23. Theo
Theo
K ennedy gets out of the car without saying anything at all.
“Kenny.” My voice is a rasp. “I—,”
I stop. There are no words.
None.
He hurt her. Hurt her over, and over, and over again. And we left her alone. I left her alone to deal with that, traumatised and hurting while I wallowed in my anger and swallowed my misgivings, focusing on that voicemail as evidence of her guilt instead of a plea for help.
She was begging us. Begging us for help, to hear her, to know that she wouldn’t say those things.
And we didn’t fucking listen .
Because my brother was dead, and that trumped anything and everything else in my mind.
Why is it that we give the dead grace that we would never offer to the living?
“Theo?”
My head jerks up at her quiet words. She’s moved around to my open window, and I drag my eyes over her face as if I’ve never seen her before.
Except now I see. I see the deep, dark circles beneath her eyes, the way her beautiful hair has thinned from stress. I see the small traces of blood beneath her nose from the nosebleed she had on the way home, and the way she grips the edges of her ridiculously thick sweater like it’s her shield.
My mate is broken, and it’s my fault.
Ours. Because we didn’t fucking see.
She shifts on her feet, her words quiet. “It’s a lot to take in. It’s okay.”
Everything tangles up in my throat. My apologies. My tears. My anger, and my grief.
And the sheer, fucking rage at Brett’s audacity. He took something perfect, and bright, and he broke it.
My thumb brushes over her cheekbone, just once. I don’t trust myself to touch her any more than that.
I don’t deserve to touch her any more than that. My own voice is rough, grating against my throat. “I’m going to be here tomorrow. Every day, Kenny. I promise, okay?”
She doesn’t meet my eyes. “Okay.”
She doesn’t fucking believe me, and I don’t blame her.
“What he did wasn’t your fault,” she whispers, looking up. Her eyes are glistening again, and it’s shredding me. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. You already had one grief to deal with. I didn’t want to add to it—,”
“That’s not on you,” I snap. Immediately, I soften my voice. “You’re not adding to my grief by leaning on me, Kenny. I want you to lean on me.”
But not today. Not when I feel as if my rage could easily destroy her too. As if it could be endless. I’m barely fucking keeping it together, my jaw tight and my hold on the wheel tighter.
Kennedy has paid enough of a price for my pack’s issues.
No fucking more. “Tomorrow. All of us will be here, Ken. We’re… we’re going to fix this. As long as it takes. Together, okay?”
Her tears spill over, and I can’t. I can’t not .
I’m out of the car, my arms wrapping around her. And she collapses into me, her sobs soaking my t-shirt in seconds as I hold her up.
She’s been holding herself up for months.
Alone.
“I’m so sorry.” My voice shakes. “I’m so sorry, Kenny.”
It doesn’t matter how many times I say it. My apologies do nothing to fix what he did. Or what I did to her after, when we found her again.
Eric Matthews went after her, and I shouted at her.
I forced her onto her knees and tried to use my bark to make her talk about it.
If she had—
Bile climbs up my throat, and I blink away the mist in my eyes, blowing out a breath as I stare blindly up into the sky.
She doesn’t even feel right against me. As if she’s a light breeze, barely present, instead of fire and fury and feeling.
Neither of us speak as she cries, and I hold her. I’m terrified of somehow hurting her more, of triggering something. Flashbacks, or memories.
I need Oscar, and his knowledge on everything. I need him to decide how we can help her. I need Jake to help me find the right words, and Max to hold us all upright.
I don’t bring anything to this, not really.
I’m terrified that she might look at me like I’m him.
I wear his fucking face.
My arms drop, and I back away. “Do you… need me to stay?”
It’s getting late. We spent a long time up there, as she told me in halting words that ebbed and flowed.
The attack.
The way she ran and didn’t stop, with Max’s words in her ear.
The way she had to save herself, because we weren’t fucking there.
She shakes her head. “I… Rick will be here. I’m okay. And I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow?”
It’s a small question. Her voice sounds strange, and I don’t blame her. “I promise you, I’ll be here.”
She gives me a small, heavy smile that shreds me all over again. “Do you… do you still hate me?”
I swallow. Hard. “I have never hated you.”
Instead, I hated myself for not feeling the way I told myself I should have. And in my shame and my frustration, I took it out on her. And she took everything I threw at her, trying to protect me, when all along I should have been her shield.
Useless fucking excuse for an alpha.
“Good,” she whispers. “That’s good. I’m glad we had this t…talk.”
Her voice stumbles, and my attention sharpens. “I’ll stay.”
“No.” She says it immediately, stepping back.
And she flinches.
She. Fucking. Flinches.
“I… have to go.” She backs away from me, turning to go inside. She pauses, for a moment. “In another life, we would have been perfect, I think.”
I stare at her retreating back, still frozen, until she vanishes back into the trailer.
She doesn’t want my touch. I don’t blame her.
I scared her.
I don’t move for a long time. And when I do, my steps are heavy.
My vision blurs and wavers as I drive back into town.
But I don’t go home. Not yet.
I have a reckoning to bring first.