21. Maceo
Maceo
The light beneath the office door is still on when I go upstairs.
Thane left several hours ago with Luca’s signed authorization sealed inside the petition folder.
The affidavit hasn’t gone before the court yet, which means Luca’s file remains closed, the sponsor codes remain inaccessible, and nothing has moved beyond the first procedural step.
Knowing that should make the waiting easier. It doesn’t.
Luther is downstairs with outside counsel, reviewing what can happen once the petition is filed. Blake joined them after insisting he’d rested long enough, and Grayson has checked the children twice even though all three have been asleep down the hall for more than an hour.
I spent most of mine confirming that Ember House’s restricted systems remain locked, preserving the complaint evidence, and drafting a timeline Thane didn’t ask me to draft. When I finished that, I started reading prenatal research.
The bedroom door is open. Luca hasn’t hidden himself behind it or pulled the curtains tightly enough to shut out the house. He is in the center of the nest with three blankets around his legs, one of my shirts hanging from his shoulders, and a tablet propped against the pillows beside him.
He looks up when I enter and glances pointedly at the folder beneath my arm.
“You brought work.”
“I brought research.”
Luca glances at the folder again. “That’s work wearing softer clothes.”
I set the folder on the dresser instead of carrying it into the nest. Luca watches until both of my hands are empty, then lifts the edge of the blanket beside him.
The invitation loosens something in my chest. I cross the room, remove my shoes, and climb onto the bed without asking how he feels.
He answered that question as honestly as he could before Thane left: he felt exposed, angry, and certain.
Asking again because several hours have passed would only require him to package the same feelings for me.
I sit against the headboard, and Luca shifts until his shoulder rests against my side.
My shirt hangs loosely on him, the sleeves covering half his hands.
The scent gathered in the fabric has changed after several hours against his skin.
Mine is still there beneath his, but Luca’s pregnancy has softened it into something warmer.
My hand settles over his stomach before I consciously decide to move it.
There is no visible movement beneath my palm.
Quentin has already explained that we are weeks away from feeling anything, but some irrational part of me continues expecting the child to announce themself because I’m paying attention.
Luca is quiet for a while, his thumb moving over the back of my hand where it rests against his stomach. Eventually, he tilts his head to study me.
“You’ve been quiet since you came upstairs. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.” I reach for the tablet again, though I don’t open it. “I’ve been researching.”
His gaze drops to the dark screen. “The baby?”
I nod. “Quentin said the research on children conceived by a Gamma and an Omega is limited, but there’s still a meaningful chance the baby could present outside the Alpha, Beta, and Omega designations.
Gamma and Delta presentations are both possible, but the available research disagrees on how either one is inherited. ”
Luca shifts closer against me. “How much of a chance?”
“Quentin couldn’t give me a reliable percentage. Some studies barely distinguish Gamma and Delta presentations, while others exclude them entirely. I also found references to Zetas and Thetas, but the sources aren’t consistent.”
A smile begins at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think the last two are real, Maceo.”
“Neither does Quentin.”
“But you researched them anyway.”
“I’m not leaving anything to chance.”
Luca’s smile widens, but he doesn’t turn the concern into a joke. He covers my hand with his and waits for me to explain what I’m actually looking for. “Tell me what else you found.”
“There’s almost nothing useful,” I say. “Most of the resources tell parents how to identify a designation early, but almost none of them explain how to support a child who doesn’t fit the usual categories.”
Luca’s fingers tighten around mine. “And you want to know what they might need before they have to ask.”
“I want the information waiting for them.” I look down at the slight curve beneath my palm.
“If they’re a Gamma, I want them to have language for it before they spend years believing they’re failing at being something else.
If they’re a less common designation, I don’t want anyone deciding they’re lesser because their instincts don’t fit the hierarchy. ”
Luca turns onto his side without moving my hand from his stomach. “Then we’ll make sure the language is here before they need it. It won’t fix everything, but they won’t be figuring it out alone.”
I unlock the tablet and show him the folder I created. It contains the few Gamma and Delta studies I could verify, parenting resources that recognize more than the three primary designations, and a list of specialists who won’t treat an uncommon presentation as something that needs correcting.
Luca scrolls slowly. “You already contacted three clinics.”
“Two of them still use Alpha and Omega as the only developmental categories. The third has a Delta consultant but no Gamma-specific resources.”
“So you’re going to keep looking.”
“Until I find someone useful.”
Luca studies the folder for another moment before setting the tablet aside. “Did you find anything written by Gammas themselves?”
“Very little.” I keep my hand over his stomach while Luca sets the tablet aside.
“Most of it is written about us, not by us. I knew I didn’t fit what people expected long before anyone gave me the right word for it.
I spent years thinking the problem was me because no one explained there were other possibilities, and I’m not letting our child go through that. ”
Luca’s expression softens as he brings my hand higher and kisses my knuckles. “We find people who understand, and we listen when they tell us who they are.”
I look at him. “Even if the answer changes.”
“Especially then.” Luca settles against my chest and leaves the research folder open between us. Most of the sections are unfinished, but the list of Gamma-informed clinics remains at the top.
I add Quentin’s name beneath it, then rest my hand over Luca’s belly again while he closes his eyes. “Keep the Zeta section,” he murmurs.
“I was going to.” His mouth curves against my shoulder, and I leave the page open.