Evans
My body has been feeling off kilter all week, like a low buzz or an itch just below the surface of my skin. It started beneath my scalp, making me restless and cranky as it spread down to the base of my neck and made my temples throb.
As the days counted down to the dinner with my father, and he didn’t cancel, it spread further. It was like an invisible rash moving through my body, making me feel antsy and agitated.
I know the others have noticed, there have been a few comments about me being cranky and grumpy. Hunter even pulled out a chocolate bar from his pocket and threw it at me yesterday. And he hates sharing his snacks.
Honestly, I don’t know if it’s being made worse by Sadie.
This week she’s been clingier than usual.
I think it’s because her heat is approaching, but she wants to stay over, or she wants to go out for dinner.
Or she wants me to go to a party. Or she comes to watch football practice.
She’s everywhere I look and I feel suffocated.
Part of me was worried my father would cancel again.
After all, he’d been trying to get this in his diary for weeks now, but something else more important always came up.
Another part of me wanted him to, because the longer he kept cancelling on me like I was meeting he couldn’t fit in his schedule, the more breathing space I had.
I already knew what he was going to talk about.
He was going to tell me that I need to start sifting through the shopping list he sent me.
The email has been sitting in my inbox for over a month now, it’s a list of all the eligible daughters in a 100 mile radius, all carefully vetted and cherry-picked by my father himself.
A small voice in the back of my head is only too happy to point out that they’re also all female.
For some reason, my father believed that female omegas were better suited to producing alpha children. He would never consider a male omega, let alone a male alpha partner for me.
I shut that thought down.
A male alpha isn’t an option anyway.
My purpose in life was to give my father children and protect the Crawford legacy and the future of Pembroke holdings. That was a biological impossibility with an alpha partner, so there was no use lingering on it.
After running until I made myself sick, only stopping when I was folded over a bin, dry heaving, I was exhausted down to my bones. I needed to be if I was going to survive this dinner.
It hadn’t helped the restless anxiety that Hunter‘s date was today.
There's been an air of excitement in the house as he walked around checking his phone constantly, smiling to himself. It was only a first date.
I tried killing a few hours playing video games but it wasn’t the same without him. It just made my mood even worse.
And when he practically skipped down the stairs, wearing a brand-new black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his tattoos showing and his tight skinny jeans, I had to accept the fact that I was annoyed that he was going out tonight. I couldn’t tell you why.
He fixed his hair in the hallway mirror, tying his blue hair half up, half down in his usual messy style, giving me a wide grin before heading out the door with a wave.
My alpha was disgruntled. Agitated. That made no sense, since I was meeting my father anyway, it wasn’t like Hunter would have been spending time with me.
Maybe it’s because he didn’t seem to notice my mood, too consumed with the prospect of getting laid.
No, that wasn’t fair.
I didn’t tell him I was anxious, so how could he know? I’ve been deliberately trying to keep him at arm’s length when it came to my father because it was nobody else’s issue but mine. The same for Zale and Blake.
How can I show them that I was struggling? Because that only made me appear weak. And Crawfords…we weren’t weak. We didn’t need others. We were prime alphas.
When I arrived at Escador‘s, wearing the new suit my father sent over, something tickled at the back of my neck, like fingers teasing the skin. Has somebody else mentioned Escador’s this week?
One of the hosts shows me to the rooftop bar and as soon as I step out onto the veranda, I smell it.
Oil paint.
Hints of charcoal.
Clay.
Spiced oranges.
Hunter’s here on his date.
Sending up a silent prayer, I hope that my table is nowhere near his but as we walk towards the tables, I realise we’re sitting directly behind him. I don’t make eye contact as I go past him, not even stopping to inhale his comforting scent.
I’ve learned that the best way to be around my father is to shut everything down. No emotion. I just get in and get out. It’s the only way to survive these dinners.
My father looks tired, his usually well-groomed stubble slightly longer than usual and there are dark circles under his eyes. He still looks domineering, and good for his age, but just a little weathered.
“Glad you could finally join me, Benedict” my father says, his voice gruff.
I feel like that should be my line, but I don’t dare say it. As the waiter approaches, I order the same as my father. I don’t drink whiskey but if I ordered a beer, I only have to watch his lip curl.
Taking my seat, I wince. Here I’m positioned perfectly to get a good view of Hunter, but also the omega sitting opposite him. I try not to look, but he’s pretty. Of course he is. Something territorial and ugly twists in my stomach.
I glance down, keeping my head bowed. My father prided himself on respect and hierarchy, but out of the corner of my eye, I still watch like an idiot.
The omega is dainty and elegant, with creamy pale skin and big eyes. He’s the opposite of everything I am, I think as I stare down at my tanned, calloused hands. I’m probably three times the size of him in width alone. I could swallow him whole.
Of course that’s who Hunter is on a date with. He’s an alpha. Why wouldn’t he choose the gorgeous soft omega?
My father clears his throat, and toys with his napkin.
Somewhere behind us, someone laughs. A waiter drops a tray at the bar. A bird flies overhead, squawking over the muted sounds of downtown traffic.
I wait, frowning as he still says nothing.
There’s something strange about my father this evening, there’s a rigid set to his posture that’s more than just good upbringing.
He’s nervous about something.
There’s a small exhale, a tiny release of air that I almost miss before he asks, “How have you been?”
How have I been?
My father sends me an email weekly to ask if I’m making progress on finding a mate. But to ask how I am? That never happens. Harrison Crawford didn’t do pleasantries unless he was rubbing shoulders in high society. He had no time for them. No time for me.
“Good.”
“And how is football going?”
I blink. “It’s good.”
Was I in an alternate reality right now? I don’t understand what is happening. I think he may be trying to relax me but it’s having the opposite effect. Something is wrong and whatever it is, I already know I’m not going to like it.
“Is something the matter?”
He drops the napkin. “Have you spoken to your mother?”
He’d asked me the same question a few weeks ago and my answer was still the same. No. She still hadn’t rung me herself to tell me that she was remarrying. But that wasn’t new for her. I was always an afterthought.
“No, I have not. I assume she’s well…” PikSnap told me she was living her best life if her last post taken on a sandy beach was any indication.
I’m not even sure why my parents stayed in touch with one another.
Perhaps it was to antagonize each other?
They both came from wealthy families, with their own assets and funds, so it’s not like either of them needed each other.
It just appeared that every now and again my mother liked to twist the knife deeper and tell my father how great her life was.
Swallowing down his whiskey, he orders another with a lift of his hand before clearing his throat awkwardly and tugging on his tie. “She’s having another baby.”
“Oh.” Breathe. His words aren't making sense. I was part-way through my final year of college, why would my mother have another child now?
Why would she tie herself down like that when she prides herself on being able to travel around the world and live her life freely?
Why would she have another child when she didn’t even want the first one?
“Uh. Congratulations,” I say and then I cringe. Why am I congratulating my father? My mother clearly only told him to hurt him. Not that something like this would, the only thing he has ever cared about is Pembroke holdings.
Our drinks arrive, the waiter placing them down, thankfully breaking the awkward tension.
He downs this one too. “Well now we’ve got that out of the way. I think it’s time we talked about you and this girlfriend of yours.”
I was expecting him to talk about the list, not Sadie. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Checking his watch, he continues, ignoring my words. “I’ve spoken to her parents and we’ve come to an agreement. We feel that an early autumn wedding would be appropriate. That gives you a couple of months after graduation to settle in at the office and time for us to choose your first house.”
Choose a house?
Autumn wedding?
That itching underneath my skin flares, and the throbbing at my temples intensifies.
Opening my mouth no words come out. I can feel it bubbling inside, all the words I want to say, the feelings trapped there like gas, but there’s something about my father that means I’m like a shaken soda bottle with the cap still on.
I try again weakly, even to my own ears. “Dad, I don’t have—”
“There she is now. I instructed her to join us this evening because I think it’s better to speak to both of you and get this all cleared away.” He waves over to the host, who’s welcoming Sadie to the rooftop.
Cleared away? Cleared away?
This was my future he was talking about. Not a mess on the kitchen floor. This wasn’t a spilled glass of milk. Or deciding where a potted plant should go. This was my life.
A bead of sweat rolls down my spine and my palms feel clammy.