by Aiden Bates
At thirty-two, Bastian was still single. There had been a special someone, an omega that he’d met in post-grad school, but it hadn’t worked out. That was okay with Bastian, for now. He was so busy with his research and writing that he barely had time for a relationship anyway. He was rarely lonely.
Hardly ever.
Every once in a while, usually after spending the holidays in Florida and visiting his nephew and niece, he felt that itch, that desire, to have a family of his own. But then he’d return to Alaska and become immersed again in his work. It helped that he occasionally got to do this—spend a day in a classroom full of affectionate, funny kids.
“You aren’t going to be graded on the word-find, just do your best and have fun with it,” he called out to the class. He was working with the middle-schoolers, kids that were eleven to fourteen or so, all in one room. It was a good age. They were starting to become more self-aware but also really developing their own perspectives on the world around them. Many of them had terrific, even advanced senses of humor. Bastian enjoyed working with them.
The word-find and the previous questionnaire were part of a method developed by Bastian to watch for depression and anxiety, as well as look for ways to combat them. Once a week, Bastian met with different groups—students, the elderly, men, women—and had them complete similar tasks. He would use the questionnaires to see how they felt about their friends and family and themselves, and use tasks such as the word-find to test cognitive agility. He still had a ways to go to have a full body of research, but so far he was seeing interesting things. In addition to testing and research, he was already using some of what he’d discovered to make improvements to the Stellar Landing way of life. In fact, he was in the process of creating a meditation spot in a corner of the rec room to relieve stress, and applying for funds to set up a light therapy room to help residents who were prone to Seasonal Affective Disorder—when lack of sunlight caused the “winter blues.”
After the kids were done with their word-finds, Bastian stuck around to help the teacher clean up at the end of the day, and then he played a few rounds of chess with the middle-school chess club.
Bastian had lived at Stellar Landing for just over a year now, and he liked it. His parents had visited him once in that time, and they were appalled. The cold, the “ugliness” of the building (as his omega-father put it), and the lack of fine cuisine. They didn’t get it. They didn’t know Carl and Gladys, Denise and Aaron, and all the fine people who had become close friends—close friends who knew when enough was enough and allowed Bastian to be his quiet and studious self. Bastian could go to the café for dinner with a book, and not have anyone interrupt his reading except for brief but warm hellos, and no one thought he was being rude or snobbish. The residents of Stellar Landing accepted Bastian for who he was, just as he accepted them.
Bastian liked it so much, in fact, that he was considering staying on after his current research was completed. There was always at least one condominium up for sale. Surely, he could find something else to study in this weird and wonderful little community. Or perhaps he could branch into counseling and help the residents with their therapy needs.
It was a Monday, and the roads were now open after the storm, so that meant that the building’s medical doctor, Dr. “Nick” Nichols, was onsite for check-ups and consultations. The nurse-practitioner was always on call for normal injuries and illnesses (and she made a lot of money for that inconvenience, if the building gossip was to be believed), but all the residents were encouraged to set up physicals, check-ups and consultations for more serious concerns with Dr. Nichols on Mondays. Bastian had a five o’clock appointment scheduled to discuss the light therapy idea with the doctor. It would help to have him on board with the treatment.
Bastian didn’t really care much for Nick. For one thing, Nick was also an alpha. There was a superstition that alphas were always in competition with each other, but Bastian thought that was just a ridiculous notion from another time. Bastian wasn’t jealous of Nick, by any means. The problem was that Nick reminded Bastian so much of his stereotypically alpha brothers. Despite their ever-present smiles, they felt their time was worth more than other people’s, their opinions were more valid, and their needs more pressing. As a psychologist, these tendencies were so obvious to Bastian. With his brothers, Bastian’s love for them (as well as some good-natured brotherly teasing) allowed him to overlook what others might see as Type-A arrogance. But Bastian didn’t have that loving buffer with Nick; so instead, he just tried to avoid him as much as possible.
“Hello, Nick,” he said with a cautious, professional smile as he entered the doctor’s office.
“Bastian Byers, my man,” the doctor said, extending his hand and then jerking Bastian’s with his powerful grip. “How’s the research going?”
Bastian also suspected that, as a medical doctor, Nick might look down on psychology as a “soft science.” It was a common opinion among MDs.
“Excellent. I have to say, I have been pleasantly surprised at how emotionally healthy everyone here is. My colleagues at the university are, as well.”
“Well,” Nick said with a smug chuckle, “we didn’t need a shrink to tell us that.”
Bastian gritted his teeth and grinned back. “Of course.”
“So what’s this meeting about?” The doctor offered a seat to Bastian, and then sat back in his own leather chair, his arms bent and his hands behind his head in a relaxed position.
Bastian told him about some of the mild depression that he was seeing during the winter months, particularly when the skies were so thick with gray clouds that no sunlight seemed to reach them at all. Then he went into the research that indicated how a few hours a week with a therapeutic sun lamp made a marked difference in Seasonal Affective Disorder.
Nick now wore a smirk. “We can get similar, if not better results with prescription antidepressants. And the patients don’t have to sit there twiddling their thumbs for an hour at a time.”
“Sun lamp therapy doesn’t have the side effects of pharmaceuticals, either. Low libido, nausea, headaches—you know, of course, that those are the least serious of the common side effects. Weight gain, diarr—”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m familiar,” Nick interrupted. His smile had faded a bit. “And I know that sun lamps are considered effective. So what do you want from me?”
The way he said it, as if Bastian was a pest who needed to be shooed away as soon as possible, made Bastian bristle internally.
“It’s not what I need from you, Nick. It’s what the residents of Stellar Landing deserve from both of us, as health professionals that they look up to.”
“Do they though?” Nick said it with a jocular smirk. He was implying that no one in Stellar Landing was looking up to Bastian. Bastian chose not to be baited. It was a practice that he’d learned from dealing with his brothers.
“They do, Nick. The Stellar Landing Association has a discretionary well-being fund, and it would be great if I could get your support on this. I’ve got the research ready to present, and having a medical doctor give his approval would go a long way.” Bastian handed him the materials, neatly bound into a sunny yellow binder. “Sun lamps and some reclining chairs would be the biggest expense, and I’d like to purchase a television and DVD player, maybe a video game console, so the residents can enjoy their time under the lamps.”
Nick flipped through it for a few seconds as if bored. Finally, he looked up, his lips in a thin, fake smile.
“Let me read through this and do some more research. I don’t jump on board with every proposal that floats by.”
“Of course. That would be great.” Bastian stood, relieved that he could get away from the insufferable prick, and held out his hand. “My meeting with the association is in seven days. If possible, I’d love to hear from you before then. My contact information is in the binder.”
Bastian waited until he was out of the doctor’s office and in the hallway before letting out a lon
g sigh and rolling his eyes. He needed a drink. After pulling his phone out of his pocket, he scrolled through and then sent off a text. When he got a prompt reply, he headed to the elevator.
If the building held a popularity contest, tenth-floor resident James Petersen would probably win. Born and raised in Stellar, he left to go to college at University of Washington, but came right back to his hometown and moved into Stellar Landing. His folks lived in a cabin in the woods nearby and ran fishing excursions for tourists. James worked with the Alaska Fishery Service during the week, helped out his folks on summer weekends, and was a social butterfly at all other times.
Bastian smiled as he rapped on James’s door. Bastian wasn’t a huge socializer himself, but he did enjoy hanging out at James’s place on occasion.
“Bastian Byers!” boomed James as he opened the door. James was a self-proclaimed “bro hugger,” and pulled Bastian in for a quick but robust pound on the back. “Get in here. We’re starting a game of cards.”
One of the reasons James was so popular was that he had practically turned his double-size condo into a pub. Without a wife or steady girlfriend, he didn’t at all seem concerned with standard interior design conventions—his place was comfortable, modern, and had room for about ten guests on buttery black leather couches with built-in cup holders. There was a huge flat-screen television with surround sound, a vintage Pac-Man arcade game that he’d found somewhere in Seattle, and a handmade wooden bar that he occasionally stood behind and served his friends. All his many friends had to do was send him a text to make sure he was “open” that evening, and bring along their drink of choice. While the occasional wife tagged along and was welcome, the room was generally filled with men, and that seemed to be the way they preferred it. Belching and swearing were not prohibited.
As Bastian walked in, he handed James a bottle of red wine and greeted several residents that he already considered friends—Pastor Mike was there, as well as Aaron who gave wilderness tours—and introduced himself to a few visitors from New York who were staying in the hotel. It was a nice group of guys, all ages and backgrounds, who just wanted to relax with a few drinks and some pleasant conversation.
The two tourists from New York were buddies who traveled often together, and they’d expressly come to Stellar to experience the Landing. Aaron had shown them around a few days earlier, before the weather had turned bad, and had introduced them to James and the pub. Locals were always puzzled by the interest in their little microcosm. Why would anyone go out of their way for this? they always seemed to wonder. And now, James was giving the two visitors a polite third-degree of questioning about why they came to Stellar.
Bastian understood both sides. The locals loved their town and its central hub of Stellar Landing. As Stellar-born James himself was evidence, they often returned after leaving, even when they had reason to stay away. It was home. To an outsider, however, there was something fascinating about this form of modern communal living. The capacity to be self-sufficient, the ability to form unlikely friendships and symbiotic relationships, and, in turn, to put up with each other in close quarters—there was something Swiss Family Robinson about it all. It was romantic without being ridiculous.
Aaron was telling the men about another visitor, a photographer from National Geographic that he’d shown around that day. Now that was something the locals could understand—their wildlife was like none other on the continent.
“Cool guy. Name’s Zachary. I saw some of his portfolio. Super talented. I invited him to join us tonight, but he said he’s gotta write an article or something. He might be up for having a beer tomorrow though. And Bastian,” Aaron said, “you might be interested. He’s single, and, ya know…” He dropped the sentence awkwardly in midair.
Bastian almost laughed. It was obvious that his big, burly, very straight friend was trying to tell him that the photographer was gay. It was sweet. And weird.
“I’m sure we all look forward to meeting him,” was all Bastian said in response, picking up his hand of cards. He could choose to be offended by Aaron’s idea that all gay guys are interested in all other gay guys—never mind compatibility and whether or not they were alphas or omegas, and never mind that Bastian wasn’t at all interested in a relationship—but instead he decided to take it as it was meant: someone looking out for the happiness of his friend.
In fact, when he reflected on it later, as he was getting ready for bed, slightly tipsy after three glasses of that remarkably tasty shiraz, his entire experience thus far at Stellar Landing could be summed up that way. With a few minor exceptions, everyone was looking out for each other.
Chapter Three
Nick Nichols tossed the yellow binder onto a stack of medical magazines that had been sitting on the corner of his credenza for a few weeks. Annoyance buzzed in his head. He didn’t have a whole lot of respect for psychology to begin with, but having to actually deal with that hoodoo-voodoo made him feel like he was wasting part of his already too busy day.
The most annoying thing, though, was that he knew Bastian Byers was right. Keeping the hundreds of Stellar Landing residents healthy and happy was a group effort that necessarily included more than just prescribing antibiotics and antidepressants. Nick was trying to move in the direction of being more holistic—treating his patients’ bodies as a whole instead of just each part as it ailed—and that involved using things like vitamins, exercise, and, yes, stupid sun lamps.
He just didn’t like Bastian. He realized that. And he decided it was mostly because they were both alphas.
That fact came out when Bastian first moved into Stellar Landing. Any resident who was staying at the Landing for more than a season was given a free check-up in their welcome packet. It was just good sense to make sure that no one was passing along communicable diseases, or at risk of succumbing to a preventable medical condition that the Landing wasn’t capable of handling during a weather related shut-in. Bastian came in about two weeks after he arrived and was in impressive health. The thirty-one- year old obviously ate well and exercised regularly. As was generally the practice with their kind, he let Dr. Nichols know that he was an alpha. It used to be that they could just smell each other, like the beasts—sense an alpha competitor, catch the aroma of a receptive omega—but these days, modern living meant it was better to state it clearly, especially to doctors who needed to consider the health of their atypical reproductive systems.
There weren’t many alphas and omegas out there; the percentage of gay men that carried the special genetic anomaly was only about ten percent, which meant that there were maybe seventy men in Alaska who were alpha/omega. There were maybe only thirty-five men in the entire huge, wild area known as “the last frontier” that were alphas, and Nick Nichols’s alpha nature made him want to fight every single one of them.
No, not get into a physical brawl. Nick hadn’t been in a fist fight since he was eleven years old. He was a smart, handsome, grown man now, so he used his confidence and his intellect to attempt to intimidate the few alphas he came across. He was so cocky, in fact, that he even took not-so-secret delight in showing up mated alphas in front of their omegas. He didn’t want to break the couples up, just show everyone around that he could. If he ever felt a tiny niggling sense of guilt over flirting with a taken omega, he justified it by telling himself, I’m just getting his juices running, giving him something to fantasize about later; his alpha can thank me tomorrow.
Why wasn’t Nick in a serious relationship? He was almost thirty-five years old, successful, very good-looking (and he wasn’t the only one to think so, as he had sort of a young Chris Noth thing going on). If anyone asked, Nick would tell them that he wasn’t interested in anything serious; that he enjoyed the single life, being untethered and having options.
. . . and most alphas and omegas would rightly call bullshit on that. As much as one could claim it was in their nature to be somewhat competitive, it was also in the alpha nature to find a mate. Alphas were happiest and most fu
lfilled when they had an omega on their arm and in their home, a partner in life and in the bedroom. It was a fact. So, again, why was Nick unattached?
Nick had been married. Fresh out of medical school, he met a slightly younger omega that captured his attention. The sweetest thing, his name was Quinn and he was literally a farm boy; his wheat-blond hair, blue eyes, creamy skin, and cherubic cheeks only drove that point home further. He was brought into the hospital where Nick was doing his residency, alert and smiling but pale from pain as his left arm had been mangled in a bad car crash. Quinn hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt in his pickup truck because he was “just running up to the store and no one wears seatbelts on the farm.” Nick normally wouldn’t care about whether some idiot had buckled up or not, but he found himself lecturing Quinn as he tenderly examined his shattered arm.
There was something about Quinn that made Nick turn soft, caring, and protective. When Nick finally got home that night after meeting him, at the end of an exhausting twenty-four hour shift, his thoughts returned to sweet Quinn. Nick thought about him as he gulped down dinner, as he showered, and as he lay in bed, his hand moving to his cock thinking about his patient’s plump pink mouth. It struck him as if out of the blue: He’s my omega.
The two were married six months later, surrounded by family and friends who couldn’t believe the change that had come over conceited Nick. Nick had become an attentive, devoted alpha husband whose only desire was to care for and dote on his beautiful, gentle omega.
