23. Kenny
Kenny
T here you are.
Red spruce . The thought drifts through my head, almost too slowly. Bergamot . The forest, and home.
Max. My lips form the word, but nothing comes out. I feel… disconnected. Like I’m a stranger in my own body. As if nothing quite fits. My fingers flex a moment later than I ask them to. My eyelashes block my vision for a moment too long when I blink.
“Slowly.” A murmur against my ear. Something warm shifts against my back. “Don’t rush, Ken. It’s been – just take your time.”
I blink again.
How long has it been?
I don’t fight his words. I don’t know how long we stay there, silent and buried, but I soak in the feeling of them against me.
The feel of anything at all.
The roughness of my clothes against my skin. Max’s stubble beneath my fingers. My own hair against my face.
My bandages—
Both of them tense when I shift. Unsteadily, I lift my arm. Searching, my eyes catching on the jagged line of a single, discoloured bitemark on my upper arm. And then… more, zigzagging over my skin in black lines.
My heart somersaults and sinks at the same time, some unspoken hope in my chest drowning quickly beneath realization.
Not a dream, then. Not some sort of horrific fever hallucination.
But they’re not bandaged. Not anymore. They look about as healed as they can be.
Unless… this isn’t real either.
I let my hand drop. Max captures it, holding my fingers to his cheek. I stare into his eyes. This , I know. This, I’ve seen. Many, many times.
I push my lips into the right movements, barely recognizing the sounds that come out. “How long?”
Max’s brows pull together, a deep line appearing. His mouth opens, but he doesn’t speak.
I drink him in. Taking in the darkness under his eyes. The faint white line above his eyebrow.
My eyes flick back to it. Max doesn’t have a scar above his eyebrow.
Tensing, my head pulls back. I run my fingers over his face. There’s a surprising amount of strength within them, my movements strong and certain.
The weakness… that’s all in my head.
I focus on Max’s face. Because I know his face. I’ve studied it too many times to count, trying to learn every line. And it must have worked. Because this isn’t it.
His throat flexes as I jerk back. Max doesn’t stop me when I shift, rolling over, pushing against the solid chest in my way until it moves so I can turn. His words follow me, with an apology I can’t define hidden in them. “Kenny. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
But it’s not. I turn my attention to Jake. His hair has grown out, the cropped brown strands longer on top now, streaked with slivers of gold. Messy. He has the same dark circles under his eyes. No scars. But there are lines on his forehead that don’t smooth out as he watches me. Even his gaze looks darker, although I know that’s impossible.
You don’t know anything, Kennedy. Not anymore.
The blankets that felt cozy and comforting a moment ago suddenly feel stifling. As if they’re locking me in, holding me down and forcing me to face the thought that creeps into my mind with clawed, painful talons.
I shove them away, my movements turning frantic and jerky before I scramble back, away from them. From the changes in their faces. My palms meet cold, rough stone as I look around.
Bright light, above my head. Strips of long, blinding light that sends orbs dancing across my line of sight when I look away.
A bed, empty of bedding. Just a mattress, made up with a single sheet.
They follow me. I hear them talking. Hear the murmurs, the worry. But my head is shaking, my hand raising in a plea to keep back. “Please.”
Wrong. It’s all wrong. Their faces. My voice.
“Kennedy.” Dark eyes meet mine as I wrap my arms around my legs, drawing them up to my chest. Oscar kneels slowly opposite me, not looking away.
I can’t… look at him. My eyes latch onto his glasses, onto the thick black square frames.
His glasses. I know those. I keep my eyes on them as he speaks, his words coaxing. “Kenny. Look at me.”
I can’t. A small sob breaks free as I shake my head.
“Baby.” He says it so gently. So… naturally. As if he’s said it a hundred times before, as familiar to him as my own name. It should sound new to me too. But… it doesn’t. Instead, it starts to soothe my racing heartbeat. “Look at me.”
The thin thread of steel behind those words has my eyes moving. Just enough to catch on his. Those are the same, too.
“Breathe.” Gentle, soft. “Take a breath, Kenny. You can do this.”
Except I can’t. I shake my head, silently pleading.
“Yes, you can.” Oscar edges closer. Reaches for my cheek, brushing it carefully in soft strokes with the back of his fingers. “After everything, Ken. You can face this part, baby. I promise.”
He sounds so certain. So sure of me. So much more certain in my own abilities than I feel right now that I cling to the words.
I almost choke on the air I inhale.
“Good,” Oscar murmurs. But he doesn’t look away. His hands raise to cradle my face. “That’s good.”
And then he rips the band-aid off, with clear, concise words. “It’s been one year. Today. Three hundred and sixty-five days, to be exact, since we found you in the forest and you came here.”
I stare at him, not moving. A year. A whole year of my life.
Gone.
And I was… here. Not me. Something else. A version of me.
I crumple into him, my sobbing starting silently but growing until my cries fill the entire room.
I’m not dead. I should be. I don’t know why I’m still here. But my mind is caught on the knowledge that for three hundred and sixty-five days, life moved… on.
Without me. Just like I knew it would.
My lungs feel as though they’re filling up. As though I’m drowning on dry land. “Tell me—,”
I’m choking. Tell me what to do.
Tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do now .
It doesn’t stop. Doesn’t end, the tears soaking my top, leaving me shivering. Oscar’s arms tighten, but my grip on him is tighter.
Don’t let go. Don’t let me go back there.
“You’re not going anywhere.” His words are so clear, so strong, that I blink, assuming I spoke out loud. “You’re staying right here, Ken. Where you belong, with us.”
With… them.
Except—
“Kenny?”
At the low murmur, my face turns from where it’s buried in Oscar’s shirt.
Theo drops his outstretched hand. He looks different too. Maybe more so than the others.
Bigger . He looks… bigger. Although they all look bigger than I remember.
Maybe I’m smaller.
Or maybe it’s the sight of the torn, broken skin that now ruins the tattoo that curls around his throat. He wears his own jagged lines now. My own bitemark, forced into his skin.
Just like Brett did to me.
I flinch back, the low whine curling out. Theo’s ashen face tightens further. “Kenny. Please .”
I don’t know what he’s asking me for. What he wants. But I can feel something. A line that stretches between us, wavering but there. Intangible.
Something I put there.
“I can feel you.” Theo’s jaw tics. “I can feel how much pain you’re in, baby. Please .”
Because of the mark in his neck. Tying us together. When he shifts, my arms fly up. “ No .”
Everyone stills.
And Theo… his face nearly collapses. “Kenny—,”
“I can smell it on you.” The words drag free, rusty and broken and agonized. “I can smell her. Your… mate .”
A year . A year of being in this room.
A year was all it took for him to find someone else.
Not me, after all. Someone he chose.
Because nobody would choose you. Not voluntarily.
The anger bubbles up. And I let it, let it flow over me. Better than fear. Better than nothing. And far, far better than the pain I feel at thinking of him with another omega.
Theo Rivers was supposed to be mine.
Or he was .
“Don’t come near me,” I breathe. “Or I swear I’ll slash your jugular this time. I mean it.”
Theo drops his face into his hands. His shoulders shake.
Oscar clears his throat. “Ah. Kennedy—,”
“No.” My throat threatens to close. “If it’s an excuse, I don’t want to hear it.”
No more. No fucking more .
Theo lifts his face. His eyes are shining. And he’s… laughing.
Maybe. It sounds like something between a laugh and a sob. Oscar’s voice breathes into my ear as he shuffles forward. “Listen to him, Ken. He’s not lying.”
No, Theo is laughing. A choked, wet, hoarse laugh as he presses his hands to my cheeks, ignoring my warning growl that fills the air between us. He’s so close that I taste his words on my lips. “You think I’d go near another omega? Ever? You’re it for me, Kenny Traylor. There is nobody else. Not now. Not before.”
His voice drops. “Not ever.”
I turn my face away. “I can smell them.”
“It’ll wash off.” The smile lingers in his voice. “But it’s nice to know you care, Ken.”
He’s still grinning when I glance at him. I shrink back into Oscar. It feels like… like it’s coming back. Me . I’m coming back. And I’m still pissed. Although the anger wavers, the longer he watches me. “Go away, Theo.”
He only leans closer. “ No .”
“I just woke up from – something.” I snap the words. “And you’re being an asshole.”
“Being an asshole is what brought you back.” His amused expression flickers. “I’ll argue with you every day for the rest of our lives if needed, Ken. As long as you’re here.”
Behind me, Oscar stiffens. “Take it easy.”
When I tense, his hand brushes my back. “Not you.”
Oh.
“God,” Theo searches my face. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”
My anger flickers again. Threatening to collapse. He looks so… certain. “But the scent—,”
He nods, and I follow his gaze to the hoodie crumpled on the floor. “I ran into Kristen. And I told her – in very clear terms – that I am mated .”
My growl at the mention of Kristen trails off. My head begins to spin. “Mated?”
“Mated.” He enunciates the word, each syllable landing clearly. “To you.”
I stare. I can still taste copper on my tongue. “But you didn’t… want me, Theo.”
I think. It’s all jumbled up in my head. But I remember - clear as fucking day - the way he made me feel.
The way they all made me feel.
The light slips from Theo’s face. Something darker flashes in his eyes. “I was wrong.”
“ No .” Oscar grunts his refusal, pulling me closer when I try to pull myself free. “We were all wrong, Kenny. All of us have something to atone for. Be angry at us. But this – you, with me, with us - this is what you need right now. No arguments.”
I feel like I’ll break apart if he lets me go. Shatter into pieces. Slowly, I nod. I glance at Theo again.
Maybe … “I still don’t want to smell… her.”
My gaze moves up to his neck.
I bit him.
“Washing it off right now.” Theo studies me. But he hesitates. His gaze flickers to Oscar. “I—,”
“Go.” I shift back into him. Still eyeing Theo. “She’ll be here. We need to get hold of Abrams.”
Abrams?
“I’ll do that.” Jake draws my eye from where they’ve been standing, watching me. He walks over to a door set into the wall and enters a code.
A whole damn year.
My head turns. Oscar’s eyes are close. It’s… reassuring. My heart thumps painfully. “Did – did Rick come back?”
Everyone pauses.
I already know what he’s going to say. The answer fills the room around us.
“Never mind.” My voice sounds small. And shaky. “Doesn’t matter, right? I mean… I’m here.”
Here. Alive. Not whatever I’ve been for the last year.
Not that Rick would know that. He’s out there somewhere living his life, thinking that I’m dead.
And he didn’t bother enough to check.
When Oscar’s arms wrap around me again, I hold onto them. His voice grits over my nerves. “It matters. You matter.”
It’s a nice thought.
I just wish I believed it.