Page 71 of Single Omega Dad
Today, I’d deliberatelynotmade an appointment. Taking a turn at Father’s arsenal with the strategy of surprise, the one where you were not to give the other party time to prepare for a meeting, was one I loved to implement.
“You will tell him I’m here,” I said to Reilly. “I’m sure he’ll find time for his favorite Alpha son.”
“Yes, sir.” Obedient, but cool, Reilly was the sort of Alpha servant who became loyal to the job alone, and attached to one person. In this case it was to Father. It wasn’t a romantic attachment, though the notion caused me some amusement—thinking of Father who was such an Alpha’s Alpha lying with another Alpha—but I was sure that would never, ever be the case.
Maybe I myself was a little like Reilly. Attached to Father. Loyal. But it was different. I was his son. Reilly was not.
I stood in the vast living room of the manor, taking in all the details that were as familiar to me as my own hands. Certain things brought back childhood memories, such as the heavily cushioned couch by the side window where Kris used to sit for long hours and read. The old chess set in the corner made of onyx and white marble where Trigg and I played many, many games to the death.
This area was also the last place I’d ever seen Kris. It was the place where I’d said more horrible things to him. I’d called him flawed and believed it. I’d told him he wasn’t a real Alpha. I’d hated him because when Father had been impaired by the Burn, Kris had enticed him. Or so I believed.
Now I had some years on me, and a whole lot of perspective. Trigg and his constant talk, never minding that I didn’t want to hear half it when he updated me on Kris and Thorne and their bonding, had slowly sunk in. I knew better now. I knew I’d judged Kris wrongly. That I had threatened him with rape and said things no brother should ever say to another.
But back then, I’d followed in Father’s footsteps so closely, I didn’t care who I hurt to retain my position. That need to be Father’s best son blinded me.
I had believed, because of Father, that Kris was trouble and a terrible influence on Father, taking advantage of Father’s deep love for him, and that Father couldn’t see straight when he was around him. It was wrong. I was wrong. I knew that now. But so many years had passed I couldn’t see any way to make up for it.
All of this was fucked up. And then into the bank walked Saber. I didn’t deserve him and I knew it. All of this was so fucked up, and now I’d walked out on him.
My phone the past two days had become filled with unanswered texts from Saber and Trigg. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do.
That was one of the reasons I stood here now, in Father’s house, in my old home. I had to see him. I had to talk to him from my current perspective. Be sure. I had to know. What would Father say to me if I announced I wanted to marry an Omega with children?
It came down to this. I needed to see. To be sure. This insanity all these years concerning Kris, my own shames, and Father’s weird ideas about mate-bonds, Omega children, and Omegas as merely chattel, wasn’t my own thinking. My own original belief.
It stemmed from Father himself. Sure, some of it was cultural. But the rejection of Omegas, the despising of them, including when one presented Omega who was your own son, that was the insanity that maybe, just maybe took things too far.
I heard Reilly come back down the winding, marble steps.
“He will text you when he’s ready for you,” Reilly reported.
I had to curb my instinct to push past Reilly and mount the stairs, run up to Father’s business study and pound my way in. Why did he use his tactics on me?
Again, there I was, thinking I was too good for Father to treat me as anything other than his perfect son. And feeling incensed when I didn’t measure up.
I would wait. I would be fine about it. I wouldn’t let it affect me. I told myself these things, but I barely believed them. Not anymore.
“There’s a sofa in the hall outside his office. I’ll wait there.”
Reilly gave me a disapproving look but said nothing. He knew what was best for him. Never to argue with Varian Vandergale himself. And also not to argue with his son.
I took the stairs slowly, holding my phone so I could feel the vibration of it when Father was ready to see me. I had just reached the closed door of Father’s study when the phone buzzed in my hand.
Knocking on the door as I opened it, as I was taught, I stepped inside the large room. A hearth took up the far left wall. It was a warm day out, so no fire burned there, but when one did, the flickering light and heat would fill the room and give off a luxurious, cozy feel.
A determination and strength filled my chest—until I saw Father sitting at his desk as if too busy to pay any mind to me.
This was another of his strategies. Even with his own sons. With me. He would always make us wait just a little longer for the attention we craved from him, even when we were very small.
Finally, after tapping on his computer keyboard for a few seconds, tilting his head at his screen, then straightening some notes at the side of his desk, he turned toward me.
“Mathias!” He stood and came toward me, taking me into a familial perfunctory hug. I touched him once with my open palms on his back, then stepped away.
“You’re looking great! What brings you here in the middle of the day—and without an appointment?” he asked.
I didn’t feel like taking my time, or hedging around my reasons for being here. I got straight to the point.
“Father, I’d like to inform you so you don’t wonder where I am that I’m taking a personal family leave from the bank. I believe the law says I can do this for up to six months.”
