6. Day 22 – Theo
Day 22 – Theo
A brams gives me a wide berth as he shifts past me. I don’t blame him. I’ve heard the whispers about me.
The scruffy, snarling alpha that stalks the halls of the Center but refuses to see his own omega.
I haven’t looked at Kenny in twenty-two days. My fingers slowly curl into fists.
“You good?” Oscar’s murmur nearly has me stepping back, instinct pushing me to go . “There’s a chair here.”
I don’t deserve to be here. Don’t deserve a fucking chair at her bedside.
When I shift back, Jake is blocking my way. His words are a gruff mutter. “Sit down.”
I don’t look at him. “I shouldn’t be in here.”
I’ll never leave her again. Not willingly. Close, but never close enough. My own personal penance.
“She needs you.” His voice hardens. “Kenny needs you, and she needs you functioning. So sit the fuck down. We need to talk about this as a pack.”
My jaw works, but I nod. My eyes slide to her as I perch on the seat.
They stole the sunshine from her skin.
That perfect shade of gold, as if the light poured from her – it’s faded and sallow now. Her breathing is lighter than the air around us that weighs me down, her chest barely moving. Even her hair seems faded, tangled and limp against the crisp white pillow raising her head.
She doesn’t look like a threat. Not until I look down.
“I know.” Oscar’s eyes meet mine over her restraints. “They won’t take them off.”
Dangerous.
My fingers move to the straps. Testing them, as my lips press together. They don’t move, locking her wrists in place against the railings. Her ankles.
Even her neck .
“So,” Oscar says quietly. Max settles beside me, pulling up another chair as Jake does the same across from us. “What do we do?”
Our eyes all lower to our silent, broken mate.
Max breaks the silence. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? We have to try. I don’t see what there is to even talk about.”
My finger brushes the back of her hand. Just barely, before my fingers curl into a fist. I don’t say anything.
Jake swallows. “Because it might not work.”
“Then we haven’t lost anything—,”
“She might be trapped in there,” Oscar says quietly. “Inside her own head. And if we can’t bring Kenny back, but we keep her alive through the bond… is that any sort of existence for her? That’s what we need to consider.”
The horror of that thought threatens to undo me all over again. Max inhales sharply.
That’s not an existence that I would want. And I don’t think it’s what Kenny would want, either.
“That’s a chance we have to take,” Jake says roughly. “We have no other option, and we all know it. She’s still here. There’s still a chance.”
An infinitely small chance. A single thread of possibility.
Oscar leans forward. His fingers are gentle as he brushes them over her forehead. Her cheek, stroking the sallow skin. “This could be… years. The rest of your lives.”
Not our lives.
He’s already made his choice, I realize in that moment. He’s just waiting for the rest of us to catch up.
I take a breath. It feels like the first breath I’ve taken in twenty-two days.
“There is no life for me without her,” I rasp.
And there never will be. Where she goes, I’ll follow. That much I know. Whatever comes.
My heart belonged to Kennedy Traylor the moment I met her. And fate knew it before I did, throwing a mating bond at me when I was too blind to see what she needed from me.
I failed her once.
A lifetime to make it right doesn’t seem like long enough.
“Yes,” Jake says roughly. “Whatever it takes.”
Max leans forward. There’s more hope in his face than any of ours, and I find myself clinging to it, to the hint of optimism in his expression. “We can do this.”
Oscar’s fingers slip from Kenny’s face. “Then it’s agreed. I’ll speak to Abrams.”
My gaze sweeps over her again.
We’re not giving up on you, Kennedy Traylor.
And we’re going to prove it.