“You’re being selfish,” his mother said, tears starting to form in her eyes. But they weren’t tears of remorse, Cord realized. They were tears of frustration, of embarrassment.
“No,” Billy said simply. “I was being selfish when I kept hoping you’d change, that you’d want me back. But you don’t want me back. You just want me to lie for you or shut up.”
“Billy…” his father started.
“I think you should leave.” Cord stood, letting his full height and alpha presence fill the space. “Now.”
Billy’s parents looked between them, and Cord saw the moment they realized they’d lost. Whatever they’d expected from their confrontation - Billy cowering, apologizing, agreeing to their demands - it wasn’t happening.
“This isn’t over,” his father said.
“Yeah,” Billy said quietly, “it is. I never want to speak to you again.”
They left in a huff, his mother’s heels clicking sharply against the floor. The diner remained quiet for a moment longer before Doris’s voice cut through.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish!” she called out, and suddenly the place erupted in clapping and a couple of cheers.
Cord sat back down, immediately pulling Billy against his side. Through their bond, he felt a complicated mix of emotions - pain, relief, pride, exhaustion.
“You okay?” he murmured against Billy’s temple.
“Yeah,” Billy said, and Cord felt the truth of it through their connection. “Yeah, I think I am. It’s just... I always wondered what I’d say if I saw them again. I had all these speeches planned in my head.”
“I thought you did pretty damn well without a script.”
Billy huffed out a laugh. “My therapist would be proud. Well, I mean, if I had a therapist. Cece’s going to be insufferable when he hears about this.”
“Want to go home?” Cord asked, pressing a kiss to Billy’s hair.
“Not yet.” Billy straightened, picking up his abandoned fry. “I want to finish my lunch. In my favorite diner. With my mate. And if certain people don’t like that, then they can just avoid the Wonky Pig from now on.”
Cord grinned, pride swelling in his chest. “That’s my omega.”
“Damn right I am,” Billy said, and for the first time since his parents had approached, his smile reached his eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Billy sat cross-legged on his couch, a mug of tea cooling in his hands as he watched Cece pace back and forth across his living room. Tristan lounged in the armchair, his curls catching the afternoon light as he listened with that quiet intensity he always had when something serious was being discussed.
“I still can’t believe they just showed up,” Billy said, adjusting his glasses. “After five years of nothing – no contact, nothing at all, they waltz into the Wonky Pig like... like they hadn’t thrown me out like week old leftovers.”
“They had no right,” Cece muttered, his hot pink streaks seeming to glow brighter with his indignation. He stopped pacing long enough to fix Billy with a look. “What did they even want?”
Billy’s stomach churned just thinking about it again. “They’re upset because people are talking about what they did. Apparently, it’s making them look bad.” He let out a bitter laugh. “They wanted me to fix it. To tell people it wasn’t that bad, or that we’ve reconciled or something.”
“Oh, hell no,” Cece said, dropping onto the couch beside Billy with enough force to make the cushions bounce. “Tell me you said no. After what they put you through?”
Tristan leaned forward, eyes sympathetic. “How did Cord handle it?”
A small smile tugged at Billy’s lips despite everything. “He was... amazing. He didn’t let them guilt trip me or pressure me. Just sat there like this immovable wall between me and them.” Billy’s fingers traced the rim of his mug. “I could feel through our bond how protective he was. How angry.”
“Good,” Cece said firmly. “That’s what a proper alpha does.”
Billy nodded, but the conflicted feelings wouldn’t leave. “The thing is... part of me wanted to believe their excuses. That maybe they’d changed, you know? That maybe they realized...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “But they didn’t apologize. Not even once. They still believe that the way they treated me was right. All they were worried about was their reputation.”
“Billy,” Tristan said gently, “you were fourteen when you presented. They had four years to accept you before they kicked you out. Then they had five years after that day to make things right. The things they did, that’s not a mistake, that’s a choice they made every single day for nine years.”
The words hit hard because they were true. Billy remembered those four years of constant criticism, of being told he was wrong, broken, disappointing. The verbal abuse had chipped away at him until there was barely anything left of his self-worth by the time they’d thrown him out.
