Chapter 28
Colin Huxley had learned to read people the way other children learned to read books.
Council care homes taught you that, if nothing else.
The difference between safety and danger often hinged on noticing the smallest shift in expression, the subtlest change in body language.
This skill had kept him alive. Had kept his sons safe, as much as possible in a world that seemed determined to crush male omegas beneath its collective boot.
So when he spotted the alpha pacing the hospital corridor, Colin knew immediately who it was.
Tall and lean rather than broadly muscular, with dark, dishevelled hair that looked like it had been actively tortured into its current unruly state. His clothes were expensive but rumpled, as if he'd slept in them.
The receptionist behind the nurses' station was watching him with the wary expression of someone who'd dealt with too many distraught family members, and were familiar with their volatility.
Fair enough, given the way the man's fingers were tapping against his thigh in a precise, repetitive pattern.
Thumb to index, thumb to middle, thumb to ring, thumb to pinky.
Again and again, like some private Morse code.
"I'm trying to locate Stephen Huxley," the man was saying, his voice surprisingly cultured despite the obvious tension in his frame. "He was admitted last night."
"Are you family?" the receptionist asked, not bothering to look up from her computer.
"No, I'm his..." The man hesitated, jaw working. "Colleague. Dr. David Ryland. I work with him at Dabney."
This was Stephen's alpha? This nervous wreck who looked like he might spontaneously combust at any moment?
Colin had built up a mental image based on Stephen's rare, offhand comments.
Some corporate titan. A brilliant, intimidating force of nature who had somehow captivated his usually reserved son.
The man before him couldn't maintain eye contact with the receptionist. His gaze kept darting to the exit signs as if calculating escape routes.
"I'm sorry, but only family is permitted at this time," the receptionist said, with the finality of someone who'd delivered this verdict countless times.
Ryland made a small sound. His fingers accelerated their tapping, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot.
"Understandable protocol," he managed, "but suboptimal in this specific circumstance. Stephen might... I need to... The statistical likelihood of patient recovery increases by approximately twenty-seven percent when surrounded by a supportive social network beyond blood relations."
Colin decided to intervene before the poor receptionist called security. He approached quietly, years of moving through volatile foster homes having taught him how to make his slight frame nearly invisible when needed.
"Colin Huxley," he said, offering his hand. "Stephen's father."
Ryland startled visibly, then took Colin's hand and shook it like someone running on autopilot. His palm was dry but warm, his grip carefully modulated.
"Dr. David Ryland. Director of Research at Dabney. Stephen's..." Again, that hesitation. "Colleague."
Colin assessed the alpha with the careful scrutiny of a father whose son had been hurt too many times. Handsome, yes, in an unconventional way. Sharp cheekbones, piercing blue eyes. Not as broad as the typical alpha, but the intensity more than compensated.
"So you're Stephen's father. He adores you," Ryland blurted out, then immediately looked mortified.
"I'm sorry, that was... you're very young.
Statistically improbable. Not that I'm questioning...
I have difficulty with social calibration.
Neurodivergent. Sensory processing disorder with autistic traits.
I don't always... words sometimes come out wrong. "
The rush of explanation was delivered with the frantic energy of someone who'd had to provide it many times before, usually after causing offence.
"I had the twins when I was fourteen," Colin said flatly, watching Ryland's reaction.
He'd learned to deliver this information with deliberate bluntness. The shock value served as an excellent litmus test. Most people flinched, their expressions cycling through shock, pity, and often, disgust. Assuming the worst without knowing anything of his circumstances.
Ryland simply nodded. "That must have been extremely difficult.
Teenage pregnancy carries significant physical and psychological risks, particularly for male omegas, who are already statistically overrepresented in adverse life events.
The fact that you raised twins successfully despite those challenges is... remarkable."
No judgement. No pity. Just a straightforward assessment of facts, delivered with awkward but genuine respect.
"How is Stephen?" Ryland asked, and his clinical composure cracked. "The text only said he was attacked. Is he... the extent of his injuries... is he going to be alright?"
"Physically, he'll recover," Colin said carefully. "Concussion, extensive bruising, some lacerations. Nothing broken. Emotionally..." He shrugged slightly, the gesture conveying more than words could.
"This is my fault," Ryland said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"If I hadn't... in Geneva... the text I sent afterwards was...
I made a catastrophic error in judgement.
In multiple judgements. Stephen would never have been working so late if I hadn't...
if we were still..." He ran a hand through his already chaotic hair, making it stand up even more wildly.
"I should have protected him. Should have been there.
The statistical probability of assault decreases by sixty-eight percent when walking in pairs rather than alone. "
Colin studied the distraught alpha with growing curiosity. Here was this man, practically vibrating with guilt over something that couldn't possibly be his responsibility.
"The only person at fault is the one who attacked him," Colin said firmly, the same words he'd said to both his sons. "No one else."
"Logically correct but emotionally inaccurate," Ryland replied, fingers resuming their rhythmic tapping.
"Causality isn't always linear, but butterfly effects are real.
If I were still with him, I would never have let him walk home alone.
I would have calculated the safest routes, installed a proper tracking app on his phone, with his consent of course.
" He swallowed hard. "I would have protected him with everything I have.
He's... he's the only variable in my life I can't function without. May I see him? Please?"
Those two words, stripped bare. Not an alpha demanding access. A man genuinely terrified for someone he cared about, willing to beg if necessary.
Colin felt a surprising warmth toward Ryland.
He still had no idea what had happened between this strange, intense alpha and his son.
Lysander had been remarkably tight-lipped about whatever drama had unfolded, which was unusual for a son who typically shared every detail of his life whether Colin wanted to hear it or not.
But there was something in Ryland's eyes that Colin recognised.
He'd made a terrible mistake and would give anything to undo it.
You could see it in the set of his mouth, the way he kept swallowing.
"I don't know if he'd want me to talk to you about him," Colin said carefully. "Whatever happened between you two..."
"I took advantage of his inexperience," Ryland said bluntly, the words rushing out as if a dam had broken.
"In Geneva. We were... intimate. I didn't realise until too late that he was...
that it was his first... I hurt him through carelessness and selfishness.
Then I fled the country rather than face what I'd done.
Sent a text attempting to create emotional distance that read as cold rejection.
Created a situation where he felt unsafe in the workplace, which potentially contributed to his vulnerability last night. "
Colin blinked. Most alphas would have spun some elaborate justification, found a way to shift blame, to preserve their ego. Not this one. This one was ripping himself apart mercilessly.
"You really care about him," Colin said. Not a question.
"More than I've ever cared about anyone," Ryland replied simply. "Which makes my behaviour all the more inexcusable."
Colin made a decision then. "Wait here. I'm going to talk to Stephen, see if he'll see you."
Ryland's hands stilled. His whole body went quiet for the first time since Colin had been watching him. "Thank you. I... thank you."
Colin nodded once, then turned and walked back toward Stephen's room.
He found Stephen awake and pretending to watch the small television mounted on the wall, though his eyes weren't focusing on the daytime chat show flickering across the screen.
"Someone's here to see you," Colin said without preamble, closing the door softly behind him.
Stephen's gaze sharpened. "Lysander?"
"No. He's gone home like I suggested," Colin replied, settling into the chair beside the bed. "It's Dr. Ryland."
The effect was immediate. Stephen's face drained of colour, then flushed crimson. His heart monitor betrayed him with a sudden acceleration of beeps.
"What? How did he... no. Absolutely not. I don't want to see him."
Colin regarded his son steadily. "Are you sure about that?"
"Yes," Stephen insisted, though his scent betrayed his lie, blooming with notes of longing beneath the sharp bite of hurt. "He can't see me like this. All... damaged. I look pathetic."
"If he cared about that, he wouldn't be pacing the corridor like a caged animal," Colin observed mildly. "I've never seen an alpha so worked up over a 'colleague' before."
Stephen winced at the word. "He told you that?"
"He also told me exactly what happened in Geneva. And after. Didn't spare himself at all."