22 its for your own good
“Are you actually going to that meeting, or are you going to spend the rest of your life lying on my guest bed staring at the ceiling?”
I wince at the words, but still don’t turn to look at Alyssa. I can picture her standing in the doorway, all huffy and stressed on my behalf. Looking at it is another one of those things that makes it all too real.
“Omegas are weak and fearful and need to be protected, remember. I’m allowed to be a whiny little bitch about it.”
Yeah, I don’t really like me very much right now, either.
Thankfully, Alyssa just laughs. She’s very good at taking my moods in stride.
“That’s the most male thing you’ve said since I’ve known you. Well I am here, like the obligatory bestie in a rom com after the breakup, ready to kick your ass out of bed to face the world. If you get out of your meeting early enough, we can go to… brunch? Shopping?
I’m not totally sure what the protocol is here.”
Now I’m the one laughing, although it’s half-hearted. I push myself up on my elbows to look at her.
“Alyssa, don’t act like you’ve ever actually seen a rom-com. I know you.”
“Hey, I could have layers. You don’t know me that well,” she says, smiling with half her mouth in a rueful sort of way, but successfully lifting my mood.
She walks over and grabs my socked foot to give it a shake.
“Come on, bro. Face the world. Worst case scenario is that you get kicked off the team. Which sucks and would be fucking discriminatory, but still. It doesn’t even seem like you like playing.”
I let out a big sigh before rolling over and swinging my feet until I’m sitting on the edge of the bed. Rubbing my hands over my face brings a little life back into me, and I take a minute to figure out what I’m trying to say.
“Not really, I guess. I mean… I like the game. I like playing the game. But all the team politics and competitiveness doesn’t do it for me. It’s still going to feel like the cherry on the fucking sundae if I get kicked out six months before school is over, though. It’s embarrassing.”
Alyssa shrugs. “Yeah, but that’s out of your control. Unless you want to sue.”
I make a face, because that sounds fucking awful.
“No thank you.”
“Okay, then let’s go. Allez, allez, motherfucker.”
Silence hangs between us for a minute while I stare at Alyssa, suddenly distracted by a serious question.
“Why are you doing all this for me? We’re not even friends.”
Alyssa frowns. “I told you, my parents?—”
“No,” I interrupt. “I understand about the money and the apartment, and it makes sense that you empathize enough with my situation to help me out, considering you have the means to. But all this,” I gesture between us.
“Why are you actually being nice to me and giving me all this… I don’t even know what to call it.”
Her eyebrows raise, but otherwise she stays still until she finally speaks.
“Emotional support?”
I nod.
Alyssa slowly sits down on the bed next to me, shoulder to shoulder, and takes in a deep breath. Then she does something she’s never done before and lays her head on my shoulder.
It’s weird. It’s not sexual, of course, but it feels close. It’s kind of nice, actually, even though my body suddenly isn’t sure what to do with itself.
“Tanner, I really try not blow smoke up your ass, because few people need that, but I’ll make an exception just this once. You are, believe it or not, a very sweet guy. You’re smart and kind and funny when you’re not too deep in your self-loathing,
and I’m convinced that you genuinely don’t know how to accept any of that, because your dad’s an ass and your sense of self-worth is in the fucking gutter. Which I get.”
My skin tingles, an awkward kind of heat flushing through me, and I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out.
“It fucks you up being in a world that lowkey hates you. Especially if you don’t have people to remind you otherwise. We are friends, Tanner. Actual, real, human friends. But I think you’ve never really had one before, so it feels weird.”
She lifts her head and turns to look me in the eye. I continue to sit there, like a deer in her sights, searching for the right thing to say.
All the dark makeup around her eyes makes her eyes look insanely blue.
It combines with her all-knowing personality to sometimes make her seem like some kind of oracle.
Not that she’s not flawed, like me. Alpha strength or not, that girl cannot open a can to save her life.
But still. I stare at her for a second, wondering what I’m supposed to do.
“Go to your meeting. Whatever happens, the world will not end. I have a date, but I’ll be home later and we can talk about it, whatever it is. K?”
Still wordless, I nod at her.
She claps me on the knee before getting up, but I stop her before she leaves the room.
“Wait, who are you dating?” I ask, because this is the first I’m hearing about it and she’s clearly turning me into a gossip-hound.
“I’ll tell you if it turns into something serious. I have a good feeling about it. She’s skittish though. Squirrely, like you. I gotta go slow, or I’ll scare her off.”
She walks out, laughter trailing behind her, and I wonder if I’m supposed to be offended.
“Thank you!” I shout out at the last minute, because I do have manners in me somewhere.
I guess it’s time to get this over with.
Coach Wheeler sits across from me, his hands steepled on his desk and a squirmy, awkward expression on his face.
After a long moment of silence, he turns around to open the window behind him. I tell myself it’s not because of my scent, but I’m pretty sure it is. The same crawling, insidious discomfort that I remember from the team showers returns, and I do my best not to let it show.
Sit up straight, shoulders back, neutral expression. Look him in the eye.
At least Dad taught me something useful in my life.
“I don’t really know what to say, Tanner. This isn’t a situation we’ve ever had before,” he says, his voice gruff and his gaze avoiding mine.
“For real?” I ask, genuinely kind of surprised.
“Yeah, there’s no protocol for this. Not in team sports, at least. I think there’s a male omega in track and field, maybe. But with the biological disadvantages, it just doesn’t make a lot of sense for them to throw themselves up against a bunch of alphas they can never beat.”
This feels great. Really, super.
“Well, it was a shock to me too, sir.”
He makes a face which he probably intends to be sympathetic but looks more like him having a there but for the grace of god moment.
Coach clears his throat.
“The problem is, because this doesn’t happen very often, there’s no protocol for it. And I want to make sure I’m doing right by everyone. I really don’t think it’s fair to the rest of the team to have the distraction of an omega in the locker room. Or on the field. What if they get… protective?
It’s instinctual, you know. It could end up throwing off their game because they’re too distracted by you. Some of these guys are trying to make baseball their future, and I would hate to ruin that because they make a bad split-second decision and follow their alpha instinct.”
The implication hangs between us like a dirty sock, until he rushes to ‘clarify’.
“Being protective of you, I mean. Obviously.”
“Of course,” I drawl, already very fucking done with this conversation.
It’s pretty clear I won’t be getting the chance to finish out my illustrious baseball career. I don’t even want to think about what this means for my scholarship status, though.
Coach sighs again, tilting his head to the side in an approximation of sympathy.
“I don’t want to cause problems for you, though. Doesn’t seem fair to kick you out, even if it’s for the best. Doesn’t seem fair to force you to be around all those alphas though, either. So, I spent a long time thinking about the situation,
and I think I’ve come up with the best solution for everyone.”
He pauses, like he’s waiting for me to say something. Beg him to let me stay, maybe. Or beg him to kick me out so I’ll be “safe”, as if that’s a real concept anymore.
When I continue to watch him but don’t speak, he goes on.
“I’m gonna put you on IR, son. Permanent injured reserve for the entire season. I’ll get the department doctor to sign off on it, which will be fine, and we’ll call the whole thing ‘special circumstances’. Then you get to keep everything the same on paper for senior year,
you just don’t have to come to games or practice again. Everybody wins.”
I feel like I’m going to throw up.
Coach leans in, a little conspiratorial, and lowers his voice.
“Some of the guys tell me they haven’t actually seen you at the dorm since the start of the year. Like you might be staying someplace else.”
When I realize he’s waiting for an answer, I only hesitate for a second before nodding.
“Good,” he leans back, folding thick arms over a thicker chest and letting his chair rock a little while he watches me. “That’s good. Let’s keep it that way. Nothing changes on paper, you can tell your parents whatever you want, and nobody gets hurt. It’s important to me to keep you safe.”
Bile rises in my throat, and for a split second, I worry that there are tears forming in my eyes, but I blink them back and swallow hard, trying to force a pleasant expression.
“Thank you, sir. Do you need me to sign anything?”
He waves me away.
“You’re all set. I’ll take care of everything, and this can just be a sort of gentleman’s agreement between us. No paper trail. You go home and get some rest.”
Like I’m chronically ill, or something.
“Yes, sir.”
I sound pathetic, but I know arguing will only make things worse, and I’m ready to get the fuck out of here.
He doesn’t offer to shake my hand, instead waving awkwardly as he lets me out of his office for what I assume will be the last time.
I briefly consider cleaning out my locker on the way, but I don’t think I have it in me. It’s not like I need the equipment. Fuck it. Fuck them. Keep my fucking dirty jocks, I don’t need them.
And if I shed a couple tears in the car on the drive home, nobody ever needs to know.