Asher nodded.
“Do they know?” Assa asked.
“No. And to be honest, they don’t care.” Asher’s voice soured. “Once Zeller refused to marry an alpha they approved of, they pretended the pregnancy wasn’t happening. Having a single omega father for a son was out of the question. They were the ones who had the fake birth certificate drawn up, with the fakenames and birthdate, and they paid the agency to give the baby to someone who wouldn’t ask questions and who could never connect the baby back to them. They hid Zeller’s condition from almost everyone, bribing or threatening the few people who knew. As far as the world is concerned, Zeller Parkenson was never pregnant. Never gave birth.”
Wes’s head swam. Asher’s story cleared up some unknowns he and Assa had wondered about for years. But that didn’t make absorbing it any easier. And even with so many details left to be filled in, the most important question remained.
“Asher, if Keyes and Deveron don’t care about their grandson and you never planned to contact us, why are you here now?”
“Because I have reason to believe Zeller is looking for his baby.”
Assa covered his mouth with his hand. His knee trembled, knocking against the coffee table.
Wes glared at Asher. “Why do you think—”
Footsteps pounded on the staircase. The men froze.
“All done,” Ryde called out as he hopped down onto the landing. “Smells good. Did Pop make pesto pasta? I’m starving.”
Wes watched as Ryde went straight into the kitchen and, finding no one, turned toward the living room.
“Oh.” The seven-year-old stopped short, seeing Asher.
There were a few awkward beats before Assa said, “Ryde, this is Asher. He’s a friend of ours.”
Asher’s face paled as he stared at Ryde. Wes nudged him in the ribs with an elbow.
“Hello,” Asher said uneasily, like he’d never spoken to a child before.
Ryde gave him a curious look, then remembered his manners. “Pleased to meet you,” he said.
“You as well,” Asher mumbled.
“Ryde, do you think you can plate your own pasta?” Assa asked. “You’ll need to be careful since the burner is still on low.”
“I’m almost eight, Pop. Pretty sure I can handle putting noodles in a bowl.”
Assa’s lips twitched. “Don’t get sassy.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s alright. After you get your dinner, you can watch TV in the den, so Dad and I can finish our talk with Asher.”
Once they heard the TV turn on, Assa said, “Leave it to our lippy child to break the tension.”
Wes laughed lightly but Asher’s silence was deafening as he stared blankly at his lap.
Finally, Asher whispered, “He looks just like him. I’ve seen pictures, but I never realized. The hair. The little mole. And he’sfeisty.” He sank back against the couch. “Zeller has a son… Ason… Obviously he was never going to give up.”
Wes sympathized with Asher’s obvious emotion. And he appreciated the inadvertent proof that Asher hadn’t been overly thorough about keeping tabs on them. But he needed to ensure the man understood. “Ryde is our son, Asher. Make no mistake. No matter who gave birth to him, Assa and I are his fathers.”
“Of course you are!” Asher said genuinely. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. There were just so many choices that led to this moment. Many of them mine. And now, I’m questioning everything.”
Wes admired his husband’s empathy as Assa patted Asher’s knee. “It seems like you’ve had this bottled up for a long time.”
“You have no idea.”
“So how about you start at the beginning.”