5. Oscar
Oscar
S lowing to a walk as I get to the high street, I tug out one headphone and check the timer on my watch.
Two hours. And yet it’s not enough . Not enough to calm the rush of thoughts inside my head, each of them battling for dominance until I can’t think clearly.
It feels as though I haven’t had a single clear thought since Brett died. Glancing up, I realize I’ve stopped next to the memorial, and my muscles stiffen again.
I fucking hate this thing. Charles insisted on it, Theo and Nia’s reluctance ignored in favor of a lavish, expensive statue in the middle of our town barely two months after his death, as if any of us could fucking forget .
But nobody would say no to Charles. Not when his money funds half the employment in Widow’s Peak. There aren’t that many opportunities up here, but the construction work happening barely half a mile away keeps many of the men in jobs.
So the statue went up. Everyone in town attended the ceremony, politely ignoring May’s wailing over the sound of Charles talking about everything Brett could have done if his life wasn’t cut so tragically short.
It doesn’t even look like the Brett I knew. His features are a little too sharp, his eyes slightly too close together. There’s an almost cruel slant to his thin lips. That, at least, I recognize, but only because I saw it more and more in the last few months before he died, when Kennedy had her claws buried so deeply we could never pull them free.
We had no idea how deep, not until it was too late. If we’d only seen it sooner .
It’s as if Charles picked the worst parts of him to commemorate. Not the boy who laughed often and loved a practical joke, but the alpha who was set to take on his father’s legacy.
Somebody has put flowers down at the base. Probably May. It’s the only activity she does, walking down here and sitting on the bench beside it.
Walking over, I take in the carved bench, the gold plaque carefully fixed to it.
In memory of Brett Rivers.
I sit on the bench. Just for a minute. Wondering if I might find any kind of peace here. But it doesn’t help.
“Sorry, man.” I mutter the words as I stand, brushing my hand over his name. I wonder if he’s up there with anyone. Maybe my parents are with him.
Heaven is looking busy nowadays. It’s almost reassuring. When our time comes, we’ll have plenty of people waiting for us.
The morbid thought cuts off as my phone rings. “Hello?”
“Can you get something for dinner?” Max sounds distracted. “And milk?”
“Sure.” It’s not like I have anything better to do. Max and Jake went off to work after breakfast this morning, Jake taking Nia with him to drop off at school on his way to the forest where he works as a tree surgeon. “You taking a group out?”
“Yeah.” He says something muffled that I don’t catch. “I would have gone, but I’m going to be a while up here.”
Theo left for the construction site, to speak to his dad about something. And I’m… here. Doing nothing useful. Maybe I should join Max’s place, work as a tour guide for the forest hikes. Kill time until Theo and I leave for college like we were supposed to weeks ago. “I’ll cook dinner. Don’t stress about it.”
“Thanks. See you later.”
I slip the phone back into my pocket before glancing around and crossing the main road. It’s quiet today, only a few others around, and the store is empty.
Henry raises his hand to me in greeting. I wave back before heading to the aisles, not in the mood for a twenty-minute discussion about the future industry of Widow’s Peak. Henry means well, but my mind isn’t up for a debate today.
Maybe I should take Jake up on his offer and just go. I fought for that scholarship, fought to get a place alongside Theo and Brett so we could stay together. I haven’t even heard if they’ll honor it for next year.
But Brett won’t be there. Theo won’t be there. And neither will—
My hand pauses on a jar of olives, sure I’m imagining it.
The faintest trace of cherries brushes over my skin. It’s a scent I know as well as any in my pack, underwritten with the rich note of melted chocolate.
But not a perfect match to my memories. It smells… off. A little too bitter. Twisted.
Just like the person it belongs to.
I almost drop the olives as I spin, looking up and down the aisle. But I’m alone. Quietly, I begin moving down, abandoning my basket and quickening my steps as I follow that scent. My stomach begins to churn.
It couldn’t be that easy.
Kennedy left. Fucked off to college. She—
My lungs almost collapse as I turn the corner.
The omega has her back to me, inspecting something in her hand. Hair I could probably draw in my fucking sleep is wound up in a messy-looking cinnamon bun on top of her head. The tiniest strip of skin that’s visible above the sweater that drowns her is already reddened from the sun, damp with sweat that darkens the edges of her hair.
It’s a fucking ridiculous outfit for the sun.
I almost lose my footing.
And as I watch, her head lifts from whatever jar she’s studying. I see the way her shoulders lift, tensing as she glances around.
And then she turns. Deep, dark brown eyes meet mine, set over strong, dark, almost hawkish brows that furrow as she meets my gaze. They widen as she steps back, the golden skin of her face turning ashen.
I take one step. She takes another in response, her eyes still on me. Wary. Her eyes flicker toward the direction of the exit.
“Don’t.” My voice is a warning. “Don’t you fucking dare, Kennedy.”
But she does.
She fucking runs .
The jar in her hand drops to the floor, smashing as she spins and takes off. Cursing, I follow her, our feet hammering against the tiled floor as she throws herself around the corner.
I barely hear Henry’s shout, my whole body focused on her as she rips the door to the shop open and vanishes.
It’s a red flag to a damn bull. She practically screams guilt with every step she takes to get away from me.
I catch up to her halfway down the street. She’s panting, but she’s already slowing. It’s nothing for my steps to catch up with hers, for my hand to wrap around her arm and jerk her to a stop. Her heavy breathing stutters. “Let me go.”
“You’re back in town.” I don’t let go. I don’t fucking trust this omega for a second. “Why the fuck are you back here?”
“I never—,” Her words cut off as she pulls against me. “I never left. Take your hands off me.”
I step closer instead, crowding her against the wall as I lean down. She’s tall for an omega, but I’m damned tall for an alpha, and she barely brushes my shoulders as I run my eyes over her. “You look like shit, Kenny.”
Not what I intended to say. Not when there’s so fucking much to be said – but then again, my thoughts haven’t made sense for a while now. Frowning, I shake my head. “Theo wants to talk to you.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but she pales further. The hundreds of freckles sprinkled across her face almost vanish as she pushes her hand against my chest. “Get back, Oscar.”
“No. You could have gotten away if you wanted to.” She always had legs like a damned gazelle. There was nothing and nobody that could catch her when she took off. It was a joke between all of us, that she could outrun the apocalypse if she needed to.
But now she’s stiff, her head turned to the side. She doesn’t look at me at all, and it only stokes my anger higher. She’s acting like a fucking martyr. “You owe us a conversation at least, don’t you think? All of us, since you’ve ignored us for six months.”
“I don’t owe you shit.” She wriggles, but it’s like caging a wildcat made from nothing but air. I don’t move an inch. “Get the fuck off me, or I’ll—,”
Anger floods me. “You’ll what? What will you do, Kennedy?”
Her jaw lifts. “I’ll scream.”
I lean closer at that, my brow raising. “You think anyone in this town will lift a finger to help you ?”
She flinches. It’s true. I can feel eyes on us, know that the town rumor mill will be going into full swing after this little show, but even if she begged, nobody would intervene. Enough rumors floated around after Brett’s death, no doubt helped along by Charles, that there isn’t a single person in town who doesn’t despise her.
I take a breath, but my face twists in revulsion. “And what the hell is up with your scent?”
She finally stills. “None of your business.”
Fine . She stopped being my business a long time ago. “You going to come nicely, or do I have to carry you?”
Kennedy blanches. “What?”
“You’re coming with me, right now.” I keep hold of her arm. “Theo is fucking broken. You don’t get to walk around as if you didn’t rip his family apart, Kennedy. So you’re coming with me, and we’re going to sit down and talk like we should have done six fucking months ago.”
My head feels clouded. She’s here . Here, and real, and anger entwines with something unnamed in my chest. She looks as if I’m going to fucking beat her, her head pressed back against the wall. And her scent spikes again, with something that tastes a lot like fear, catching in the back of my throat and making me feel nauseous. “Stop that. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“My arm.” It’s almost a plea. “It’s hurting. Please.”
I release her immediately, my brows knotting. “I didn’t grip you that—,”
She moves.
Her knee lifts in a flash, and in a moment, I’m on my knees on the sidewalk, my vision white and my balls on fucking fire as she takes off.
“Kennedy!” I suck in air and roar her name, but she doesn’t stop. Blinking tears from my eyes, I stagger to my feet as she reaches the bike rack, fumbling with the lock before she pulls her old bicycle out and swings her leg over it. “We’re not fucking done!”
She doesn’t stop as she passes me. But her hand shoots up, giving me a clear indication of her feelings on the matter with her middle finger.
I stumble out into the street, watching her pedal away from me. She’s not fast. I could catch her. But it’s obvious where she’s going. There’s not much up that side of the mountain aside from a few trailers dotted around.
She’s been here the whole time.
We haven’t seen her for months. Heard she’d gone off to college, carrying on with the plans we built together while the rest of us mourned. Another reason to fucking despise her, as if we didn’t have enough already.
She never even tried to explain.
I don’t look away from the small figure disappearing into the distance as I type out a message in our group chat. My nose is full of cherries and chocolate, broken and twisted.
Appropriate, really. As if the poison inside her has made its way out in her scent. But my hands tingle, as if I can still feel her.
Kennedy Traylor.
I hit the send button on the message as my lips twitch upward. Maybe we can finally move forward, if she’ll talk to us. Explain.
I found her.