by Aiden Bates
The whole thing had bad idea written all over it, really, but I’d promised Teddy I would put the time in, and it was a promise I didn’t have a good enough reason to break.
Going to see your dad tomorrow, I texted Teddy before I finally turned off lights. If I was going through with this, then at least I could rub it in Teddy’s face that he owed me one. You’re welcome, by the way.
He actually agreed to meeting up with you? Teddy texted back immediately. Photographic evidence, please.
Don’t believe me? Usually you’ve got more faith in my charms.
It’s not your charms I’m worried about, Teddy replied. He’s been grumpy as all get out lately. Probably going to eat you alive.
Glad you’ve sent me on a suicide mission. I chuckled at my phone as I settled back beneath my blankets. At least you’ll know he’s being well fed.
You want me to send back-up? Teddy asked.
Nah, I’ve got this. I can handle The Sergeant. For a little while at least. How bad could it really be?
But once I was standing on Logan O’Rourke’s doorstep the following morning, I realized just how wrong I’d been.
“Morning, Bennet.” Logan opened the door, revealing a dozen different reasons why I shouldn’t have shown up.
He was dressed in a tight white t-shirt, his biceps bulging beneath the cuffed sleeves. The way he’d tucked it beneath the belt of his dark jeans accentuated his hips perfectly. I could practically see the Adonis-like V of his abs beneath the fabric as it disappeared beneath his waistband. His hair, a stunning silver still streaked with the dark brown it had once been, was characteristically short and simply styled, which only drew more attention to his strong, chiseled jawline and perpetually stern, heavy brow. When he was younger, he’d probably broken hearts left and right before settling down with Teddy and Jason’s omega father.
Looking like that, he was probably breaking just as many to this very day.
“Morning, Sergeant,” I said, confident and clear. Given how clumsy I’d been the last time we met, I was determined not to stumble over anything—words or otherwise—today. “How’re you feeling?”
Logan arched a thick, well-shaped eyebrow. “Dangerous question, Bennet.”
“What can I say? I’m a dangerous man,” I blurted, and then internally winced.
So much for being smooth. If I’d been capable of it, I would’ve kicked myself. The most dangerous thing I’d done all week was putting a pillowcase on inside out, and there I was, taking to an older alpha who’d actually seen war. Idiot!
Logan looked at me for a moment that felt like a small eternity, then finally, to my amazement, cracked a smile. “Dangerous, huh? That’s cute.” He cocked his head, turning just in time to miss what was becoming a nearly ever-present blush rise to my cheeks. “Well then, Danger. Come on in.”
I stepped carefully past the threshold, slipping off my shoes and holding the photo album I’d brought to my chest like a shield. Those photos were my ticket into Logan’s world, which was a good thing considering I obviously hadn’t arrived armed with cleverness or common sense.
“What did you think of my granddaughter, then?” Logan asked conversationally, sitting down on his sofa and patting the cushion next to him. “Cute little thing, isn’t she?”
I lowered myself onto the couch with care, happy to have anything to talk about than how dangerous I supposedly was.
“She’s adorable. Even for a baby,” I agreed, flipping open the album and settling it over Logan’s leg and my own. To keep it from slipping to the floor, I had to scoot close enough to the Sergeant that our thighs were flush.
Now that was dangerous. Not just because of who Logan was, how handsome he was and the way he made me blush, but because, ever since my crucial breakup with Chris, it was the closest to an alpha I’d been in years.
“Definitely.” Logan grinned softly, running his fingertips over the housewarming photos with fondness. “She takes after Roland, same as Teddy.”
“Less chance of growing chest hair, anyway,” I said. “But she’s got your eyes, I think.”
“Really?” Logan squinted, lowering his head to get a better look. “They were blue when she was born. They couldn’t have changed already, could they?”
“Yes, they did. Hers are hazel now, see?” I turned the page, pointing to one of the close-up shots I’d taken of Viola as she grinned up at me, chubby-cheeked and giggling. “They’re a dead ringer for yours.”
“You think?” Logan looked up at me, giving me an up-close view of his own irises. They were stunning—always had been. I’d even teased Teddy about how handsome his dad was once, when we were younger. Earned myself many a wet-willy for the trouble, too.
Somehow, it had all been a lot funnier before all of this blushing had started. Before Logan’s fingertips had brushed mine at his check-up.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding as I felt my mouth go dry. “That warm brown in the very middle, fading out to blue-green toward the outer rim. She’s even got the little gold flecks yours have. Like… Like little bits of captive sunlight.”
“Captive sunlight, huh?” Logan chuckled in amusement, shaking his head but not looking away. “The world lost a very clever poet when you became a CNA, Danger.”
I suppressed a groan. Danger. When it came to military men, I really couldn’t catch a break. I’d spent enough time around my older brother, Garret, that I should’ve known better. Any stupid thing you said around soldiers, they’d give you a nickname for it forever—or at least, until you said something else, even more idiotic, at which point they’d give you an even dumber nickname.
“Poetry doesn’t pay the bills,” I said, proud of myself that I’d managed to take his clever little quip in stride.
“So it doesn’t,” he agreed. “Here, let me see if I can find…”
Logan rose from the couch and moved to a heavy looking chest of drawers in the corner. I would’ve put money on the hunch that it was handmade. After a moment of digging, he produced a photo album of his own. When he returned to his place next to me on the couch, he settled it on top of mine and flipped it open .
“Look at that little grin.” Logan’s voice glowed with pride as he pointed down to another chubby-cheeked baby, obviously Teddy, probably around a year old. He sat on Roland’s lap beneath the big oak tree that still stood out in Logan’s backyard, smiling and pointing at the camera. “Baby Vi definitely inherited Teddy’s smile.”
“That’s sweet,” I said, finding myself matching baby Teddy’s grin.
We flipped through the album for a while, occasionally pausing to read over a bit of journaling that accompanied a Halloween or Christmas snapshot.
“Roland’s doing,” Logan explained. “I took most of the pictures, but he was the one who liked putting the albums together. Said it’d be good for the boys, being able to look back over them, read the stories…”
I flipped to the final page, only half-filled with pictures of Teddy from when he couldn’t have been more than ten. In the last one—a shot of our little league team—I even caught a glimpse of my own face. Messy hair and a black eye, my cap on backward and my arm slung around Teddy’s neck.
“Always wondered about that shiner of yours,” Logan said softly, pointing it out. “You came to practice with some wild story…”
I laughed awkwardly, remembering it like it was yesterday. “I was playing catch with myself, throwing the ball up as high in the air as I could.”
“Then, a cat dropped down out of the tree and scared you,” Logan said.
“Right, and he was foaming at the mouth, like he had rabies or something—”
“And a big dog came out from behind the fence, barking like mad, and he chased the cat away—”
“But then I realized the dog also had rabies.” I chuckled, recalling the panic I’d felt when I realized the story had spiraled out of control, even all the way back then. “Then the ball came down and hit me in the eye.”
“Your dad did it
, didn’t he?” Logan asked, his voice suddenly gruff. “I knew he must’ve, but…”
“Yeah. Bit of a dead giveaway, once Garret showed up with a matching shiner from trying to defend me, I guess.”
“I tried to talk to your dad about it. A few times,” Logan said, sounding apologetic. “He never wanted to hear it, of course.”
“Nah. I don’t think there was anything anyone could’ve done. It meant enough that we knew we could always come around here when we needed to.”
“Still. Should’ve done more.”
I could feel Logan staring at me, willing me to meet his eyes, but that was the last thing I wanted. Hashing out regrets about my abusive father was not exactly what I’d shown up for.
“Is this the last of the albums or…” I was so desperate for a distraction, I didn’t realize what I was asking until the words had already left my mouth.
“Yeah,” Logan said with a nod. “That last game of the season was right before… Well, I suspect you know that story.”
I returned his nod, feeling a twinge of guilt. I could still remember the change in Teddy when we’d gone back to school that fall. The way he’d avoided talking about his omega dad at all, right up until one of the school bullies finally spat it out one day. “Teddy’s omega dad doesn’t want him anymore! That’s why he ran away”.
The memory almost made me smile. Not because it’d been funny, but because my black eye had finally started to fade, only to make a roaring reappearance when Teddy, the bully and I had all found ourselves in the principal’s office later that day.
“I’m sorry, Logan,” I said, wanting to reach out and touch his hand, comfort him, but knowing it wouldn’t be appreciated if I did.
“Don’t worry about it.” He snapped the photo book closed and moved it aside. “Ancient history.”
“Still—” I said, all too aware I’d driven the conversation directly from one uncomfortable conversation into another.
Logan waved my words away. “I believe you’ve done your due diligence, Mr. Long. Imagine you’ve got better things to do with your day off than going over old photos with an old man.”
“Aw, Sarge—it’s fine, really. I was the one who offered, remember?”
“I recall,” Logan said with a nod. “But now you can let Teddy know you’ve dropped in on me, and that I’m perfectly happy and well. Correct?”
“Ah… Yes,” I said, cringing slightly. Caught red-handed. It shouldn’t have surprised me. I’d never managed to get anything past the sharp eyes of Sergeant O’Rourke before. “He did, yeah. Just worried that you’re…well, that you’re lonely, honestly.”
“Thought so.” Logan rose, moving to return the photo album to the chest of drawers. “Well, in that case, you can let him know he doesn’t know his old man as well as he thinks.”
“I don’t think he—”
“It’s alright, Danger.” Logan forced a smile, then glanced down at his watch. “You’ve done your duty, but it’s nearly lunchtime. You’re welcome to stay, assuming you like tuna sandwiches, because that’s all that’s on the menu.”
“I, uh. I love tuna salad,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
Was it true? No. Not at all. Never had been, never would be. I could hardly think of anything I could have enjoyed less.
Was it the right thing to say anyway? Maybe. Maybe not. After all, we’d been having a good enough time before the conversation had gone to such dark places. I’d made Logan laugh. Felt him come so close to opening up, if only just a little. And despite Logan’s insistence to the contrary… I had a hunch Teddy knew his father better than Logan was giving him credit for. Much better, actually, than Logan wanted to admit.
7
Logan
I slid the plate in front of Bennet, not missing the way he curled his lip as I took my seat across from him at the table.
Plain tuna on wheat toast. If this was Bennet Long’s idea of fine dining, he wasn’t making a very compelling case for it.
“You sure you don’t want to head out, eat somewhere else? Cireno's is probably still open for lunch,” I suggested, biting back a smile.
It was almost cute, the way he was so obviously squirming on the inside over actually eating the sandwich. Whatever Teddy had told him to convince him to come over here and check on me today, Bennet was certainly going above and beyond the call of duty. In a way, it was admirable. In another way, it was annoying, patronizing, and just plain dumb.
“Why would I want to go and do a silly thing like that?” Bennet picked up the sandwich, holding it like he could think of a dozen different answers to his rhetorical. The best of which would be he liked tuna just about as much as I liked going to the doctor. But it didn’t stop him from taking a hearty bite of it anyway, chewing slowly and making a low, unconvincing sound of pleasure as it hit his tongue. “Mm. My favorite.”
Scratch the almost. His commitment to the lie was downright adorable. But if he wanted to spend all of lunch pretending to enjoy his meal when he really just wanted to spit it into his napkin, well, who was I to stop him?
I took a bite of my own sandwich, nodding slightly as I chewed. Unlike Bennet, I really did like plain tuna on wheat toast.
At the very least, Dr. Smith would have to approve.
We ate in silence. Me, wolfing down my meal with the efficiency only thirty plus years in the military could teach a man. Bennet, agonizing over every bite. I wasn’t the type who did a lot of talking if it wasn’t necessary. Besides, my mother had raised me better than to chit-chat with my mouth full, and Bennet was obviously too uncomfortable to try kick-starting the conversation once again.
Good. Probably for the best. He’d tell Teddy I was my same old grumpy self, able to walk away from his endeavors unscathed with a rollicking tale of an awkward tuna sandwich with The Sergeant. In exchange, I’d get to keep slowly approaching the golden years of my old age uninterrupted by any more drop-ins from Teddy’s far-too-handsome young omega friend.
I popped the final bite into my mouth and wiped my hands on my napkin before rising. There was almost a skip in my step—almost, soldiers didn’t skip—as I whisked my plate away with me, perking up at the knowledge that the next tuna sandwich I made, I’d be able to eat in real peace.
“You’re done already?” Bennet asked, glancing down at his own half-finished sandwich in surprise.
“Don’t sound so disappointed,” I said with a smirk. “I’m just going to go start the wash-up. It’ll give you a chance to figure out what to do with the other half of that sandwich you’re enjoying so much.” My smirk broadened as a memory came to my mind. “Just, spare the ficus this time. It’s still recovering from all the broccoli you boys used to hide in it.”
Bennet breathed a thin laugh. “Shit. We didn’t realize… Not much gets past you, does it, Sergeant?”
“Never has, never will.”
I took to the sink, rinsing out the can of tuna for the recycling and filling the basin with soap and water for the plates. The dishwasher I’d installed at Roland’s bequest all those years ago had gone untouched since he left—you didn’t make it thirty-plus years in the military without knowing how to wash a dish, either.
I found dish washing pleasantly soothing. Mechanical. Easy. Nothing like a little low-intensity physical labor to help clear my head, and there was an increasing number of things to clear my head from these days. Whatever was going on with my heart was only the tip of the iceberg. The fallout Dr. Smith’s report would have on my career lurked just beneath the surface, rising up from the lapping of the waves just often enough to keep me scowling and huffing throughout any given day.
And then, of course, there was Bennet himself. He’d been on my mind ever since I’d run into him at the clinic. Not with any predictable frequency, though. For instance, the memories of his fingertips working in little circles against my chest or the soft, smoothness of skin brushing against my knuckles came only at the most inconvenient of times. Then there were the moments
I took the cholesterol and heart pills Dr. Smith had prescribed me. Somehow they called up the recollection of how well Bennet filled out his scrubs. When I went on my morning jog I was reminded of him as the first glimpses of the sky slowly brightened to the same color blue of his eyes. During the afternoon slog of paperwork at my desk, I’d drag up the sound of his laugh as my mind wandered in search of something more interesting than proofing the new recruits’ intake forms.
And then there were those times at night when I lay in my otherwise empty bed and think of how I’d expected to spend the rest of my life sharing it, and wondering if that would ever transpire.
Textbook horny old alpha syndrome—a hot, young omega says something nice to you once, and all of a sudden he’s running through your mind all day long. Every time thoughts like those happened, I did my best to push them away. At first it had been easy. Like burying a medical form in a pile of other paperwork. But the more frequently it happened, the harder it was starting to become. Not because I couldn’t stop thinking about him—
But because sometimes, I just didn’t want to.
I breathed in, blinking as I realized I’d been scrubbing the same plate for a good five minutes. Another pass and I was going to start wearing through the enamel. Scrub a hole right through the thing.
But on that breath, I caught a whiff of an unexpected, intoxicating scent in the air. Far from the scent of the tuna that must have been lingering on my breath, which would have reminded me to go brush my teeth. Far from, well, from anything. Anything I’d smelled in a long, long time, anyway. I couldn’t place it, but I could feel the effect it had on my body. Heart pounding. Pulse racing. Cock, which I’d been doing my best to forget as much as a man like me possibly could, suddenly filling with a dull needy ache. Longing. The way I could feel my blood rushing to it, stiffening the length against the zipper of my jeans until I could nearly hear it creaking under the strain.
