Chapter 7
SEVEN
Branson rubbed both palms against his ears, afraid he’d somehow had too much to drink, despite sticking to cola all evening.
Or maybe he had terrible earwax buildup.
He hadn’t heard Tarius correctly, that was all.
“I don’t get it. My only half-brothers are Caden and Emory. Dad only has three children.”
Tarius shook his head, as bewildered and confused as Branson felt himself. “Is it possible that Ronin had a child…? No, the timing wouldn’t work for him to have had a kid before he moved here. And Ronin didn’t come from Sonora.”
Before moving to Sansbury to defend Kell against murder charges, Ronin Cross had lived in Nakota Province, from age eighteen to twenty-eight.
He was unmated, and on the off chance he’d managed to have a child before meeting Kell, they’d be at least Branson’s age, not seventeen, which was younger than the twins.
No way in hell had Papa stepped out on Dad, not possible.
And Nakota Province was hundreds of miles north of Sonora Province, the origin of the summons. Branson’s own biological sire, Krause Iverson, died when Branson was four months old, so none of this made sense.
Branson pointed at the papers. “This has to be for someone else. Something got mixed up.”
Tarius’s face pinched. “It’s possible. Look, it’s the weekend. We can try calling the number on these forms in the morning, but we might not get any answers for a few days.”
“What about the internet? Can we go home and search this guy’s name? Maybe figure out who he is and why he’s trying to get me involved in his life?”
“Of course, we can do that. Come on, I’ll drive us back to your place.”
“Branson?”
Emory’s familiar, concerned voice sent Branson’s pulse racing.
Emory had an empathic streak that was especially strong with his relatives, so it didn’t surprise him that Em had sensed his distress, even in a hotel full of people.
Emory’s mate, Eriq Lars-Higgs, trailed behind him, looking very official in his constable uniform.
“Hey, buddy,” Branson said. He was insanely grateful when Tarius tucked the paperwork discreetly behind his back.
“Are you okay?” Emory studied his face with wide, nearly-identical green eyes. “You’re not okay. What’s wrong?”
“It’s just…I think I drank too much? Tarius is going to drive me home.”
Emory’s scowl did not believe him. “You’re not sick, you’re upset.”
Naturally, their parents chose that exact moment to approach, and Branson swallowed a groan. Tarius sighed, shoulders sagging. So much for figuring this out before his family got involved.
“What’s going on?” Dad asked, his keen gaze shifting between Branson and Emory. “Boys?”
“Apparently, someone needed to ruin my new year by siccing a process server on me,” Branson said. He waved his hand, and Tarius held out the papers. “About some bullshit in Sonora Province that makes no sense.”
“What?”
Papa took the papers and read through them, his expression going from confused to furious in the span of twenty seconds, and it was a little terrifying.
Papa was alpha, and he had an alpha’s temper, but Branson rarely saw it.
Only when Papa was truly scared, like after Emory’s kidnapping or Caden’s overdose.
“Ronin, what is it?” Dad asked, an odd quaver in his voice.
Papa’s hands trembled once, and he looked slightly ashen, which terrified Branson on a cellular level. “A seventeen-year-old omega is claiming Branson is his half-brother, and he wants Branson to take custody of him until he finds a mate.”
“What? A seventeen…” Dad went horribly pale, and Papa grabbed him by the waist. “Holy fuck, he didn’t. He wouldn’t.”
“Who wouldn’t what?” Branson asked. Dad’s reaction scared him more than anyone else’s. This wasn’t outraged shock; this was horror and grief. “Who is Jeuel Alder? What do you know, Dad? How could I possibly have another sibling? You’re here, and my sire died years before this person was born.”
“We need to go home,” Papa said. “This is not the place.”
“For what?” Branson took a half-step back, and his elbow hit Tarius in the belly. Tarius gently wrapped an arm around his waist and held him tight. Branson couldn’t look away from his omegin. “What do you know?”
“I d-d-don’t know anything,” Dad replied. “Not for sure.”
“But you suspect something about who this Jeuel is.”
“I can’t be right, though.”
“Okay,” Papa said with enough growl to make Branson flinch. “Emory and Eriq, please go back to the ball. Branson, you need to come home with us.”
Branson grunted. “Tarius is coming.”
“This is a family matter.”
Anger surged through him in a brand-new way, and Branson squeezed Tarius’s hand. “He’s family to me. I trust him.” For the first time in his life, Branson wasn’t sure he trusted his beloved parents. “We’ll meet you at your house.”
Papa didn’t look happy, but he nodded anyway.
The next twenty-ish minutes were a blur for Branson, as they collected their coats, said goodnight to a few people, and eventually found themselves in Tarius’s car, on their way to the Cross house.
Branson held the papers on his lap. They didn’t speak.
He had no words and no idea what to expect when they arrived.
None. There was no way he had another brother out there.
It did not. Make. Sense.
Fine tremors ran through Branson’s arms as they walked as a unit to the front door.
Went inside. Dad and Papa were seated at the dining table with a bottle of bourbon and four glasses.
Papa poured them each a drink but Branson didn’t want his.
He didn’t sit. He stood on the opposite side of the long table, insides flipping all over the place. Stomach on the verge of erupting.
“You suspect something,” Branson snapped. “You both do. What don’t I know? Because Dad only has three kids, and my sire died when I was an infant. I could believe having a half-brother older than me, given the stories about Krause Iverson, but not so much younger. It’s impossible.”
“It is impossible for Krause Iverson to have any children younger than you,” Papa said, his normally booming voice soft.
Tentative. He looked like he wanted to be sick, and he exchanged a look with Dad that intensified Branson’s nausea.
“But it’s not impossible for your biological sire to have kids younger than you. ”
The oddest sensation raced through Branson.
It was like being spun around in a circle, over and over, until he was too dizzy to stand, and then being jerked to a halt.
The world twisted and tottered while his brain whirled.
He didn’t understand what was going on. All he could do was blurt out, “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means that a lot of legal paperwork was signed when you were a baby. Paperwork meant to protect all of us, and there were NDAs in place. Gag orders.” Papa’s lawyer facade broke and he blanched. “If this got out, he must be dead.”
Branson’s face flushed as he nearly shouted, “Who?”
“Your actual sire,” Dad sobbed, tears tracking down both cheeks. “We didn’t know, not until the end of my trial, when you were found and given back to me. The DNA test we did to prove you were mine also told me that Krause wasn’t your other parent.”
Branson couldn’t breathe. He grabbed Tarius’s arm so he didn’t fall over—or worse, grab a chair and break it against the wall.
Words stuck in his throat. Krause Iverson had been an abusive, disgusting rapist who beat Dad on a regular basis, and Branson had learned to cope with knowing those things.
He’d accepted his parentage. Accepted that the monster who’d sired him was balanced out by the gentle soul who’d birthed him.
How much worse of a person could his actual sire be if Krause had been an acceptable lie?
The only hug he trusted was Tarius’s, because the rest of his life made no sense.
Branson knew the rumors. He’d read some of the news article, some of the op-eds, and there had been speculation his entire life over who his biological sire was.
But Branson had always dismissed that shit as gossip; he’d believed the parents he knew.
The parents he trusted. He’d had no reason not to believe their statements over the speculations of strangers.
“If Krause isn’t my sire, then who is?” Branson snapped. “Who?!”
Dad flinched but didn’t look away from Branson’s glare. “His name is Chip Uty. He was an alpha friend of Krause’s. The heat that produced you? Krause invited him into the house. To…help with my surges. A DNA test we ran after my murder trial proved Uty was your sire.”
Chip Uty. The name was vaguely familiar. Uty was a monster who’d left Sansbury not long after the trial, like many of the character witnesses called to defend Krause and persecute Dad. “But he…he raped you.”
“Yes, he did. So did other alphas. Over many years. And I have spent my whole life coping with those memories. Myself, Uty, Ronin, Constable Higgs, down to the lab tech, everyone involved signed NDAs.” Dad coughed, tears still streaming down his cheeks, but he was remarkably calm, while Branson thought he was going to vibrate to pieces.
“It was a simple agreement,” Papa continued.
Always the lawyer. “Uty wanted no ties to us or you, so in exchange for never telling anyone about your paternity, and not pressing charges for rape, he signed away his parental rights to you. I added a clause stating if Uty ever returned to Sansbury, the agreement was null and void. He wanted one that said if his name ever came out in any new documentation, he’d sue. We all signed, and he left town.”
“And apparently started a new family,” Dad added.
Branson stared at his parents, and for the first time in his entire life, did not recognize the two upset people across from him. “So, you’re saying my actual sire, this Chip Uty, left the province and is probably Jeuel Alder’s sire?”
Dad nodded slowly. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”