Holly Ch. 03

The guy makes a threat against his mate, just fishing, but Holly doesn't have one so it doesn't land. He threatens his kids, but this dumb bastard picked the only alpha for miles around with no progeny. So he steps it up. Realizing he's almost lost his opportunity to be a real "alpha male," he starts to shout neo-Nazi propaganda. He mentions Bowling Green.

He calls the shooter an American hero. Holly and Damian exchange a pained look because it's one of the most awful things a person could say, but then it gets worse.

"I get hard when I think of those freaks' brains splattered all over that house!" he shouts. Maybe it's just the blood in Holly's ears, but it seems the band has stopped playing. It's about kids. It's about something that's haunted him for years. The switch has flipped.

Perhaps the guy had hoped to watch him seethe for a few moments. Maybe he was expecting Holly to puff out his chest and say, "You wanna step, man? You wanna go right now?" or some idiotic thing like that. But that's not how it ever happens. Alphas move with lightning speed and instinctively know just what to do to kill an aggressor. Every time this scene plays out, the guy provoking it just stands there like he never saw it coming.

After a tight combination of blows to the weakest points on the head and neck, the larger man is on his knees, goggle-eyed. Holly can't stop because he's still breathing, so is quickly on him in an improbable lunge, simultaneously on his feet and horizontal. He pounds the guy's face until it's flat, yet chunky. Damian later said it looked like a bowl of Bonnie's signature chili. Holly hasn't forgiven him for ruining his go-to order when they dine there.

When the guy is still, the switch flips back, as is normal, and Holly rises calm and dazed. He walks toward the bar where customers part to make space for him. He sits and awaits the consequences. A man slides him his untouched double whiskey, which he sips as he listens for the sirens.

"Holly, your hands," Damian says gently. Holly stares vacantly at the tooth sticking out of a bloodied knuckle. Damian flicks it in the direction of the gurgling mess on the floor. The bartender hands him a clean wet rag to clean up his traumatized friend.

The paramedics scrape the guy off the floor to save his life, as is their duty. The cops question everyone. Before they get to Holly, Damian says, "Hollis, trust me, okay?" and places his torn-up hands inside his leather jacket to rest on his waist. He steps in close to where Holly sits on the barstool. Now he was a meek omega partner, frightened by the violence and being comforted by his strong alpha. Damian does the talking. They didn't see anything.

Miraculously, neither did any of the hundred other bystanders. The bartender was in the stockroom to replenish the bar. About a third of the patrons were all in the men's room, which was a bit of a head-scratcher. As for everyone else, they were all out for a smoke or facing the stage.

It's not that they knew Holly at all, but even prejudiced betas draw a line at the things that guy was saying. It was obvious what he wanted and, well, he got what he wanted. "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers," Holly had drawled after the fact. After that night, Damian had a newfound respect for his friend/employee. Holly tried to explain that what he'd witnessed was like a seizure, not an act of heroism, but that point never sank in.

That night was a world away. Holly's living the good life and drains some of the bathwater to add more hot. Was he even catching a little of the holiday spirit? He shakes his head in disbelief.

His phone rings. He's got it close by. He knows that answering right away is not part of his arrangement with MK, but he's privately committed to being there for her as much as possible. She'll just have to live with it.

"Hi, MK. How are things?"

"Hey, Holly, um, do we have a bad connection? You sound echoey."

"I'm in the bath," he admits. "I can hear you." Her voice sounds strange, too, in a crowded place. It's like she's made to be at home with him... barefoot and pregnant, like an omega. "Uh, where are you?"

"Purgatory, I think."

"Want me to pick you up?"

"That would be a bit of a drive," she laughs. "No, I'm at the grocery store, you know, the enormous one?"

He can picture just where she is and it is a bit of a drive. It's also a place he'd only visit for her. It's the type of store that should have its own zip code and mayor.

"Ouch. And on the weekend.." he sympathizes.

"Yeah, well the old folks all needed their prescriptions filled and, honestly, I think they just like it here. This is their scene."

"Well, if it makes 'em happy, right?"

"Right. So, since I'm here I was thinking I'd make a Sunday dinner. If you don't have plans, you're more than welcome."

"Really? Oh, uh, yeah that sounds nice. Sure," he says.

"Good! Can I bring you anything?" she asks.

"No, thanks, I-" and the phone slips from his damp fingers into the water. Damn.

He rises from the steamy tub and towels off. The phone is likely fucked; he'll deal with that later.

His short facial hair is soft so he shaves. What the hell is 'Sunday dinner,' anyway? Church people? Neighbors? He figures he should look respectable. He looks in his closet for one of his nicer shirts, but half-way buttoned, he's just too warm in his core, so goes for a clean T-shirt instead.

He loads the photos he took onto his old tablet so she can view them better. Some are as pretty as calendar pictures. He hopes she thinks so, too. He also hopes they're of her land, though it would be funny if they are not.

He returns to the living room to wait for her out of sight of strangers, but there to help with her shopping. As he waits, uncomfortably, he decides to check out her library, as if that might give him insight into who she is. There are many spirituality titles as he'd expect, plus novels, poetry, natural sciences, and... a hell of a lot of erotica. Huh. There is nothing A/o oriented, which disappoints him considering that she keeps pornography out in the open. Maybe it's just not an interest. The van returns. He likes the tone she uses to call hello when she opens the door. It makes him feel like he belongs here.

His omega looks worn out. She has a baby face that will look young for a long time, but there are lines of the kind etched by prolonged physical pain. They weren't there this morning and he's concerned. He knows better than to tell her she looks tired because no one likes that. He takes the heavy tote bag from her to bring to the kitchen as she begins the process of shedding her winter outerwear.

A moment later she joins him. "I got you a present." She grins, digging through the shopping. She hands him a bag of rice. "To fix your phone. It does work."

"How...?"

"When you said you were taking a bath, I just got a feeling that would happen. Then we got cut off."

"Thanks, that's very helpful."

"No problem. So I was thinking we'd eat at around 7:30, but please help yourself to any snacks in the meantime. I hate it when someone invites me for dinner and then we don't eat for ages. Don't be hungry! I'm going to go change and do some exercise. If I lie down I might wake up in the middle of the night, which I definitely don't want to do again!"

"Sure. Who else is coming? I mean, do you want me to get the door if people show up?"

MK looks vaguely mortified she'd given the impression that this was a dinner party. She glances around. "I guess with a table like that, it might seem like I entertain... I don't. It's just us tonight. Is that okay?"

He smiles slightly. "Sure that's okay," he says, trying to seem nonchalant. "Can I do anything to help?"

"Um, you can put away the groceries, if you want. That will be helpful. And dry out your phone! I must say, I like how relaxed you are about your phone being out of commission. A lot of people I know would be freaking out. Maybe that's just LA."

"Well, I'd just talked to you and you were okay. Maybe if you were still out and I didn't have a phone that works I'd freak out a little. You know... in case you needed me."

A strange and hard-to-read look crosses her face. "Maybe I do," she replies quietly.

He listens to the tap of her metal foot on the stairs, then to her door open and close again. Then, he lets his bigger smile break free. Holly starts to unpack the groceries. There's a plump humanely raised chicken he hopes will be tonight's meal, a loaf of bread from the store's good bakery, fresh produce, two types of fancy ice cream (nice), and a box of tampons, which makes him happy; she's so skinny he's just relieved she still bleeds. At the bottom is a jar of vitamins rattling around.

His heart doesn't jump for joy when he sees the word 'omega' on the vitamins. Lots of people take omega 3s and 6s for good health. He does look closer for a long moment. "Female Omega Formula: For Fertility and Heat Cycle Support." Damn. Was that his answer, simple as that? He realizes that when you live with someone and there is trust there, maybe not much remains hidden for very long at all.

Still, it feels like a private thing and is becoming like a hot potato in his hand. He looks around for where it might go. All the glass cabinets seem to be to display her antique dishes and cookware. At the far end of the kitchen, he spies an almost hidden door that must be a pantry. He's right. He finds the shelf for first aid, over the counter medicines, and more supplements. There are similar products to the one he holds. He picks up a near-empty jar to read its claims: "Increased fertility... lubrication... stamina... lustrous hair."

Holy shit. She's not just an omega, but she wants to be who she is. Now his thumbs do twitch to text Damian. He'd tell him he knows and that he thinks he might have a stay-in date with her tonight.