Page 12 of Galaxy Between Us

“He’s growing up too fast on us,” Dad grumbles, staring at me with forlorn eyes that are almost level with mine as I grow taller.

“Tell me about it,” Mr. Muendo sighs, looking at his son the same. “Juanito just graduated Omega studies. Before I know it, he’ll be mated and moved out in no time at all.”

I glance at the Omega standing coyly outside of the conversation. My mom makes a sympathetic noise and then nudges my shoulder.

“He’s certainly an adorable Omega, isn’t he Knox?”

Face on fire, my eyes pop and my breath hitches. I stare at my mom like she’s gone mad before twisting my neck to glance at Mr. Muendo because surely, he won’t enjoy me saying anything remotely flirty about his son, but he’s smiling along with my parents.

The adults chuckle and Juan bows his head with fluster.

We need to wrap this up. Clearing my throat, I keep things professional, offering a handshake to Mr. Muendo, “Thanks for having me over.”

“Any time, Beckett,” the Alpha says, shaking my hand firmly with amused eyes. “We’ll meet again next month. Juanito will show you out.”

I look at the Omega again. His eyes land on mine and he licks his dry lips nervously.

“Right this way,” he tilts his neck, waving his arm through the threshold.

Ignoring the gesture, I walk past him into the hallway with my parents following behind me. They remain quiet, but I know the lecture that’s coming when we reach the car. It’s improper to disregard an Omega who bares their neck to you. Unbothered, Juan closes the front door behind us and my dad sighs.

“You ought to learn how to act in the presence of an Omega, young man.”

“I don’t want an Omega. I want a secured future at Comet XI. Especially if you guys are going to embarrass me like that, I’ll be single forever.”

My mom laughs, but my mood is far from joking. Pouting in the backseat, I rest my elbow on the window and my cheek in my hand, staring at the fancy water fountain in the middle of Mr. Muendo’s driveway as we roll by it. Every time I see the color blue, I feel it deep in my chest.

Juan is cute, but he isn’t Arius. And he never will be. Nobody compares.

My reflection in the car window rolls his eyes at me. I hate when I say corny stuff like that too, and I wish my heart wasn’t such a drama queen. It’s just an organ responsible for pumping blood throughout my body. It’s not supposed to feel things.

“Dad, can we go to the gym when we get home?” my lips mumble.

I catch his eyes in the rearview mirror and he grins.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

I suppose it makes for good bonding time, but I’ve mostly been using the punching bags to expel the rage in my system lately. Outside of that, I don’t really like working out. Muscles are muscles and as an Alpha, I’ll develop them either way. I care more about astronomy and engineering than looking hot, but it’s a good way to let off some steam.

Excited to share a hobby with me, my dad doesn’t let me workout on my own as we set up in the corner of our local gym. He assembles black punching mitts onto his hands and positions himself in front of me. The scratchy rock music from the speakers fuels my energy and the need to punch something hard.

“I can just use the bag,” I suggest, nodding to the fifty-pound sack hanging from the ceiling.

“Nonsense. Back in my day, real Alphas used nothing but each other as punching bags. Come on, Kid. Give me all you got.” He holds up his padded hands for me to aim my punches at, but it’s impossible to unleash my true strength with my sweet, loving and caring, father’s face between them.

Hesitantly, I hold up my fists in front of my face like he taught me, pivoting on my left leg.

“There you go, buddy,” he hypes me up. “Don’t hold back on me. These gray hairs represent years of ass-kicking.”

I grin a little at his words but try to focus on what I came here for. Eyes zoning in on the punching pads, I sock one with a quick jab. Then the other. True to his word, my dad holds up as if I hit him with a feather. So, I give it a little more. Two quick jabs left and right with a little more power. Dad doesn’t even flinch.

Getting into it, I punch faster and harder, fury seeping out as it finds an exit from my body. My black, sleeveless top begins sticking to me as I work up a sweat, pectorals burning from the overdue exercise.

“Use techniques, Knox. Don’t get sloppy.”

With a grunt, I ignore him and keep going. Fuck techniques. There’s nothing technical about how I feel. No scientific explanation for the way my heart cries, chasing something it can’t have. I feel so alone, not just physically, but emotionally.

Nobody seems to relate to–