Ronan and Christopher were curled up on Emory’s childhood couch. Ronan was using his rabbit paws to bat the ball in the air like a kitten. Christopher’s eyes were tracking the ball, but he couldn’t really move, what with Ronan lying on top of him. He had his otter tail out, and it was swishing happily against Ronan’s side as if it too wanted to play with the ball.
“Even if he didn’t friend request you, you are fated mates. I think that may actually obligate you to investigate him,” Christopher said, fondness lacing his voice the same way teasing had underpinned Ronan’s.
“I don’t think that argument would hold up in court,” Emory mumbled as he continued to stare at the top of Cameron’s social media page. His profile picture showed him standing with a woman who shared his last name. Emory assumed this was the sister Cameron was going home to see.
Moments after he received a friend request from Cameron, he also received a friend request from his sister. The friend request had disappeared, as if it had been deleted, but then, about ten minutes later, it appeared again. Emory had swiftly accepted both before either had the chance to disappear once more.
That had been two days ago, and Emory had yet to scroll Cameron’s page. He’d been busy at the Alaska site, and upon returning home, he’d immediately headed for his mother’s house.
He had planned to work today, but Ronan and Christopher had been waiting for him in his childhood bedroom. He supposed he deserved that, since he’d sent a quick “I found my fated mate?!” text to their group chat before boarding his flight. He’d been sad to see that the last text he’d sent in the chat had been over three months prior.
So, here he was, not getting any work done, worrying over his fated mate’s social media because his well-meaning friends wouldn’t let it rest.
“Have you gotten any accidental likes on old posts? That’s a surefire way to know they’ve been stalking you,” Ronan said.
Ronan was Emory’s childhood best friend. He was an omega who considered himself, in theory, romantically open to anyone, but sexually unavailable to everyone. While he had the least dating experience in the group, he was always quick to provide a listening ear and good advice.
He and Christopher had hit it off years back at one of the company’s dinner parties. They’d gone on a few dates before realizing they were better as friends and now best friends and roommates-who-cuddle. They did make a striking pair, though. In contrast to Christopher’s long, lean form, Ronan was every bit the fluffy, cuddly bunny of his inner omega.
When Emory was very little, he’d wished for a brother, and the gods or maybe fate had delivered him Ronan, his forever friend and constant companion. He’d been shy at first, uncertain how to fit in with Emory’s domineering family. Meanwhile, his own giant rabbit brood family never understood him or his sexuality. Over the years, he’d learned to stand up to Emory’s family and had earned a permanent seat at the Rexford dinner table. As far as his own family was concerned, there was still some tension and a lot of things left unsaid between them. He only came home with Emory for holidays or special events.
Emory’s phone vibrated in his hand, momentarily pulling him out of his thoughts. It was a series of meeting reminders for the following week. With a soft groan, Emory sank even lower in the old desk chair.
In the years since Emory’s father died, there had been more than one sleepless night when Emory had once again wished for a sibling. He would take just about anyone or anything so that he wasn’t the only one carrying the weight of his family’s legacy.
Emory wasn’t opposed to having children if his future mate wanted them—ifCameronwanted them—but he swore to himself he wasn’t going to have children solely to continue the business. He’d rather pass the company off to someone like Christopher than bring a child into the world and put this kind of weight on them. His mother was grudgingly coming to terms with this, but was still pushing him to consider dating at the very least. She was going to be over the moon when she found out about Cameron.
Emory’s focus drifted back to his phone. Cameron.HisCameron–could he say that yet? Was Cameron really his? If he was, then Emory could damn well look at his social media. And if he wasn’t… maybe Emory should get to know more about him so he could properly make Cameron his?
He straightened his shoulders and began to scroll down the screen.
Emory kept his profile mostly professional. The majority of his page was filled with posts he’d been tagged in or that people had shared with him or the company. Cameron’s page was a mix of personal and professional. The first several posts were about projects he’d done at work, including a podcast and a series of blog posts. A few photos showed Cameron in pastel colored suits, at what looked like charity events for two other well-known nonprofits. The colors weren’t something Emory would ever try to get away with, not with his family breathing down his neck, but he thought the soft colors were beautiful on Cameron.
There didn’t seem to be any recent photos with friends. As Emory continued to scroll, he began to see more photos of Cameron’s sister and a few other shifters. They were all tagged to New Orleans, and Emory found himself going down a rabbit hole of tagged photos until the sound of a throat clearing interrupted his scrolling.
He glanced up to see both of his friends staring expectantly at him.
“Find anything interesting?” Ronan asked, batting the stress ball over to Emory. Emory deftly caught it and threw it back for Ronan to continue playing with.
“He seems to be pretty serious about his work. He also appears to volunteer quite a lot at events I’m familiar with, and a few I’m not. It doesn’t look like he has many friends here, but he had a more active social life when he lived in New Orleans with his?—”
A loud bang drew their attention to the door.
“Boys, it’s time for dinner! Don’t make Emory’s mom call you again!” Christopher’s mom yelled through the closed door.
After Emory’s father died, Christopher and his alpha and omega moms had come over every holiday to help with thecooking and general spirit of the day. Christopher had his own family drama, including reclusive twin siblings who rarely came home, leaving Christopher responsible for caring for his omega mom as her degenerative shifter arthritis worsened.
It was nothing short of a miracle that Emory and Christopher’s mothers got along so well. In Emory’s last-minute absence, Christopher and his moms had come over for the harvest feast and kept his mom company while Emory ate the pitiful, microwave harvest plate his hotel had offered.
Tonight was what his mother had coined the ‘leftover feast,’ featuring food made by the three families. All the adultier adults, as Ronan called their parents, were downstairs drinking and preparing the food while the boys were upstairs messing around, as they often did. They had agreed to do all the dishes and freeze the leftovers, so Emory felt it was equitable.
“We’re coming, Ma!” Christopher called through the door, and Emory pocketed his phone.
The three families had a wonderful meal together, and afterward, they spread out between the kitchen, formal dining room, and living area. Emory ended up sitting on the couch with Ronan’s alpha father and Christopher’s alpha mother.
They chatted amiably until someone turned on an American football game. Ronan’s father got up, only to be immediately replaced by Christopher’s omega mother, who was the most avid football fan of them all. Emory helped her remove her leg braces, and she settled into the couch as the halftime report began. With little interest in football and even less in listening to talking heads in suits discussing football, Emory headed into the kitchen. He and his two best friends spent several hours cleaning, storing, and labeling food. Emory wouldn’t have traded a second of it, but his lion spent the evening pacing anxiously, wondering what their fated mate was doing.
On Sunday, they all made the trip across the suburbs to Christopher’s parents’ house for Emory’s birthday brunch. This had been a tradition for many years, as his moms insisted Emory shouldn’t have to cook, clean, or host on his own birthday. Before his father died, he and Emory usually spent the night before getting drunk on expensive whiskey, talking about the future of the company. Emory cherished those nights, but the hungover brunches were always brutal. This year, he was stone-cold sober, but try as he might, he had a hard time staying present. He had so much work to catch up on after the Alaska trip, and his lion would not stop pushing him images of his fated mate.
