When he first joined the college, Bernard Hastings’ welcome hadn’t been so kind. Dale swallowed, ducking out of the childcare center. But Lisa had seen past his mistakes, and he was determined not to disappoint her.
He strode to his car, glancing at the bits of papers strewn in the backseat. He should clean his car. Return Greg’s sunglasses, his pen, the one NY Rockets shirt Dale never returned. Greg hadn’t called him about the missing things; he probably didn’t know they were still with Dale.
And Dale was still holding on to them, damn it all to hell.
In silence, Dale drove home, his thoughts whirling. Bernard Hastings had promised to make life difficult for him, but Dale now had a job. He didn’t know the sort of reach Bernard had. If Dale saw Greg again... would Bernard pull strings? Get Lisa to fire him? Or would he get the entire childcare center shut down?
Dale shuddered. He shouldn’t even think about meeting Greg again. He was letting Greg go, giving Greg a chance to spread his wings. See the world. Find a better omega, not someone who had lost his job sleeping with a student.
At the apartment, Dale slipped through the front door, setting his interview folder on a side table. Then he pulled his phone out, tapped on the voicemail app, and played the first message.
“Hey, it’s me again,” Greg’s voice said, tinny in his ear. But it was close, filled with warmth. Dale closed his eyes, sinking into his couch.
“I don’t know if you’re listening to any of these messages. Or if you’re even getting them at all. I’m calling anyway. I got a second job two weeks ago at the community center. They were looking for part-time coaches, so I went and filled in.
“We’ve been doing all sorts of sports—football, soccer, hockey, and all that. The kids are fun. Mostly from elementary school. I’ve been thinking... I hope you and the baby are doing fine. When he or she gets older, I was thinking I could show our baby how to play sports. Basketball. Just thought it would be fun.”
Dale bit his lip, his eyes growing wet. Greg couldn’t still be thinking about their baby.
“I’ve been doing well. Moved in with my mom and dad. It’s a pain. I’m moving out as soon as I get my paychecks, but it’s still two weeks away. Been thinking about you. Miss you.” Greg stopped for breath, and Dale breathed along with him, his heart sore. “I love you, okay? Don’t forget that.”
The voicemail ended, leaving silence in his ear. Dale replayed the message, curling into a ball on the couch. Then he played the previous message, where Greg had told him about his other job—an internship at Meadowfall’s environmental regulations department.
The doorbell rang. Dale’s heart leaped. Greg? A moment later, a truck rumbled off outside. Not Greg. He sagged. But it can’t be a delivery, either. I haven’t bought anything.
Phone in hand, Dale rolled off the couch, padding over to the front door. He peeked through the viewfinder. No visitors. So he opened the door, staring at the parcel on his doorstep.
There was no sender information, just Dale’s name and address. But he recognized that bold handwriting anyway, the sharp curves of the D and Y. Greg.
Heart pattering, he picked up the box. It was surprisingly light, as though Greg had sent air. With the next voicemail playing on the phone’s loudspeaker, Dale picked open the box, wondering if Greg had sent him legal paperwork, or something for school.
The first thing he saw, when he opened the box, was a mess of pastel colors. Blues, purples, pinks. They were paper cranes, Dale realized, his breath catching. And there had to be a hundred of them crammed into the box—big ones, little ones, ones that perched nicely in his palm.
The last time Greg had made these, he’d taken half an hour for each crane. Dale didn’t know how long Greg had to have spent, folding all of these.
Slowly, he lined the cranes around him: large ones on the floor, small ones on the coffee table. They sat in rows by his feet, watching him. Greg had to know he’d love them, didn’t he? Dale swallowed past the lump in his throat, wishing he could see his alpha.
There was an envelope taped to the bottom of the box, lumpy, as though it contained some kind of fabric. There’s more? Dale pulled it out of the box, tearing the flap open.
It was another onesie—this time with paper cranes printed all over it. Dale stared, his heart thudding loud in his chest. Next to him, the voicemail played on.
“I love you,” Greg said. “The baby, too.”
“You need to stop doing that,” Dale groaned, covering his face with the onesie. It smelled like aspen, and he couldn’t stop breathing it in.
He needed to forget that Greg Hastings ever existed.
Except he couldn’t. Not in the past, and certainly not now.
31
Dale
The ultrasound was due at twenty weeks, right when semester began.
Dale stepped into the prenatal clinic, his hands shaking. The baby hadn’t begun to move. Fetuses were supposed to do so anywhere between sixteen to twenty-two weeks, and four weeks had passed in that window. In the days leading up to the appointment, Dale had convinced himself that the baby would miscarry, that it had stopped developing, that it would die.
He’d cried himself to sleep the past two weeks, and he hadn’t any more tears right now.
“Hello,” the receptionist said when he stepped up, giving him a friendly smile. “Here for an appointment?”
“Yes,” he said. “My name is Dale Kinney.”
She handed him a clipboard with a form. Dale sat in a corner of the reception area, trying not to stand out.
Couples filled the rest of the waiting room—mostly pairs of two women, and a couple of men. Dale’s nape prickled under their stares. It seemed unusual for an omega to show up alone, but it would probably be
