Good Day Sunshine

Three

The air was cooler down at Hästvader lakeshore that afternoon - peaceful too - Gulf easing back on a rock-candy-striped cloth deckchair, wide-brimmed sun hat shading brown almond eyes as he flitted contentedly between long licks to a frosted, orange ice lolly, and giggles at the antics of Mew and the twins in the rippling, crystal-watered shallows.

Their Phor had tethered two inflatable infant water rings together as a makeshift cruise raft, delighted squeals and splashes reaching the omega's ears where he rested, palm stroking unconsciously at belly, boisterous kicks from within as if to tell: 'Wait for us, na! We want to play too!'

Isn't life miraculous? - it was Gulf's thought as he sucked the last of sticky citrus from his fingers and leant back against the head rest, eyes drifting closed.

Here, he could breathe...

To go from having no treasure, to a heart-shaped chest so full it sometimes felt as if it would burst its gilded hinges - comet right out of his ribcage and explode into operatic firework showers of love's gleaming gemstones - in the passing of only two calendars, still felt like fever dream delirium from which he'd jerk awake one day to foggy, smoggy gloom of an unidentifiable, aching emptiness and oldest, flailing insecurities.

Yet: Each morning his brightest alarm of Tay and Lay's animated, babbled conversations crackling through the second hand baby monitor that occupied a chaotic bedside table. Mew's strong arm holding him close and never letting go. The somersaulting acrobatics and - as they competed for in utero space in latter months - insistent thumps and jutting knees and elbows about his navel.

It was really real.

His circle of rowdy university drinking buddies had taunted endlessly in the early days of unexpected parenthood, of course - affectionately dubbing him 'Mommy' - not that Gulf gave a fuck. He had fretted so much about judgement when hiding his upbringing - or lack of one - and first pregnancy. Nails gnawed till fingertips bled. But knew himself better now, knew that limits were there only to be tested. That he was worthy of love - and, my Gods, how he was loved.

His employers at the Skåland Gazette Media Centre had raised more than one eyebrow, when he returned from paternity leave to complete his internship already pregnant again. But encore - zero fucks given.

In actual fact, he had worked with such dogged ambition - head held high and voice assured, charged with transformative confidence - in final months as a trainee, that the Media Group had moved to offer a unique position on the contracted staff team. Something about a weekly column roughly entitled 'The Life and Times of a Male Omega Carrier'. Well, a tag line can be edited, right?

He, a flag bearer? Was it...pride, he felt?

"Baby!" - soul searching reverie cut short by his mate's call from the waterfront, where both toddling twins had been replanted to dry land, to totter across the Sahara's expanse of sole-scalding, pale sand like newly-hatched turtles, as quickly as cherubim legs could carry them. Hands clapping gleefully, anticipating hugs and warm milk with Dada.

Yet as the omega made to greet them with a grin, he found himself beached and helpless to rise...

"Hoy!"

"Wait, Gulf, don't strain yourself"

Alpha arriving to clasp both hands in his larger ones, and gently lever him back to standing.

"Careful Lawan, not so hard" - authoritative, barked warning as their young daughter collided with Gulf's legs - "Remember, we've got to look after Dada and the babies, big sis"

"Lay good girl", came the pouting, nearly-nap-time response.

"I can only see a cheeky monkey...", the elder teased.

Tiny foot stamping, lip quivering...

"Lay good girl!"

And her father clenching his lower jaw, heroically resisting cannibalistic urges to gobble her up there and then - opting instead to spontaneously scoop and toss the little girl high into the summer's bee-buzzing, coconut gorse-perfumed air, shrieks of exhilarated laughter chasing quickly-forgotten threats of looming tantrum away.

Then milk and mashed banana later, children strapped securely into rear car seats for awaited, late afternoon naps in the cooler sanctuary of the breezily shaded car, Mew turning to say:

"I'll pack up the picnic basket so we can get going on the Norlander route and try to beat the rush hour traffic on North Hästvader bridge"

But the unuttered sentence evaporated from suddenly parched lips as he registered first his mate's wide eyes, frozen, second the trickled flow of water to the sand between sandalled feet, and third the all-too-familiar whimper of pain from Gulf's throat.

~~

AN: The finale chapters (4 & 5) will be posted in a few hours. Please interact to let me know your thoughts! 💗🙏🏼