Hunter #2
Exhaling slowly, I say, “I think it’s going to be a baby. A human one, preferably.”
He stares at me for a moment, before I break the connection, turning back to look at the road.
“Ha ha ha,” he deadpans, propping his elbow on my car door, and resting his face on his hand. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”
Benedict Evans Crawford II was asking me if I was ever serious? The hypocrisy of it makes me laugh aloud, startling him.
“Does that bother you?” I smirk, “I mean, it didn’t bother you when we filled Anton’s locker with water balloons. Or when you helped me hide all those plastic ducks around the house.”
That had been an easy prank that was still going almost a year later as tiny little pink and red ducks turned up everywhere. On top of doorframes, inside cups, under the sofa, between towels and in every nook and cranny we could find. It drove Blake wild.
“Ohhh, that was fun. So were the glitter bomb invites you sent to Sadie’s sorority in second year. Still think you could have let me in on that one.” He runs a hand through his hair, as he thinks about some of our past antics. We weren’t known as a chaotic duo for nothing.
“I didn’t want you to squeal and ruin the prank.
” I’d been drunk at a house party when I’d ordered Sadie and her girlfriends 20 glitter envelopes.
It was only because I’d overheard her talking about how being Evans’ girlfriend opened doors for her.
She was bragging about him being wrapped around her little finger, like he was some desperate lapdog.
So I’d decided to be a petty bitch and give her the only invitations she deserved.
She still didn’t know it was me. “I also didn’t see you complaining when we ordered that mechanical bull at 1am, and put it on the front lawn. ”
“Nah, bro. That one was class.” And for a moment, there’s silence as we both remember that night, and how it had ended with him spewing in the kitchen sink while I was high as a kite, rubbing his back and talking about alien conspiracy theories. “I get it. You’re very unserious.”
“We’re unserious, Evans. I didn’t steal that rooster on my own,” I remind him, with a pointed stare.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let my dad hear you.” He glances down at his hands, picking around the edges of his nails.
Whenever his father is mentioned he gets quiet.
Introverted. Like he’s shrinking in on himself.
There’s a few measured breaths before he says, “Doesn’t everyone want an alpha?
I mean, wouldn’t it bother you if they have a beta or an omega? ”
“What?” I pause, trying to think of the best way to respond without being rude.
Evans’ dad was an ass for making him think that alphas were the only secondary gender of any worth.
Lowering my voice, I place a hand on his thigh and give it a gentle squeeze.
“Not everyone wants an alpha. Most parents just want a healthy child.”
He doesn’t look at me for the rest of the drive.
Three hours later I’m tired, hungry and not entirely sure how we got roped into baby shopping today, but I learn very quickly that Evans and Zale are clueless about children.
Blake and I are the oldest siblings, and that’s the only reason we’ve managed to muddle through and pick up some things so that Zale can surprise Shiloh.
It was still strange to think that one of my housemates was mated with a baby on the way. I know in theory everyone comes to Oakley U to find a mate or build their networks, but we still had to finish out the rest of the year. Zale had jumped the gun a little.
It was also strange to think about how much one of my best friends had been keeping inside this entire time.
It was like being mated had opened the floodgates.
When we learned about Shiloh being an omega, Zale’s omega, he started sharing other things.
Like how he had been coaching a community football team for years in secret and the fact that he didn’t want to be a CEO for Blackwood Tech.
Sometimes he talked about his parents, and how he was trying to have a better relationship with them, but time would tell.
I’d been thinking about doing something similar recently with volunteering, but with art perhaps.
Something with minimal interaction, where I could set a task and let them go off.
I was a little too volatile for team sports.
And really, I was a bit too grumpy for other people unless I was high or interested in fucking them.
“So, you’re telling me these weird little pump things will go on Shiloh‘s nipples and just suck the milk out?” Zale asks as he holds up a chest pump, turning the box over in his hands to read the instructions. “I mean can’t I just do that?”
“And what? Keep a spittoon next to the bed?” Blake asks, chuckling as he swats the back of Zale’s head. “Stop being jealous of a chest pump and put it in the basket.”
Scoffing at how ridiculous Zale is being, I wander over to a display of baby blankets.
Running my fingers over the knitted texture, I think about how my mom kept all of our baby stuff for when we have kids.
We were wealthy, and yet she hoarded them in a box for each of us like we’d never find anything finer. She was sentimental like that.
Zale stops in his tracks, chest pump still in hand. “Can you believe that I’m going to be a dad?”
Blake folds his arms, looking huge as his muscular footballer frame dominates most of the space in the store aisle. “You’re asking this after asking me whether Shiloh is allowed to sleep on his belly, just in case he hurts the baby?”
I can’t help but chime in with a smirk, “I think my favorite question of the day was Evans' one about pants.”
Like a dog hearing its name, Evans’ perks up. His head appears over the top of a rack of pregnancy bras. “Look, I’m just saying, I feel like when he wears those tight black pants, he might be squashing the baby.”
Growling, Zale narrows his eyes at our other housemate. “I think you need to keep your eyes off my mate and his tight black pants.”
“I think your mate needs to keep his tight pants out of my eyesight. I’m going to look.” He tilts his head, as he considers his next words. “Respectfully, of course.”
Zale arches a brow. “Of course.”
It was becoming painfully obvious that my best friend was not ready for the way his life was about to change. He looked terrified, but also oddly excited by the challenge. Like this was some new adventure he was about to start and I guess he was.
We were lucky that Shiloh had put a spending cap on today’s little session, otherwise I have a strong feeling that between Evans and Zale, they would have brought out the entire store.
We practically had to drag Zale away from the clothes section and that was only after he managed to buy several baby rompers and 10 pairs of baby booties.
Evans has been trailing slowly behind the group, quiet for a change as he picks up things, looks at them for a moment with a strange expression on his face and places them back down again.
He was still chiming in, but it wasn’t with his usual energy.
Except for the pants thing. That was just horndog Evans out in full force.
Dropping behind the others, I slow so I’m side-by-side with him and give him a nudge with my shoulder. “Hey man, what’s going on?”
It wasn’t like him to go quiet, especially not when we were surrounded by nipple creams and pumps and all sorts of things that he would normally make jokes about.
“Nothing. I’m just trying to picture my parents doing this.
I can’t really imagine them coming to the store and picking up items like this excited idiot.
” He offers me a small half smile. I hate that smile.
It’s the same one he gives Sadie. He motions to where Zale has now found baby socks with ruffles. “Can you?”
“I don’t have to imagine it,” I say chuckling, as I pick up a nearby plushie. It’s a cute fluffy golden retriever with its tongue hanging out of the side of its mouth and a red patent collar. For some reason, it reminds me of Evans.
Not the loud mouthed football version.
The other one.
The eager to be liked, vulnerable version afraid of being rejected.
The one that has no concept of personal space, apparently as he seems to lean into me while we walk.
“My parents documented everything when I was younger.
There's video evidence of them shopping for baby clothes. They also filmed my dad trying to assemble the cot himself, and there are even clips of my birth that I am not brave enough to watch.”
He snorts, reaching out to stroke the head of the plushie. No one wants to watch their birth video, there was no way to survive that without trauma.
“When my sisters came along, I got to watch it first-hand. The excitement, not the birth—just to be very, very clear.” I shiver, grossed out just by the thought of being down the business end.
“I guess it’s different if you’re fated mates.” He murmurs as he lets his hand drop back down by his side.
Without thinking, I grab his wrist, and turn him to look at me.
His dark eyes are brighter in this lighting, like cherry cola.
Rubbing my thumb in small reassuring circles on the inside of his wrist, I hold his gaze.
“Lots of people aren’t fated and they still get excited about the arrival of their child. That's normal, Benny.”
I’d met Evans’ father once in passing. He hadn’t given me the time of day, and that had been absolutely fine with me. Watching Evans shrink in on himself, I’m wondering if he ever made time for his own son.