The apartments were an older style, without the open floor plan Branson was used to. The living and dining rooms were one large space, with the kitchen tucked back in a separate room with no exterior view. Down the hall were two bedrooms on the right, one bathroom on the left, and at the end was the master suite with an attached bathroom. It seemed like too much space, now that Trei wasn’t living with them, but Tarius and Branson agreed to share the third bedroom as an office/workspace.
Branson shoved his suitcase into the corner of the bedroom, not eager to unpack yet. The walls still needed artwork and family photos, but those were in unpacked boxes in the large walk-in closet. The whole thing was an upgrade he could never have afforded on his own, but he and Tarius had sat down and looked over their salaries and expected expenses. They’d be fine.
Papa’s deep laughter carried down the hallway, and Branson went to investigate. Dad, Papa, Uncle Braun, and Gaven were all helping with the move, carrying boxes from the rental van to the elevator, and then up to the new place, where Uncle Tarek assisted in directing them to the various rooms. They had more than enough hands for the process to only take a few hours, and Branson had already placed a delivery order for several pizzas that should be arriving shortly.
Uncle Braun was flopped on the sofa in a dramatic pose, while Dad blew air at his face with a magazine. “Don’t tell me I’ve worn you out already,” Branson teased.
“I’m not as young as I used to be, you know,” Uncle Braun groused.
“You’re still younger than I am,” Dad retorted, full of humor, “and I’m still standing.”
Uncle Braun blew a raspberry.
“It could be worse,” Branson added. “You could be downstairs in the cold with Gaven and Papa, pulling things out of the van.”
“This is true.” Uncle Braun crossed his arms and sighed. “Give me two more minutes, and then I’m back to work.”
Tarius entered with a box that he carried directly into the kitchen. The living space was a scene of disorganized chaos, which was giving Branson a slight pang of anxiety. He retreated down the hallway to the first bedroom. The door was slightly ajar.
He knocked twice then stuck his head inside. Jeuel sat on his bare mattress, eyes closed and headphones on, listening to a portable CD player. Branson had quickly discovered that when Jeuel got anxious, he used music to block out the world. Sometimes, he’d catch Jeuel singing softly, and he had a lovely, soothing voice. But he refused to sing for an audience, not even to the radio when they were in the car.
They’d picked out a simple, inexpensive desk for Jeuel, after Jeuel insisted he wanted to get his GED, and all his textbooks were piled on it. Nothing else had made it out of his suitcase, or the two boxes of things he’d already accumulated in the last two weeks. But there was no rush to settle in, because they weren’t having any sort of formal housewarming celebration.
Maybe they’d have a party in a month or two, when Jeuel had truly settled into his life here. But he’d already moved from Sonora Province to a strange apartment, and two weeks later, he was moving again. Branson wanted Jeuel to enjoy some stability for a while, before they threw any large gatherings at home. Hopefully, Jeuel would initiate social interactions when he was ready. Right now, he was slipping out of the “happy to be here,” amenable omega who’d first arrived, and into a quieter, almost depressed teenager who might be missing home.
Moving three thousand miles away, after a serious trauma and the loss of loved ones, was difficult at any age, but Branson couldn’t imagine dealing with it at seventeen. He’d suggested therapy, but Jeuel wasn’t ready. Branson couldn’t force Jeuel to talk to him, or to anyone else; all he could do was be present for his little brother, ready and willing to listen when Jeuel wanted his ear.
Jeuel probably missed Trei, too. The pair had been in the other’s back pocket for the last month, supporting each other through the tragedy of the home invasion, losing Paul and Dario, Uty’s coma, and their choice to pursue moving to Sansbury. Now they were living apart—and not because Branson and Tarius didn’t want a fourth person in the apartment.
Living elsewhere had been Trei’s choice.
After a necessary check-up with Dr. Calhoun—which netted a clean bill of health, baby was on track, plus a bottle of prenatal vitamins—Trei’s demeanor had changed. He’d gone from the silent, stoic supporter to someone with a new drive to make a place for himself.
“I want to get a job of some kind,” Trei had said at dinner the night after his appointment. Jeuel had prepared a baked chicken dish for their quartet, and Branson had nearly choked on his bite of meat.
“A job?” Branson had parroted. “Did you have a job before? When you were mated?”
“Of course not. I mated when I was seventeen, and I was expected to be the child-bearer and raiser.” His dark eyes glittered. “That obviously never happened, but Paul didn’t like me doing anything except intermittent volunteer work at the hospital. I liked to volunteer in the nursery, help take care of the newborns.”
“So, you’d like a job at the hospital? Or maybe in a clinic?”
“Not necessarily.” Trei put his fork down and his hands dropped to his belly. “I think I’d get too paranoid about everything that could go wrong with my own pregnancy.”
“You know you don’t have to,” Tarius had said. “Once your stipend kicks in, you’ll have credit, if you’re worried about contributing to rent and groceries and such.”
“It isn’t just about contributing to the household. I need to feel useful. I’ve always wanted to feel useful, to feel like I can do more than just make babies.” He’d frowned. “Which I only proved I could do after it was too late. I never imagined I’d be a single omegin, but here I am, and I need to prove that I can take care of myself and my child.”
“Of course, you do. You’ve never had a chance to be independent before.”
“Exactly. There are so many opportunities for omegas here, and I’m only twenty-one. I don’t…I don’t know if I want another mate.”
Branson met Tarius’s eyes, a similar sympathy reflecting there. Alphas, particularly Traditionalist alphas, were known to think with their dicks first and their hearts second (if at all), and Trei had dropped enough hints over the last six days to give Branson a good idea of how traditional and overbearing of a mate Paul had likely been.
“You don’t have to mate again if you choose not to,” Branson said. “It’s why you’re in Sansbury, right? Options? How about after dinner, we sit down and talk about things you’re good at, things you like to do? It’ll help us figure out a job for you, especially a low-stress one you can do while pregnant.”
Trei finally smiled. “Okay.”
And they had, exploring the kinds of jobs available to widowed omegas. Trei had expressed interest in caregiving work or companionship, and a chance to be independent, which had sparked something in Tarius’s mind. He’d excused himself to thebedroom to make a phone call, and when he returned, he’d had a proposal for Trei.
