Chapter 10 – Zale
Chapter Ten
Zale
W ere uncomfortable dinners my new hobby? I seemed to attend a lot of them for someone who was just trying to make it through the week without adding more stress and pressure to my life. Wednesday night dinners with my parents were standard, but after my experience with the Vos’ family, it feels even more painful than usual.
“You know, Clarice Thayer’s birthing parent said that she is doing additional modules this term.” Papa says, with a gleam in his blue eyes as he runs a delicate hand through his blond hair. There’s a sprinkling of grey at his temples that wasn’t quite as visible a few weeks ago.
“You can just say parent.” Pushing my chicken with my fork, I silently sigh. My papa, the omega who birthed me, knew full well what he was doing. I was what he did every time he disliked or disagreed with something. And he didn’t agree with Charlie Thayer shunning gender specific terms like mother/father. “Or their name. They’re non-binary, it’s not that complicated.”
Biting my lip, I push aside the thoughts of how Shiloh’s friend, Bell, is treated by Sadie and the others. It was hypocritical of me, I knew that, I also didn’t know how to stop– not without upsetting the balance of my already fragile life. Be the perfect son. The Blackwood heir. The ideal alpha. The best boyfriend. The winning football star. The dedicated student.
Waving me off, he motions for the server to pour us more wine and bring an extra gravy jug. “Anyway, darling. Charlie says that she’s also enrolled in a literacy program and teaches little children how to read. Isn’t that sweet?”
“Very,” I nod, in agreement wishing this conversation would wrap up. I was used to this by now, so I already knew where this was heading. “I’m sure it helps her prepare for when she’s a teacher.”
Clarice was the ultimate poster child for a refined omega match. She’d opted to attend Darronsen University rather than Oakley, another Ivy League college on the other side of the country. We’d grown up with each other back in Hartshaw, living in the same exclusive neighborhood, that’s how I knew her end goal was to work with children before having a brood of her own.
One of the reasons I’d chosen Oakley was to put some space between me and my parents, but they insisted on visiting each week. My father, my alpha parent, had offices in the next city, Gorseton and each week my papa would tag along, spend the day shopping or at the spa before they’d meet me at the bistro.
My papa swirls his wine in the glass, letting it aerate. “Well, don't you think volunteering at the Thayer Trust might also benefit you? It could be a more productive use of your free time than…football perhaps?”
Here we go.
It would start with the little gripes about football, before we moved to criticizing other aspects of my life like my friends, my girlfriend, my grades and sometimes my clothes or hair.
“I have no plans to teach, Papa. So, no.” He’s watching me like a hawk, waiting for me to roll my eyes or say something that can be misconstrued as having an attitude so they can pounce on what a neglectful and careless son I am.
We’ve walked this walk before.
After a few moments of silence, my papa finally concedes. “I’m just saying, darling.”
“The Thayer omega isn’t a bad looking girl either. And partnering with them might give us a way into the publishing industry.” My father finally contributes, while my papa nods along, adding in his 10 cents before going back to his steak. “We don’t own a publishing house yet.”
My papa has him on some grain and salad diet since his doctor told him he had high cholesterol, so Wednesday is the only day of the week he’s allowed to enjoy a little treat. Not that I doubt his assistant would order him a fillet mignon if asked. They would both just have to face my papa afterwards, and I’m not entirely sure my father or his assistant could survive that.
“That doesn’t mean we should,” I grind out, knowing that my father’s cogs are likely already turning as to how he can monetize a budding relationship with the Thayer family. I knew they were talking about more than just ‘partnering’. “Besides, I have a girlfriend.”
“Of course, but these college romances rarely last.” My papa frowns, a small crease appearing on his usually smooth forehead. “Is she your Fated?”
I hesitate. “No…”
“Well, then nothing is set in stone.” Papa’s perfectly manicured brow arches in a silent challenge.
Set in stone? I wasn’t a child anymore. I wasn’t naive. I knew that relationships came and went. I had grown up knowing that as an alpha there was a responsibility on my shoulders to choose my partner wisely. To think of the Blackwood reputation and legacy. But to downplay my choices, act like my girlfriend is nothing more than a passing whim in my life…well, that was fucking insulting.
Curling my left hand into fist until the knuckles turn white, I close my eyes briefly and count to ten. Not completely oblivious to the tensions rising at the table, my father decides now is the time to intervene. I didn’t think he could anger me more than my papa, but he does.
“I spoke to your coach on Monday.” I may take after my omega parent with my coloring but looking at my alpha father is like looking at a version of myself 30 years in the future, only with dark hair and eyes. We have the same square jaw and high cheekbones. We’d have the same Roman nose too if I hadn’t broken mine two years ago during a game. He avoids my gaze knowing just how much his words piss me off. “He thinks that you could work on tightening up your accuracy.”
I scoff. “Accuracy? We won our last game.”
“But it could have been a stronger win.”
I’m crushing the fork in my right hand so tightly I’m surprised it doesn’t snap in my grip. Why was I never good enough?
“Why did you talk to Coach Rath? You promised to stop doing that.” We’d been over this time and time again. My school guidance counselor, two of our previous family counselors and my grandmother on my papa’s side had all told my parents that micromanaging was only going to drive me away. That they were suffocating me with their expectations.
Yet they still did it anyway.
They were used to being managers, directors, geniuses in their areas—but parenting was something they’d never quite wrapped their heads around.
“We just think that you aren’t playing to your full potential.” He continues pushing as if he’s ever played football in college, he barely played it in high school. My father was a tech genius, running after a ball was not something he did but his skill with math and analytics somehow made him an expert. He didn’t even want me to play!
I let my fork drop onto the plate with a clatter, otherwise I might feel tempted to ram it into my eye socket just to escape this dinner a little earlier. The noise seems to interrupt his flow of criticism and unwanted advice while I’m barely hanging on by a thread.
“I care about my only son. I want him to succeed.”
Only son.
There.
Another burden.
Another expectation.
Another chain around my neck. If my papa had been able to have more children, maybe they wouldn’t be so hard on me. Maybe they would let me breathe. Instead, I feel like I’m drowning at the bottom of the lake with cinder blocks tied to my feet. When I look up, I can see the surface of the water, the ripples, but I’m out of reach in a place where the light doesn’t hit.
“Romilly Vos is a nice omega, from a good family. A little spirited. But that can be handled.” A little spirited? I wince. The way my papa says that makes me think he intends to break her. I can’t let that happen.
I may not have been sure if Millie was the endgame for me, especially after the incident in the kitchen, but she deserved better than to be talked about like a problem. An issue that needed careful consideration.
“Oh, darling! I forgot, I’ve also asked that you be allowed to submit that economics paper again. I think if you applied yourself, you could turn that 92% into a 97.”
I blink slowly as I try to process my papa’s words. He had been in touch with my tutor. Gone behind my back to ask if I could resubmit. How many palms had he greased this time? How much money have they thrown at this little problem, as if 92% was a failure? Another chain. Tighter this time. It feels like I can’t breathe.
Finally reaching my limit, I open my mouth to protest, when he lifts a hand to silence me. “You promised a 4.0 GPA if we allowed you to keep playing football.”
It’s like he’s sucked all of the air from my lungs. Sitting back in my chair, I keep my mouth firmly shut as my shoulders hunch from the invisible weight I'm carrying.
I know I’m privileged. That I have options and opportunities others don’t. If those who said that Zake Blackwood had it all could see me now would they understand?
Everything has a price.
Foolishly, I had promised my parents a 4.0 GPA and on average I was achieving that but as my papa pointed out, my economics paper was only 92%. It was a single paper, not responsible for my final grade and yet it wasn’t good enough. Never good enough.
They hold football over my head because they know it’s my weakness. My passion has become nothing more than a bargaining chip in a rigged game.
I’m glad they don’t know about the volunteering because if they try to take that away from me too, if they even hinted at it, then I’m not sure what I would do. It wouldn’t be pretty.
Using some of the grounding techniques I picked up over the years in therapy, I try to focus on things around me. I let my breathing calm and I tell myself that this isn’t my whole life, it’s only a moment. A grain of sand on the beach of my life.
Closing my eyes, I tried to find solace in my thoughts.
Shades of mossy green calms me.
When I look at my parents, they have returned to their meals as if they aren’t playing some narcissistic tug of war over veal and fondant potatoes. Just your usual weekly dinner.
C onvincing my friends to head to Crest Haven without me had been almost disappointingly easy. Evans and Hunter had been the most difficult as they couldn’t seem to understand I might have something else going on outside of our friendship group. Blake knew that I was planning on spending my day supporting the community center, so he understood.
The plan for Millie and the others, was to get on Evans' private plane, and spend lots of their parents' money shopping, before enjoying the nightlife and rubbing shoulders with the elite. We were supposed to be dancing, drinking and celebrating Millie turning twenty-one.
The last time we were in Crest Haven, Hunter had to be fished out of a fountain by the police, stark naked and clutching a rooster. We still have no idea where he’d gotten it from. The time before that, Evans almost married an omega showgirl in a dingy little chapel by someone dressed as a zombie cheerleader. I wouldn’t be missing much, and besides, it was only one part of her birthday celebrations.
I know that makes me sound like a shit boyfriend, but Millie was a social butterfly–her birthday celebrations were going to be almost a week long between the Crest Haven trip, a few days at her family’s cabin and then a spa trip next weekend. She also wanted us to go for a romantic dinner, just her and I.
Before we even became a couple back in September, I’d already agreed to help Riverview Community Centre. They were holding a day of district matches for the under-fifteen’s division, in the hope of forming a team to enter into a league. The community center was already shorthanded recently, with barely enough volunteers to support the weekly sessions, let alone an event like this. But it had been in my calendar for months, and it would also get the community center a funding grant from the Riverview council, so it was important. It didn’t seem right to pull out just to go and get drunk at Crest Haven. I made a promise, I wanted to keep it.
Millie didn’t seem overly upset that I wouldn't be partying with them. Sometimes I felt like she let me have my way so that it wouldn’t cause tension between us. Was it wrong to want a fight with my girlfriend occasionally? She hadn’t even questioned me when I said it was a football thing, obviously not wanting to pry and risk me shutting down on her.
When she said that she would arrange it so that I could still attend the cabin portion of the weekend, I wished I’d dug a little deeper, asked a few more questions. Instead, she fluttered those eyelashes at me and told me she’d handle it all. Maybe if I’d know that I would be spending four hours in the car with her brother, I would have refused. Made my own way there.
Four long hours with the man who had watched me come almost a month ago. The beta I had been avoiding actively, unable to deal with my guilt. I thought that if I’d spoken to him, then I'd be forced to face some very uncomfortable truths about myself and the kind of boyfriend I was. I don’t know who I’m trying to kid. I was thinking about those things anyway.
The fact that Millie didn’t even care whether or not I was at her birthday celebrations in fear of rocking the boat made me realize that actually maybe her feelings for me weren’t that deep either. Maybe it was better to end this now before we got any deeper in. Before I hurt her any further.
Every time I looked at Shiloh, I had thoughts I couldn’t explain. An impulse that was getting harder and harder to ignore. The urge to Claim him, own him, pin him down beneath me and kiss him until I’d sucked out all the sting of his bitter words.
That wasn’t normal.
He was a beta. I didn’t even have biological reasoning to back up these insane compulsions. Some part of me wanted him and that tiny part was growing the more time I spent with him. It was like a tumor, I needed to cut it out before it grew and spread to my vital organs. And Millie deserves better than that. She deserves more than my hesitation and whatever the heck this conflicted back and forth was.
A yelled goodbye drags me out of my muddied thoughts. Even though I haven’t actually been playing all day, I somehow still worked up a sweat. It was clearly hard work keeping these teens in line.
The day had been fun, watching the kids give it their all made me really proud of how far they’d come in the last couple of months. Some of them played for fun, others took it a little more seriously, looking for a way to train and improve themselves outside of school. We ran some drills and exercises when they weren’t playing matches.
The mix of genders and abilities meant that the day had been fun, and an eye opener about not judging someone. Especially when one little spitfire omega managed to bag an unexpected touchdown. This was what I loved about the game, the passion from the players. The energy on the field. I wouldn’t get to experience any of this if I was stuck in a corporate office, heading up Blackwood Tech.
Clearing away cones and picking up discarded water cups, I wait until all of the kids are collected by their parents and it’s only the coaching team left. I wasn’t due to meet Shiloh at his apartment for another hour or so.
Jason, the community projects coordinator in charge of the event claps a hand on my shoulder. “Good job Blackwood. You’re a natural.”
Laughing, I place my hands on my hips. “Well…I do play football for Oakley U.”
“Doing and teaching are two very different things.” He chuckles. He was an older beta with a small pot belly and deep laughter lines carved into his craggy face. “Have you thought about coaching as a future option?”
Stretching out my arms, I grunt. “With all due respect I’m just trying to make it to graduation.”
Jason knew who I was, who my family were but I appreciated him trying to show me the other options out there. Could you imagine my parents' reaction if I decided to pivot and coach high school football or something like that? My papa might actually faint from the shock.
“Fair enough. You’re one of our best volunteers, kid. Keep it up.” Another shoulder clap as he waves over at another one of the coaches from one of the other districts. “Why don’t you hit the showers and we’ll see you next week.”
The showers at the community center were upgraded last year, thanks to a special donation and I have never been more grateful as I turn the dial and let the water run hot. I wonder if my parents even realize that I’d used some of the money from my trust to pay for the work.
The wide tiled cubicle fills with steam while I strip out of my clothes. Stepping under the scorching water, I exhale deeply, letting my body relax. I lather up the shower wash before letting my hands move down my abs, following the lines of my body as I think about the coming weekend.
How was I supposed to leave here and spend four hours in the car with Shiloh Vos?
Forced proximity was no joke. We’d be close enough that I could touch him.
Catch the soft sweet scent that seemed to linger around him sometimes. Was it his body wash? An enclosed space was a bad idea and yet I can feel my heart rate picking up at the thought of it.
Wrapping a hand around my hard cock, I groan. Would he bring up the blowjob incident? Or would we both gloss over and pretend it never happened? Pretend that he had never seen me come? Will we both ignore the fact that having him watch didn’t turn me off and made me come quicker?
Fuck, my balls are tight against my body. How was it that even thoughts of him seem to affect me like this?
Shiloh isn’t the only one I’ve been avoiding, I’ve barely seen Millie either. It was hardly the longest we’d gone without sex, but for some reason my body was oversensitive, as I chased my orgasm with unapologetic frenzy. I needed release. I needed a clear head and empty balls if I was going to survive this car ride with any sort of sanity intact.
I try telling myself that my cock is throbbing because I’m thinking about Millie on her knees with her soft skin and perky tits.… but I was willing to bet that Shiloh’s skin was just as soft. I was jacking my cock to thoughts of my omega girlfriend…and her beta brother. Mostly the brother. I was going to hell.
As I spill over the glossy slick tiles, I duck my head under the water. Was it possible to drown yourself in the shower? Fuck. I was fucked in the head.
Standing there until I hear someone else enter the changing rooms, I reluctantly climb out and get dressed. Moment of madness finished and thoughts of Shiloh naked and soft locked away in the furthest parts of my mind, I sling my bag onto my shoulder before fishing out my phone.
The others landed in Crest Haven at lunch time, and since I’d been busy refereeing the matches and running drills, I hadn’t had a chance to check my phone.
I ignore most of my notifications, but my attention snags on a message on PikSnap waiting for me, amongst the texts. It’s a picture of Millie, wearing shades, a silver bralette and making a kissy face. Her curls are half twisted and pinned up on her head. In pink she’s typed out, ‘Feeling cute. Miss you.’
Something twists in my gut.
How could I have thoughts about her brother?
What was wrong with me?
Dropping my bag back onto the floor, I shove open a stall door and throw up until my throat is raw and my stomach muscles ache.