11. Day 119 – Max
Day 119 – Max
I press my fingers into the familiar grooves of the keypad, pressing the code. I dare anyone to stop me today. But it’s quiet enough that I take the risk.
Kenny stiffens at the sound of the slot scraping open.
The soft warning sound that filters through makes my chest ache as I lean against the wall beside the open slot, turning over the small, haphazardly wrapped package in my hands. There’s no rage behind it, not really. She sounds… exhausted.
My words carry through the small gap. “Hey, love.”
She doesn’t come any closer. I didn’t expect her to.
I stopped hoping for that a while ago. She only shifts instead, rolling over to show me her back.
The knots in my chest grow tighter. “It’s Christmas Day, Ken.”
“Max.” Oscar’s words are soft. “Come on. Stop torturing yourself.”
Jake waits at the end of the hall, his arms crossed and a furious look on his face. Theo’s already gone, taking out his anger on the trees out front.
“She shouldn’t be alone on Christmas.” I say it quietly, still watching her. “We said we wouldn’t leave her alone.”
I feel him step up beside me. “We’ll be back by six. Two hours to have some dinner. And… we need to reset. You haven’t left here in four days. You need a damn shower.”
There’s steel beneath the softness. “We’re no good to her if we fall apart.”
And it feels like we’re falling apart. The small hints of optimism from those first weeks have vanished into an endless cycle of rinse and repeat.
And she’s still here.
I force my eyes away. My words croak. “I really thought—,”
I thought – fucking stupidly – that she’d be home for Christmas. Maybe even Thanksgiving. Held it in my head, even as the date crept closer and Kenny slipped further away. Even as Thanksgiving came and went, I still held onto that fucking hope. I’d have a whole week to spend with her, without having to leave for work. It had to do something.
But it’s done nothing.
“I don’t want to go back without her. Not today.” Any steadiness in my voice is gone. “It feels like giving up, Oz.”
Oscar grips my shoulder. “Come on. Food, and a shower. You’ll feel better. Joel is watching on the cameras. He’ll call me if there’s any update.”
Joel’s one of the more decent staff here, but it doesn’t make me feel better.
“Wait.” I turn over the package again, before stretching my hand through the gap and placing it on the tray. My voice raises, enough so she can hear it. “Merry Christmas, Ken.”
When I don’t move, waiting for a response that isn’t coming, Oscar slowly slides it shut.
The drive back to the house is silent. Jake’s knuckles are white on the wheel as Theo sits beside me, silently flexing his own shredded hands. Oscar’s tension bleeds out, even as he shifts, clears his throat. “One hour. We shower, we eat – together - and we go back to Kenny.”
He’s trying to hold together a pack that’s breaking apart at the seams. But I know he’s on the edge too.
We all linger in the empty kitchen. Jake pushes himself away, the chair scraping as he vanishes.
Oscar slowly moves toward the fridge. “I’ll… fix us something. Go shower.”
It takes a long time. As if I’m trying to rebuild a wall on shifting sand, pulling myself together piece by piece in sections that no longer quite fit .
There’s no tree. None of us bothered, not when we’re barely here to see it. The living room is a mess of cups and paperwork from the research Oscar forces himself through before he starts work every night.
Jake and Theo linger in the hall. When I step up behind them, Theo turns. His face is a mask of pain. “I don’t know what to do.”
“What—,”
I hear it, then. A shuddering, choked sob that cuts off as I push through to step inside.
Oscar doesn’t look up. His cheeks are wet, his glasses on the floor beside him where he sits with his back against the cabinet.
“I need a minute,” he rasps. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Just – just a minute.”
I don’t say anything. Oscar presses his heels into his eyes. “Sorry.”
He’s spent months taking care of everybody else. Forcing us to eat, to sleep, to fucking wash, working all the hours under the sun and still finding time to fight for Kenny. We’ve all leaned on him, and he’s taken the weight over and over again without a single complaint.
And in that moment, I realize that not one of us has done the same for him.
When I ease down to sit beside him, he pulls in a long breath. “I’m going to do food. We need to – to get back.”
“I’ll do the food,” Jake says quietly. He’s followed me in, Theo at his side. Theo drops down on Oscar’s other side, our eyes meeting over his bowed head. “Stay there, Oz. I’ve got it.”
We sit there in silence. But my hand grips Oscar’s knee, Theo’s hand there on the other side.
Pack.
None of us bother with the table. Jake hands out plates, settling opposite us on the floor. “I’ll go shopping this week. Get some meals in.”
“I’ll work through laundry,” Theo mutters. “We can set up a rota for the house. Share the load.”
My eyes drop to the chicken sandwich. “We’ll do better, Oz.”
He doesn’t respond. When I glance at him, his eyes are closed. Guilt settles in my stomach, a heavy rock.
Jake leans forward, lifting Oscar’s plate from his lap. “Let him sleep for a bit.”
“He was right,” Theo murmurs. He takes a bite of his sandwich.
“He usually is.” Following Theo’s lead, I force the food down. “About what part?”
“We’re going to burn ourselves out. Hell, we already are.” Jake sets his plate aside. “We need to make this work. For all of us.”
“How do we do that?” I lean back and cross my arms, careful not to disturb Oscar. “I don’t like leaving her there alone.”
“No. But Abrams is right. He keeps talking about omega and alpha physiology. How fascinating it is, because it’s so closely linked to our emotional state.” Theo’s eyes glitter as he sits up. “An omega responds better to a strong pack. If we’re not taking care of ourselves, she might be picking up on that through the bond, even though it’s not final.”
“Yet.” I force the word out by habit alone.
“We need to build a pack for her to come back to,” Jake says roughly. “That’s what you mean.”
“Exactly—,”
Oscar’s phone blares on his lap. He flies forward within half a second, fingers pressing the screen without thought. His voice is still half-asleep. “Yes?”
Every sense goes on high alert when he stills, all of us stiffening.
My throat closes in panic. “Is it Kenny?”
We shouldn’t have left her.
He waves a hand at me, frowning as he listens. “Say that – say that again?”
Any trace of tiredness vanishes from his face. “We’re on our way.”
He’s up and halfway out of the kitchen before the rest of us are on our feet. “In the truck, now .”
“What the fuck happened?” I race after him as he strides for the door, yanking his shoulder to turn him around to face me. “Is she hurt ?”
“No,” Oscar breathes. He stares at me. “She’s… we need to see. I don’t know what this is.”
***
The four of us tumble into the Center in a scramble of panic. Oscar shoves us toward the security room. Joel, an older beta with snark to match Kenny’s and a smirk on his face, waits by the door. “Took you long enough.”
I’d normally have space for a small smile at least, but not today. “What the hell’s going on?”
“See for yourself.” He steps back, pointing. “That’s the camera for your hallway, and the one side of her room. Take a look.”
We all step closer, surrounding the small screen.
And we watch.
My heart – it flips. Turns and jumps and somersaults . “How long has she been standing there?”
“That’s the thing. She moved as soon as you left. Hasn’t moved since.”
Silence.
“I don’t understand,” Jake says finally. “What does this mean?”
We all turn to Oscar. He studies the small figure on the screen intently. “I think… She heard us talking. Before we left. The slot was open.”
I think back. Think over our conversation, Oscar pushing me to leave. “You think she understood us? She knows we left her?”
“And she’s waiting for us to come back.” Oscar’s fingers brush the screen. “Which means—,”
“She’s still there,” Theo breathes. He staggers back a step. “Kenny’s still in there. She has to be.”
And she thinks we left her.
As one, we turn. I make it through the door first, the others battling it out behind me as my feet eat up the concrete path leading to Kenny’s room, picking up speed until I’m flat-out running.
She’s still there.
Left. Left. Right. I slam my hand against the pad, pushing at numbers until the door begins to open and I shove it to move it faster.
And then I’m in front of her, my breathing ragged. “ Ken ?”
Scarlet eyes look through the glass, that small frown back between her brows, drawing them down. Kenny’s hand is pressed against the glass.
And on her face—
My knees smash into the solid floor as the others arrive. They fall silent, taking her in.
“She…,” Even Oscar can’t finish.
Because Kenny is crying.
She’s not making a single sound. But tracks of tears stain her skin, telling me she’s been standing here for a while.
Waiting.
“She can’t hear us.” I force myself to my feet even though my knees feel like they’ll cut out again at any moment. None of the others move as I press the keys, inputting the code to give us access to the slot.
And then I carefully slide it open.
Her head tilts the barest amount, her eyes sliding to the small gap.
“It’s me,” I breathe. “We’re here, Ken. Can you… can you hear me?”
Her head tilts further, as if in silent question. A small noise, almost questioning.
She takes one, single step back.
“Don’t go.” My throat closes up, my words pleading. “Stay with us, Ken.”
But she takes another step, and then another. Withdrawing from us, from me . My vision wavers as I watch her settle back into her usual corner position. She doesn’t roll over this time, keeping her eyes on us. On that fucking metal slot in the wall that separates us.
“She stopped crying,” Oscar murmurs. He sounds shaken too. “We need to tell Abrams. See if we can test it further.”
My eyes drop as she unfurls something in her hands, examining it before she sets it on the ground in front of her.
It’s nothing special. Just a small pebble from the forest, smooth and almost glassy. I saw it and thought she’d like it, even though we’re not supposed to give her anything not on that fucking list.
She took the little gift from the tray. Took it, and unwrapped it.
And she’s… keeping it.
I can’t remember the last time I smiled, I realize. But my cheeks almost ache with it. “Call him. Call everyone.”
She’s still there.