“Hi Jefferson.” I chuckle as I reach the car.
“Master Kennedy." He nods, opening the back door for me.
“That's my father. Call me Beckham,” I tell him, just like every other time he called me that in the past.
He responds with silence, shutting the car door once I am in. He won’t be calling me Beckham. He never has.
The drive back was filled with only my own thoughts. Seems to be the running theme of my life these days.
Once we pull up to the gate, a sense of nostalgia hits me. I’ve been gone for ten years, only seeing my father on special occasions.
How has it been this long since I’ve been home?
I had a good life here, filled with good memories.
Until it wasn’t. Until every corner I took, I saw the monster who ripped a piece of my soul away.
When we pull up to the house, my father is standing on the stairs in his black and red suit looking put together as always, with his black hair slicked back, and his hands behind his back.
A smile takes over my face and I throw the door open, unable to keep my excitement in seeing him contained.
“Beckham.” He greets me with a chuckle and a matching grin. He hugs me tightly, patting my back firmly. “It’s wonderful to have you home.”
“I’m glad to be back.” It isn’t a lie. I might be here for more sinister reasons, but I’m looking forward to the new job, one that my father did happen to get for me within only a few days.
“Come in, come in,” dad says, taking a step back. “Your room is still the way you left it. But I did have the staff make sure there were fresh sheets on your bed.”
“Thanks.” I chuckle.
“After you're settled in, we’re going out for supper.”
“I could eat.” I agree.
“Of course you could. Look at you.” He eyes me up and down. “You’re skin and bones. When are you going to get yourself a pack? You need someone to look after you, Beckham. You're not doing a very good job at doing it yourself.”
“We talked about this dad. I don’t want a pack.” I sigh.
“You're a thirty-five year old single omega.” He huffs.
“And when the time is right, I’ll get a pack. Until then, I’m fine. Really.”
“Maybe I’ll set you up with a few dates.” He ignores me.
“Dad.” I warn, giving him a look.
“Fine fine,” he grumbles. “But when you take over, you're going to need a good strong pack at your side."
“Why? You did it alone, and you’ve done just fine.”
Growing up, any time I asked my dad why our family wasn’t a pack like most people we knew, he would always respond the same way.
He was a jealous person, and didn’t like to share. My mother was his scent match, and she was the only one he needed. And he was the only alpha she wanted.
Right up until my mother passed away when my sister was just a baby and I was five, leaving my father a single dad. He did a good job all on his own. I don’t know why he thinks I need a pack.
“That’s different and you know it. I didn’t need anyone else.”
“And you think I do?” I ask, raising a brow. “Why?”
