by Aiden Bates
Six months after that, Nick cheated on Quinn for the first time. He justified it by saying that alphas were evolutionarily designed to spread their seed, that he couldn’t be expected to only have sex with one man for the rest of his life, that he would still come home to Quinn every night, that it was a physical affair but not an emotional one.
He said as much to Quinn, as well, when Quinn finally found the text message trail about the affair, but by then, it was a different omega that Nick was screwing on the sly. Nick begged Quinn to stay, but in addition to being sweet and pretty, Quinn was strong and smart. He was gone by the time Nick came home from his next shift. They only spoke through their attorneys after that, and there had been zero contact since the divorce was finalized two years ago. Nick moved to Stellar to get away from their many mutual friends who now loathed him.
Sure, Nick was capable of at least a small amount of self-reflection and remorse, and he told himself that he never wanted to cause that kind of pain to anyone again. That’s why his love affairs were brief and noncommittal these days. He was doing everyone a favor.
There was someone he saw every few months. Nick met him during a medical convention in Chicago: a tall, slender catalog model with exquisitely sharp cheekbones and a pouty mouth. Since Nick didn’t live in Stellar Landing, he was able to keep his lover something of a secret. They stayed holed up in Nick’s cabin on the outskirts of Stellar for long weekends at a time. The model wasn’t an omega, so Nick didn’t even have to worry about accidentally getting him pregnant. Nick’s lust was satisfied, even though he knew his emotional needs weren’t. The model had zero conversational skills and his favorite movies starred Adam Sandler. But he would do for now.
And yet, here he was, feeling competitive against Bastian Byers.
Nick picked up the yellow binder again and moved it to his briefcase. He would read the proposal tonight and, assuming it was as well-researched as he expected, would sign off on it. It was probably for the best.
There had been sixteen patients that day, which wasn’t unusual. Nick tried to squeeze in as many as he could. He was tired and didn’t want to make another stop on his way back to his cabin, so he ducked into Carl’s store for a bottle of wine. Carl’s prices were a little high, but surprisingly, the old man knew his wines and always grabbed something interesting for Nick.
When he walked into the small store, another shopper was sitting near the register, someone Nick didn’t recognize. A tourist, he assumed. Nick peeked into the freezer to see if there were any of the frozen lasagnas that he liked—an embarrassing indulgence that only Carl knew about.
“Doc,” Carl greeted him. “Have you met Zachary Kelso? He’s here for National Geographic, takin’ pictures of our birds.”
Nick’s interest was immediately piqued. There weren’t many in Stellar whom he considered to be his intellectual equal, but a creative type who worked for a huge publication was intriguing to meet.
The man turned to face him, and Nick felt his breath rush away. The word rakish popped into his head: the visitor’s hair was mussed, he had a heavy five-o’clock shadow, and he was incredibly handsome. Not the kind of pretty boy that Nick usually preferred, but a rough and tumble type that looked like he had just rolled out of bed looking hot.
“Hi,” this Zachary said, holding out his hand.
Nick took it and barely got out his own greeting. “Pleasure.”
Back to that “it used to be that they could just smell each other, like the beasts” thing: It wasn’t that alphas and omegas no longer gave off pheromones or no longer had the ability to sense them, but rather that there wasn’t the need and they were out of practice. Sometimes, however, the aromas arose, stronger than the lingering scents of modern living, overcoming even the weakest nose around.
The smell of this omega filled Nick’s nostrils, musky and delicious. He could smell him as well as he could see him. Maybe it was that Nick hadn’t been around an omega in so long, but it was almost overpowering. His knees were quivering.
He paid for his wine and left quickly, barely saying goodbye. Sitting in his car in the parking lot, he caught his breath. Then he cursed himself repeatedly for walking out on the most interesting omega he’d met in a long time. He would have to find a way to see Zachary Kelso again.
Nick’s home was almost an hour away from Stellar Landing, but it was an easy, pretty drive. He often blasted a musical choice of the day and allowed his brain to slowly empty, so that by the time he pulled into his garage he was relaxed. Today, the music was Band of Horses—slow, guitar-driven indie rock that his ex-husband had introduced him to. When they separated, Nick had spent one sleepless night copying all of Quinn’s respectable CD collection to his computer, and now Nick had more music than he’d ever be able to listen to. It didn’t bother him at all that it was illegally copied, and none of it reminded him of Quinn anymore. That was another great thing about being Nick Nichols: he was able to turn off uncomfortable feelings at will.
Upon entering his home, he let out a loud, content sigh. So much of Stellar was outdated and back-woodsy, but not Nick’s beautiful house. He’d flown in a celebrity architect to help him design something that was modern with just a nod to the rustic setting. The contractor who built the home was often puzzled by Nick’s choices—All one big room? One huge window facing the woods behind the house? “You’re gonna be like a fish in a bowl!”—but Nick stuck with the plan. Every time he came home, he was pleased with what he saw there.
This time, though, his contentment was short-lived. Perhaps it was that exciting, chance meeting with the photographer back at Stellar Landing that led Nick to be so thoroughly irritated when he heard the voicemail from his Chicago lover. Even his voice is boring, thought Nick. He wasn’t being fair, and he knew it. He didn’t want to be that guy who kept a boring guy around just because he was a good lay. Nick deleted the voicemail—just a sweet “thinking of you”—and then dialed the model’s number. There was no answer, so Nick left a brief, apologetic message saying that he didn’t think they should see each other again. Convinced that this made him a decent guy, Nick clicked off the phone with a self-satisfied smile and opened his wine. He didn’t even acknowledge that he was just hoping to make room for someone new, someone more promising. Nick had always been one to jump from guy to guy.
Nick walked to the back wall of his home, one floor-to-ceiling window, and flipped a switch. A hot tub lit up on the back porch; a pale blue tone. With another flip of another switch, he saw bubbles form. He stood in the window and stripped down to nothing, then walked quickly from the back door to the tub, the bottle and a glass dangling from one hand.
He turned off any thoughts of the model in Chicago as he lowered himself into the bubbling tub. There was nothing more decadent than sitting in a hot tub just a few feet from snow drifts while drinking a glass of fine red wine. The only thing that could make it better were if he were sharing it with a sexy man.
Nick had to find a way to see Zachary Kelso again.
Chapter Four
At least I got one good day in, Zachary thought to himself with disappointment. Sitting in the café on the sixth floor of the building, he watched as dark gray clouds approached from over the water. The weather reports that Zachary pulled up said to expect up to four inches of snow in this “endless winter” storm. He wondered how people could deny global warming when weird things like this were happening around the world. The only good thing about it was that, if Zachary couldn’t fly out, neither could the birds—they would stick around a while longer and so would Zachary. He was determined to get his photos.
As he waited for the chicken pot pie he ordered, Zachary flipped through the photos he’d taken that morning at Stellar State Park. Other birders were there, amateurs who took their hobby very seriously, and they were eager to share their discoveries with a pro. Every time he came across someone on a trail, they would greet each other, introduce themselves, and then share their finds. Several people pointed him in the d
irection of unusual birds—a palm warbler, a snowy owl, a hooded merganser—as well as the more common but no less beautiful creatures. There were several shots that Zachary knew his editor at National Geographic would love.
It was his fourth full day in Stellar. His trip and time had not been wasted, but he certainly should have gotten more shots by now, and with this new storm rolling in, he would likely miss at least one more day. As the café owner set down his dinner, she looked out the window and commented on the dark storm clouds.
“That looks like a bruiser, doesn’t it? I hope Carl got in a shipment today because we’re out of onions and paper towels!” She was an attractive older woman who called everyone honey, and her loud laugh was contagious.
“You think that will keep us inside for a day?” Zachary asked her.
“Oh . . . more than that, honey. Two to three?” She checked if Zachary needed anything else, then headed over to greet another table.
Zachary felt even more frustrated. Certainly, this Alaskan knew her storms. What was Zachary going to do with himself if he was stranded in Stellar Landing again? He watched her as she busied herself around the small restaurant. Zachary met her on that first night, starved as he was after a long flight. The kitchen was closed already, but she cheerily made him a roast beef sandwich with what she called her special sauce—mayo with banana peppers chopped up into it. Like everyone else he’d met so far, she was a delightful and interesting person.
He pulled out his phone while waiting for his dinner to cool down, and typed out a quick email to his editor in New York.
What about a feature on the residents of Stellar Landing?
If he was going to be stuck there, he may as well stay busy.
Much to his surprise, Zachary got a response by the end of his meal. The editor was hooked on the idea, and asked Zachary to take high-def portraits of everyone he interviewed. Wrinkles and scars! the editor reminded him, but Zachary didn’t need the reminder. He knew well that even more than stunningly beautiful people, readers liked to see the “wrinkles and scars” of interesting characters. As he waited for the café owner to bring him his check, he spied on his fellow diners out of the corner of his eye. An old fisherman with a face full of furrows and sunspots; his high school-age grandson with a cauliflower ear; and the café owner herself with a heart tattoo on her wrist that read Daddy’s Girl.
Yeah, there were plenty of wrinkles and scars in Stellar Landing.
Zachary got to work the next morning as soon as he looked out the window of his room and saw only a soft blur of white—a snow flurry. He ate breakfast in the café again, and when the morning rush calmed down, he asked the café owner, Holly, if he could take her picture and get her back story. Zachary posed her by the large picture window that was framed by red gingham drapes. The whiteness outside made her lavender hair stand out, and her hot pink lipstick highlighted her beautiful smile. Zachary realized that she was older than he first thought.
“What brought you to Stellar?” Zachary asked her from behind the lens. Her Southern accent was a giveaway—she wasn’t a native.
“Oh, honey, what else but a man!?” She explained that she’d run away from her Mississippi home, following a young construction worker to Anchorage—a young man her parents hated. “They didn’t think he was good enough, but I knew better.” Her brilliant smile dimmed just a bit, and she looked at her hands. “I came out here, then we got married and had three kids.”
“So it worked out?” Zachary remarked.
“Oh, hell no, honey. He was a piece of shit!” Her laughter rang through the small restaurant, and the few people sitting nearby laughed with her. Her sweet smile and gentle manners juxtaposed humorously with the coarse words. “I was making plans to leave him, to head back to Mississippi with all the kids when I got the message that my daddy had died. My momma told me that I’d broken his heart.”
Through the lens, Zachary could see her sorrow. It had obviously not faded over the years.
“I still left him, though,” she said, straightening up as if remembering where she was. “In 1982. I knew a gal who had moved to Stellar Landing. She let me and the kids sleep on her floor until I could afford to rent one of the condos. I started working here at the café. Bought it in 1990, bought the condo next door in ’94. Stellar’s my home now, honey.”
“Where are your kids now?”
Once again, Holly’s smile lit up the room. Zachary’s camera snapped away. “They’re around. The two oldest, my boys, went to college in Fairbanks. One’s a scientist, one’s an accountant. I see them once a month or so. My baby girl is a writer. They made it all worth it, you know? Stellar and my kids, that’s my life right there.”
Someone came in just then and Holly gave Zachary a wink before she got up, letting him know they were done.
Zachary could barely breathe as he slipped out of the café. If all of the residents of Stellar Landing were this fascinating, he could turn the assignment into a book. It was an exciting thought.
That excitement was short-lived, however. The next person Zachary visited was Carl at the store; it turned out that Carl looked more interesting than he was. The photos were great, capturing Carl’s fluffy white hair and crazy beard, as well as his gap-toothed grin, but he didn’t have much of a story to go along with that. He seemed to work in the store, watch TV, and drink beer with his buddies. Or else he was keeping the good stuff a secret. Regardless, Zachary briefly interviewed Carl about the store and the responsibility of keeping a population well-stocked when they were stuck in the building.
Pastor Mike was next. He was as interesting as one would expect from a member of the clergy. He filled Zachary in on the people of various religions he had served and comforted in the ten years since he’d arrived at Stellar Landing as Zachary snapped his picture in front of the stained glass. Mike was a Christian, but he didn’t believe in converting anyone that didn’t want to be converted. He found value in all religions.
Zachary’s personal history with religion wasn’t great, so he found it refreshing to come across a minister who was actually reasonable about it all.
Pastor Mike was curious about Zachary’s project, and he gave him a few tips as to which residents had the more attention-grabbing stories. “Celia is a fun one,” he said, “And you must track down Gladys, our resident creative type. Denise who runs our movie night is a hoot—she’s a powerhouse with three sons and you’ve got to get them in on this. Then there’s Bastian Byers, PhD, who’s studying the residents, that’s pretty cool. Hm . . . let’s see . . . ”
Zachary bid the pastor goodbye, holding the list he’d jotted down. Who knew if the pastor was a decent judge of “interesting,” but Zachary needed all the help he could get. He also added Aaron, the wilderness tour guy, to the list.
Photographing wildlife was rewarding, for sure. At only twenty-seven years old, Zachary had been on all seven continents, capturing the world’s most beautiful, fear-inspiring, and rare animals. He had photos of elephants giving birth in India, of lemurs feeding their young on Madagascar, and of kangaroos carrying around their joeys in Australia. The memories would last him a lifetime.
But what Zachary really loved, what got him into photography to begin with, was to photograph people. Pretty people, ugly people, happy and sad, there was nothing quite like the human face to tell a story. If Zachary really liked you, he would pull out a book of his favorite portraits: a chubby, blond baby, clean and with the most perfect pink cheeks, crying so hard that her nose was running; an elderly woman in a magenta and gold sari sitting on a curb in Mumbai, looking almost bored as crowds rushed around her; a bundled-up fisherman in Iceland whose face was completely hidden by his fur-lined hood except for two twinkling, laughing black eyes. There were many more.
Animals were lovely to look at and breathtaking to observe, but they didn’t tell stories with a mere glance.
Zachary had been known since middle school to always have a camera in his backpack or around his neck. He was h
is high school yearbook editor all four years in a row because he had such impressive skill. The corner of the garage in the house he grew up in was turned into a darkroom, with his parents’ blessing, and it was still usable in a pinch. But his passion really came alive when he met his first boyfriend, senior year.
The guy’s name was Ian, and he was often the subject of Zachary’s photography, at pep rallies and football games. He had a wonderfully emotive face, and Zachary liked that he could stare at him all he wanted from behind the camera. Whereas Zachary considered himself quiet, plain, and behind the scenes, Ian was outgoing, good-looking, and popular, but the kind of popular that came from being a genuinely liked and admired person. Ian was also smart, kind, and adventurous. And he was an alpha. He was the only alpha in school, in fact, and Zachary was the only omega, but that didn’t mean they were going to end up together. Ian had a car and was always surrounded by friends, and Zachary knew that Ian could drive them all into the city to go to concerts and nightclubs, or to the mountains to climb and sled. Certainly, someone like Ian would attract many omega admirers.
Somehow, though, Ian noticed Zachary behind the camera. Zachary would be standing on the sidelines of a basketball game, snapping action shots, and handsome Ian would sidle up next to him and ask about things like how cameras work. Normally, Zachary would have struggled to find something to say, but cameras and photography were easy. He and Ian became buddies at school, occasionally studying together at the library, and even hung out in a group a few times.
There was a portrait of Ian in that book of favorites: he was looking off to the side, his face split into an open-mouth laugh and his green eyes wild. Zachary couldn’t even remember what he was laughing at. It was taken ten years ago. Two things were certain: Ian was happy, and he was beautiful.
Thus, Zachary could barely believe it when Ian invited him to the homecoming dance.
“Like, uh, a group?” Zachary asked. He wouldn’t even allow himself to think otherwise.
