The Alpha and the Outcast (BoyxBoy/LGBT)

Chapter 22

Hello, it's been a while, I'm sorry, but I'm back now! We're coming up to the last few chapters, and the next one should be out soon, so don't worry about another two month absence. I've decided to write a sequel to this book, should anyone want to read it, and if enough people would like to, then I'd really appreciate it if anyone would like to make me a cover for it. My graphic design skills are pretty shit. If anyone wants to design the cover, just message me for details :)

I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Writer-Chann for being so encouraging. Although I receive encouragement from every vote/comment/message, I can only dedicate a chapter to one person, after all, and I'm really grateful to Writer-Chan for giving me the boost I needed to start figuring out how to wrap up these last few chapters properly.

I might edit this or add a picture later, but I just wanted to get this out now. I hope you all aren't too annoyed about how long it's been, because a few votes and comments would really help me get over the finish line on this one. Enjoy the chapter :)

*Nick's POV*

Looking inside both of the windows on either side of the front door to ensure I wasn't going in blind, I saw no one but my adoptive father, slumped over on his favorite chair. Without me to clean up for the last few months, he'd evidently not decided to step up. Beer bottles, along with several larger whiskey and vodka bottles, littered what I could make out of the living room floor. Squinting, I was also able to make out what looked to be several syringes, some of their barrels cracked. Splintered fragments of plastic were scattered all over the floor and the dusty stained couch. Clearly Edward had moved on to drugs in my absence.

With one last look to the fence, behind which I knew several of Farrelly's warriors were hidden, I gave a calm nod in their direction, congratulating myself on my composure. I had always prided myself on my ability to show a good poker face, and of course, it was about to come in very handy. Taking one bracing deep breath in a vain attempt to ground myself, I walked the three remaining steps to the front door, extended my clenched fist, and proceeded to punch the solid wood.

I'd probably fractured a couple of knuckles, but I had plenty and I probably wouldn't be needing them for much longer. I'd just really needed to punch something.

The door swung open barely a minute later, so clearly my father hadn't been quite as drunk as I'd guessed. The door slammed into the wall of the hallway with enough force to dent the plaster, and I winced despite myself. And there was Edward Clancy in all his drunken glory, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

I tilted my head back to look up at a face that looked almost exactly like my own, with only a few exceptions. The cut I'd had across my cheek a few months ago had healed into a small pink scar on the peak of my left cheekbone, and my overgrown blond bangs concealed a few silvery scars etched into the skin of my forehead.

Edward Clancy's eyes, the same piercing electric blue as my own, were bloodshot and sunken, and the pale skin we both shared was uncharacteristically pale, light freckles standing out sharply. In my absence my father had become a mere wreck of a man, although not for the reason most probably would have suspected of a widowed father who had lost his only son.

I observed all of this in the half-second it took for my father's eyes to light up in recognition. I gulped, praying that he wouldn't notice my anxiety or question my sudden appearance too thoroughly.