible.
When I do a quick mental stock-take, the level of shame that washes over me should also not be physically possible.
My pants are half-pulled down, and my soft cock is hanging out, looking small and vulnerable.
My hoody is still rucked up around my armpits with one of Gray’s hands pressed over my chest, and pamphlets spread all over the floor with titles like Understanding My Inner Omega.
I smell the distress emanating from me, and Gray twitches a little behind me. Fuck. If I wake him up, not only will he see me and be reminded of how desperate and embarrassing I was last night, but there’s no way he won’t want to talk.
Or fuck. Again.
Because I fucked a man. Well, I let a man—a goddamn alpha—fuck me, while I begged and whined like a whore.
I don’t know if I can ever look my father in the eye again, but getting out of here has to be the first step.
Rolling slowly from the couch onto the floor seems to work.
Gray gets restless, but he doesn’t wake.
Apparently, he also knocked out unreasonably hard after that orgasm.
I find my shoes on the floor like I toed them off at some point I don’t remember, and grab them instead of putting them on.
The pamphlets I leave, because I can’t fucking take them home. Gray already knows the worst about me. He can throw them away.
A few minutes later, I’m sitting in my car, turning over the engine and praying the sound doesn’t wake Gray and send him running out here after me with his fat dick hanging out for the whole neighborhood to see.
God, what if the neighbors saw me go in there?
What if someone recognized my shitty car?
I’m going to have to think of something plausible, probably to do with construction work, but I’m way too frazzled to do it right now.
My head’s all over the place, and the familiar tingling returns to my fingers as soon as I start to drive, my heart pounding in my chest and tightness gripping my throat like I might suffocate.
Push through. Power through. You just have to get home before Dad does. You’ve driven through worse.
I haven’t, but it helps to tell myself that. I make it home in one piece and pull into the driveway, but of course, Dad’s oversized pickup is there. Which means he got back from his trip so early he’s already had time to park in the commercial lot, take care of his paperwork, and then drive home.
There’s no way his trip was finished that fast.
It’s more likely it was canceled, and he’s been home all night, wondering where I am.
One look at my phone confirms that it’s dead, and I don’t remember the last time I checked it.
I’m honestly amazed it didn’t fall out of my pocket into a ditch at some point; the last day has been such a haze.
I sneak into the house as quietly as I can.
As soon as I see how dark and still it is, only broken by the TV glowing on the home screen, I realize I lucked out.
At least I can shower before he wakes up.
I can maybe explain away an omega scent, or a hint of Gray.
But there’s no explanation for the combination, along with the stink of sex, that Dad will accept.
As soon as I get upstairs, I remember I left my sheets soaking in the tub.
Desperate, I pull off all my clothes, throw them in there with them, and then duck into Jax’s old room to use his stall shower.
There’s a half-empty bottle of his over-scented hyper-masculine soap in there, and the smell might help disguise any lingering hint of sweetness.
I’ve never showered like this in my life.
Every crevice gets scrubbed raw and I slather myself with the soap.
I clean myself out on the inside as well, even though I cringe to touch myself like that, and my hole is fucking tender from what I begged Gray to do to me last night.
I have to be careful, because I almost feel a tingle like the slick is going to start up again when I think about it, but it’s relatively easy to smother that urge with the shame.
And if I take a few minutes to sit on the floor of the shower and cry, no one ever needs to know. It’s just more time for the scalding water to strip the scent from my skin.
By the time I finally steel myself to get out and get dressed in clean clothes, I can hear Dad moving around downstairs.
It’s now or never. I can go downstairs, say good morning, excuse myself for last night, and then run up to my room to hide for the rest of the day while I figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do next.
Walking back downstairs feels like a death march, but I repeat the plan in my head over and over with every step.
“Tanner?” Dad calls out around a mouth full of food.
He’s standing at the counter in his bathrobe when I round the corner, shoveling eggs into his mouth.
“There you are. Missed you last night. Do you want some breakfast?”
He seems light and easy, watching me as he waits for my answer. Like this is any other day. It almost makes me feel guilty about having to lie to him.
“I’m not hungry, thank you, sir. Did your run get canceled?”
My hands are shoved in my pockets, and I’m standing as far away from him as I can without being suspicious. Dad’s eyes narrow anyway, though. I’m not a great liar, and he always gets suspicious when he thinks I’m hiding something.
“Yep,” he says, taking a swig of coffee and letting the word dangle between us.
He takes a step towards me, and it takes all my control not to take a step back. That would only make it worse, though. I stay as still as I can, trying to look casual, leaning against the door frame even though my stomach is clenched and my pulse is pounding with fear.
No. Anxiety. I’m not really afraid, it’s only Dad. It’s just my body overreacting, like it always does.
Dad doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of me, and he makes a show of taking a deep breath through his nose.
“Where were you last night? I can’t remember the last time I came here and you weren’t holed up in your room like a hermit. With all them books.”
“I went out, sir.” My voice is not shaking. I will not let my voice shake.
It doesn’t help that his familiar alpha scent is a thousand times stronger to me now, and the power of it is pushing my urge to submit. Stupid, weak body.
I clear my throat and try to sound casual.
“I met an omega at the bar. Someone from out of town. Fucked her in her Airbnb, sir.”
Dad smiles at that, chuckling a little. It’s not the way I usually talk, but he always gets all buddy-buddy with me if I do. I’m still waiting for him to step out of my space, but he stays.
“She smells real sweet,” he says, taking another deep breath.
I think I might throw up.
The stress of this situation has me in knots, my adrenaline is whooshing in my veins, and for a split-second, I wish that Gray was here. I wish I had just a sliver of the safety I felt in his arms last night before I woke up and reality came crashing back in.
Letting myself think about that was a mistake, though. My body reacts so strongly it takes everything I have not to show it. The same waves of nausea, foggy thinking, and desperation from yesterday hit me again, and there’s no way it isn’t showing in my scent.
I take a step back from Dad, keeping my hands where they are so he can’t see them shake.
“If you don’t mind, sir, I have some studying to do,” I say, tossing my head in the direction of the stairs as I lean towards it like it’s pulling me.
Dad opens his mouth, probably to tell me I shouldn’t waste time studying in the summer, but he freezes for a second before taking another deep breath.
“What is that smell?”
“Probably that omega, sir.”
“You’ve been in that shower for nearly an hour, though. What did she do, mark your clothes?”
“I, uh,” I trail off, because I don’t have anything to say.
The urge to flee is almost irrepressible.
Dad’s locked in now, though. Every inch I lean back, he moves closer, scenting the air as his curiosity and concern curls around us both.
“This doesn’t smell right,” he says. “You don’t smell right. What’s going on? What is that?”
“I-I-I,” I’m stuttering now, moving backwards as he pursues me.
“Tell me.”
I’m not unfamiliar with the alpha-voice he uses when he really wants obedience. He’s used it on me plenty, and I normally obey. But never in my life have I felt the echo of it in my fucking bones. It feels like it takes root in my cells and compels me, whether I want it or not.
Once again, I feel like I watch myself say the words from outside my own body.
“It’s me.”
I’m shaking now, not sure what’s happening, but too consumed with fear and anxiety to think straight.
“What do you mean, it’s you?”
I expected him to yell, but the quiet danger in his voice is so, so much worse.
I’m in it now. I try to keep calm, but the words spill out of my mouth in a babbling mess, still compelled to honesty by his stupid, powerful voice.
“I don’t know, sir. I think it’s me. I went to a doctor yesterday, he said I was presenting. I told him it wasn’t possible, but he said it happens in families with strong alpha genes sometimes. The men can…”
I trail off, feeling Dad’s anger rise and rise until it fills the room.
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.”
The words continue on repeat, like it’ll do anything to convince him this isn’t my fault.
He stays frozen in place for longer than I expect, but I’m sure he’s deciding exactly how fucked I really am. In the end, he leans in a little closer again but doesn’t put his hands on me when he speaks.
“You and I are going to a real doctor right now. We will put you on fucking suppressants, so you stop smelling like this, and then Doc Watts will figure out how to fix whatever the fuck is wrong with you.”
I have to push down the urge to whine. Dr. Watts is one of Dad’s closest buddies, and probably the creepiest man in town.
I saw him for most of my childhood exams and always felt deeply uncomfortable around him, even though he never did anything objectively wrong.
At least that I could put my finger on. It was just the vibe he gave off.
And all the vicious, hateful opinions he shares with my dad and doesn’t hesitate to explain whenever he’s at the lake house.
He’s someone I’ve desperately avoided as an adult, but definitely don’t want to see now that I’m all shaky and vulnerable. Like an injured fawn waiting to be put down.
“The doctor said I can’t, sir. He said it’s dangerous.”
Dad reaches out to grab me by the back of the neck. I think it’s supposed to be a comforting gesture, like you would do to a pup, but the disgusted expression on his face isn’t selling it.
“This is what’s dangerous, son. And I won’t tolerate it. We’re going to get this taken care of, don’t worry. I’m here.”
Nothing has ever made me feel less secure than that sentence, but it doesn’t feel like I have a choice.