An hour ago, he’d glimpsed Dale leaving the basketball arena. He’d caught up to Dale, kissed him, and Dale had melted in his arms the moment their lips met. And he’d been so hungry.
Dale had squirmed and bucked and gasped, and all Greg had been thinking of was touching his belly. In the two months they’d been apart, Dale’s baby bump had become far more pronounced. Greg had kissed him, knowing Dale was caring for their baby, protecting it, making sure it was loved.
It’s a boy, Dale had whispered, after he’d squirmed and come all over Greg’s forearm. Greg had held him, breathing in his honey-and-hibiscus scent, filling his lungs and memorizing the musky notes of it.
Then Dale had told him to leave, told Greg he didn’t need him anymore. With a sting of guilt, Greg had remembered losing Dale his job. Dale couldn’t forgive him for it, and Greg’s father would continue to hurt Dale for as long as they were together.
Angry heat swirled in his gut. Greg stalked through the mansion, barely glancing at the vast paintings of Meadowfall College, the bronze bust that his father had commissioned of himself. Two months ago, Greg had moved back into his family home, thinking he could convince his father of his relationship with Dale.
Countless arguments and slammed doors later, Bernard Hastings still scoffed when Greg mentioned age differences.
Greg couldn’t subject Dale to that treatment. And Dale no longer acknowledged Greg as his alpha.
His heart hurt.
He was halfway up the grand staircase when his mother stepped out of her bedroom. She was in a nightgown, her graying hair in curlers. When she saw him, she hurried forward, a smile splitting her face. “Greg!”
“Hey, Mom,” he said, barely keeping his voice even.
She was the only bright point in his move back here. Greg had spent most of the past five years away from his family, when his father refused to acknowledge what Tony’s death meant to him. He’d called her on and off, but it wasn’t the same as seeing her in person.
“I’m moving back out,” Greg said. “I’m not living with Dad. He’s a bastard.”
Henrietta slowed down as she reached the landing, giving him a doleful look. “Do you really have to? I missed you when you were living on your own.”
“Yeah.” He grimaced when she reached for a hug. He was still in his basketball jersey—his sweat had dried on it, and he’d wiped the remnants of Dale’s cum on the jersey, after he’d licked the rest off his arm. Not the best time for a hug. “Mom, no. I need a shower.”
She paused with her arms outstretched, almost touching him. “Well, go shower, then. I demand my hug.”
He cracked a smile. She followed him to his bedroom. Inside, the furniture hadn’t been updated since he’d left at eighteen. The shelves were empty—he’d left his comics in the moving boxes—and the bedspread still had Super Alpha printed on it. He’d turned it face-down to hide the graphics.
“What happened?” Mom asked when he shut the door.
“Dale was at my game. The ultrasound went okay. We don’t know about the other tests yet.”
“Ah.” She sighed, settling on the side of his bed while he grabbed his shower things.
“He didn’t manipulate me, you know.”
“So you’ve said.”
Through the arguments with his dad, his mom had stayed silent, listening to Greg when he had to vent. But she’d never stepped in to defend him, either.
“I don’t get why you married Dad. He’s... backward. He doesn’t understand.”
Mom pressed her lips together, the wrinkles on her forehead deepening. “He’s still a good man, Greg. He just has different priorities from you.”
“He fired Dale!”
“But you understand why he did.”
Greg closed his eyes. This, too, was always difficult. “Yes.”
He’d known, back when he’d first pursued Dale, that Dale could lose his job. And Greg had been reckless then, had gotten careless later on. His father wanted the college’s reputation to grow, so he could continue to see his life’s work prosper. By firing Dale, his father was preserving his own goals, the way Dale had clung to his dreams of tenure.
“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so young,” Greg said, rubbing his face. “I’m an idiot.”
“There’s still time for you to grow,” his mom said kindly.
He grabbed his towel, glancing at her. “You’ve never said what you really think about Dale and me.” And maybe he’d been afraid to ask, when he was closer to his mom than his dad. He was afraid that she’d think poorly of Dale, or of their relationship. “Or the baby.”
“When all’s said and done, you’re still my child.” She smiled tiredly at him. “My heart hurts for you. I don’t want to see my baby in pain. And that’s why your father is so opposed to this—what will happen when you grow old? Chances are, you’ll outlive Dale. Your relationship will raise eyebrows. We think you’ll be hurt somehow or other, by continuing with him.”
He swallowed, fingers clenching around his towel. “Dad has hurt us most. Everyone else accepts us, damn it. Three different people know about me and Dale, and they’ve all been really nice about it.”
“But what about everyone else? They don’t know yet.”
“It’s none of their business. Dale is—he wanted to be my omega.”
Henrietta sighed. “You’re Bernard’s son. You know the importance of making good impressions. Your relationship with Dale will have others judging you before you even try to influence them.”
Greg knew that, too. “I’ve thought about it. There’s no point living my life based on what everyone else thinks. They don’t know the other side of the story. They don’t know what I feel for Dale, and they don’t need to.”
She didn’t answer, so Greg headed into the bathroom. By the time he finished showering, she was still
