Page 59 of Evan and the Alpha

But if I say that, they’re going to turn it against me. They’re going to say Sobek changed me against my will, and therefore all of this—mating, being pregnant—is nonconsensual.

“Yeah,” I say. “I knew. I agreed.” Sobek will probably give them a different story, which will be a problem, but I’ll deal with that later.

“Why?” Dad barks. “Don’t you like being a man? You some kind of … trans freak or something?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” I spit at him. I’m so fucking … tired of him and his homophobia. Now transphobia too. No surprise there, really, but God, I am not in the mood to listen to it. “I’m an adult. I can do what I want.”

Dad’s turning a bit red, but I don’t know. What can he do about it, really? He can disown me, but like … does it matter? I’m living here, on this planet, with Sobek. Away from him. What does disowning me really do?

And … the way Dad acts, he’s really into theowning part of having kids. Telling me what to do. Forbidding me from, well, being me, because he … I don’t know, disagrees with it or something. Thinks it’s a sin or against nature, or whatever, but what does it matter to him? How does it hurt him?

I don’t understand how it does. Maybe because it doesn’t.

Mom looks almost hurt. “Evan,” she says, her tone now very serious, “Evan, we’re concerned about you.”

“Why? I told you, I’m doing fine. My psych eval says the same thing. And so do all my tests. What’s there to worry about?”

Mom and Dad exchange a look. Mom turns back to me; she’s been designated the spokesperson for them, for their concerns. “Evan, baby,” she says, her tone cajoling, “we’re worried that you’re making decisions you’re going to regret.”

The idea seems laughable. I don’t think I could regret the baby. And I definitely don’t regret Sobek.

“The only thing I regret,” I say slowly, “is that you two can’t seem to come to terms with it. I’m happy, really happy, Mom.” I glance down at my lap. “I’m sorry you can’t figure out how to be happy about that.”

“Sweetie,” she says, reaching for me, but I pull back. I shake my head as I get up from my seat.

“No. I’m done talking about your ‘concerns.’ You have nothing to be concerned about, so don’t talk to me until you get over yourselves.”

I stalk off, fists curled at my sides, teeth gritted. It hurts. Really stings to realize that they’ve never really be able to be happy for me. Dad was always angry and Mom always concerned. When I wanted to take music instead of gym. When I said I wanted to study psychology and not, like, join the army or something. When I told them I was gay and had a boyfriend and I was happy, they couldn’t just—

Whatever I was happy about, it was something wrong. Something pathological. Something they needed to be concerned about or angry about.

They’ve never been happy unless I’m miserable. Even this space trip. They were the ones who wanted me to go on it, they were the ones who insisted it would be good for me. And now I’m happy about it and it’s a fucking problem for them.

Why can’t they be happy for me? Why can’t they be happy that I’m happy? I’m in love with Sobek and he loves me and we’re having a baby together. It’s not something I would have asked for, not something I would have picked or whatever, but I’m elated. I’m over the goddamn moon.

And they’re searching, grasping at straws, because there must be something wrong with me if I’m happy about this.

The rest of my walk from the ship back to Sobek’s house—my house—is slower, fueled by sadness rather than rage. I want to go curl up in bed, maybe sulk for a bit, but I’m not given the chance. Tek greets me at the door.

Tek looks awful. I’m surprised he’s up and moving around. Sobek’s surprised his omom is even alive still. Apparently, when an omega’s alpha dies, the omega is supposed to kick the bucket. Terek was killed months ago, and Tek’s still hanging on.

It’s obvious Tek isn’t well, though, and the doctor and Tiakka say he won’t be much longer for the world. He’s dying, slowly, and there’s nothing anyone can do for him. I’m half-tempted to take him up to the ship and see if there isn’t something we can do for him, but the kroakka seem quite convinced that would be blasphemy.

What’s more is that Tek doesn’t want it. Tek is insistent that he is dying of a broken heart and that’s how it should be. He doesn’t want to live without his mate. Suggesting to him that we could go do medical diagnosis and prolong his life makes him really angry, actually.

“Will you come with me?” he asks. His voice is raspy, soft. He takes my hand; his skin is cold and almost translucent. His scales are all dull, and he moves slowly. He’s very sick, I think. Sobek thinks the end must be near.

I follow Tek without a word. We go to the nest, which will be mine when Tek passes. For now, it’s still his and he’s most comfortable here. I think he should be wherever he’s comfortable, even if Sobek’s telling me I should be nesting.

I still have time before the baby arrives. There’s no need to rush at all, as far as I’m concerned.

Tek closesthe door behind us softly, then steals to one of the dirt mounds that dot the room. I follow, glancing about nervously. I try to avoid this room as much as possible; it gives me the creeps.

“They’re not supposed to hatch after their sire passes,” Tek says as he digs in one of the mounds; the earth has been moved recently, so it’s not the first time he’s done it. He pulls out a oblong, ivory-colored egg. Its shell glistens in the low light. There’s chirping coming from the egg. “But this one didn’t get the memo, I suppose.”

I glance up at Tek, who smiles, almost sadly. “Sobek won’t do it,” he says, “and I … can’t bring myself to. So, would you …?”

He holds the egg out to me. His arms are weak; he trembles. I take the egg from him without a second thought, afraid he might drop it.