Andover House

Rowan

Knowing it was stupid and telling himself it was stupid didn't stop Rowan from pulling back the heavy drapes to stare out at the storm for the umpteenth time since the first snowflakes started falling just after noon. It was only a little after five in the evening, but the thick clouds blocked whatever sunlight might have still shone on a clear day.

They'd canceled school in anticipation and not been wrong. The streets were impassable by their usual pickup time. He hadn't seen a car drive by in the last few hours, the road now only distinguishable by the gap in the trees. Even that view was obscured by the heavy snow still falling.

There was no reason for it, but the eerie anticipation Rowan woke up with this morning wouldn't go away. He turned away from the dark windowscape to watch some of the little ones playing with a wooden train set Daryl put down next to the Christmas tree for them. Two of the boys started arguing about the story they were playing out with the toys, while a third quietly pulled a train around the tracks, making subtle train noises to himself.

Rowan understood that kid. He was that kid. The rest of the world seemed to always be arguing about things, fighting to stay engaged with each other, while he was content with the company of his own imagination. He didn't want to be alone, but he didn't want to be the boss or the center of attention. He didn't need to have his way.

The song on the radio ended, and a news update followed. Reporting "snowmageddon" updates at fifteen-minute intervals seemed like overkill to Rowan, but supposedly, this was the worst snowstorm in over a decade. He turned back to the window and let the curtain fall closed behind him to block the reflection from inside.

The light by the gatehouse, always left on as a beacon to anyone seeking shelter, was all you could see of it now. He stared blankly at its comforting glow. His uncle dropped him off at the far end of that driveway one night when he was about seven. They'd come from his parent's funeral, and he'd felt the same tingly sense of premonition then that he felt now. It was dark, and his uncle handed him the backpack the old man's girlfriend packed and told him to walk toward the light and never look back. To forget everything that came before and be happy with whatever he got. It was a better fate than he'd have if they stayed together.

He didn't know what that meant, but he'd seen some guys arrive in much worse shape in the years since, so he was grateful his uncle left him here before he could suffer any of that. His sense of abandonment was keen; he'd grieved for a long time, and he'd never trust an alpha, he was sure. But he didn't wake up in a cold sweat screaming every night like his roommate.

His childhood was coming to an end. He'd graduate in the spring, and he could leave Andover House if he wanted to, but to where? Now and then, he thought of looking for his uncle but instinctively knew it was a bad idea. He could go to college, but he had no ambition. He liked it here, surrounded by children. He'd been cared for, so he'd learned how to care for them. The only thing better would be to have his own home and children. He was, perhaps, ideally suited to motherhood, but that was such an old-fashioned ideal. And the alphas looking for an omega that fulfilled those ideals were usually complete assholes. He'd been warned and heard too many first-hand stories to imagine anything good could come of looking for that kind of alpha.

A flicker of movement in the light brought him out of his silent reverie, and he squinted to try and see what it was. There'd been no cars for hours. No tire tracks in the snow. It could be an animal. He shuddered at the thought of it. There it was again. It looked like something large and dark leaning against the gate. It looked human. He was out of the window alcove and in the entry hall, grabbing a heavy coat before the buzzer alerted anyone else. Syd saw him as he ran for the door himself.

"He hit the buzzer, so I turned on the intercom just in time to see him collapse," Syd said. "I hope the two of us can carry him in together. Hey, Google, alert Dr. Kyle and Marcus that we have a visitor."