Chapter 29
“ I want an omega,” he blurted out the moment they were sat for breakfast at a local café. Levy was home and Kallen had wanted to talk to his mum about it as soon as possible, so he’d made up an excuse to get them out.
“An omega lawyer, I mean.”
His mum paused. “Are you sure that’s... What I mean is, shouldn’t we find you someone experienced?”
“Yeah, sure, that too,” he agreed. “But they’d get it, you know? What they did to me. What it feels like.”
“Let’s finish eating and get to researching. We’ll find you someone. Here or back home, though maybe they’d need to be aware of any local regulations, so we’d better...”
It’d surprised him how much she seemed to know or be able to guess about the situation. But then again, his mother was an omega, wasn’t she? And she’d been trying to advocate for him his whole life.
He’d just had to let her.
EXPECTING TOO MUCH from his dad had never led him anywhere good, and yet, he’d never quite managed to break the habit. But no matter what his mum had said, this time he was mostly just praying his dad wouldn’t say anything that would make him cry.
He felt better after a few days walking around the city with his mum, and Benny’s visit after Kallen had texted him back had been a nice surprise. Even things with Levy had got easier after he’d told Kallen he was proud of him.
The last two days at Levy’s flat hadn’t been easy, exactly. His friend had toned down his warmth somehow, asking about his day with his mother and responding but without any of the teasing Kallen had grown used to from him. And it hurt, that absence, but he could also see it was intended as a kindness; Levy staying on his side of the line Kallen had drawn between them.
On the morning of his flight, though, he’d found Levy already in the kitchen when he’d woken up before the sun had even risen.
“Hey,” he’d said, not quite able to hide his pain.
Kallen hadn’t been able to find the words, just stuck watching him like it’d been weeks instead of a couple of days since they’d talked for real.
“I thought... I could make you breakfast?” Levy had suggested, eyes flickering away.
“Yeah!” Kallen said, too enthusiastically for the hour and the offer.
But Levy had met his eyes again, a small smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
He was still holding onto the memory of that morning now, unpacking his things into Paul’s childhood bedroom since his own had long become an office. He wasn’t sure he minded; it was perhaps a little less humiliating this way. His brother’s colourful posters were way too garish for Kallen’s taste, but at least he wasn’t literally going backwards. He was going to be a new person here, not the kid who’d left three years earlier to go to Gresham, not the man who’d signed with the White Cats.
All of which meant that the only thing he knew was who he was not .
WHEN HE’D IMAGINED hiring a lawyer, his main fear had been having to tell them what had happened to him. It hadn’t crossed his mind that the first challenge would be finding one to call him back. Two days earlier, his mother and he had emailed and rang several firms in both Jiro and Terali and he was still waiting.
He considered calling his father’s friend, who’d looked at his contract, but of course her specialty wasn’t litigation, and, in any case, it felt... wrong. She hadn’t owed him anything more than to explain the contract to him, but he couldn’t help but feel angry at her by association for the decision he’d made to sign it.
THE HOUSE LOOKED PRETTY much the same, except for some new covers on the sofa cushions, it could have been three years earlier, or five. They’d got there midafternoon and after feeding him some homemade cake she’d made ahead of time, his mum suggested he put his new chopping skills to the test and help her with dinner. It wasn’t something he’d ever done before, maybe she’d never asked, or maybe he’d said ‘no’ because cooking was an omega chore and therefore took him away from hockey.
Kallen couldn’t remember if anyone had ever told him that, but it felt different than it had with Levy. He did his best to focus on the task at hand and not let his mind wander to either his cooking instructor or the lack of communication from the legal profession.
It was almost a relief when his dad got home from work.
Kallen saw him pause when he caught sight of the apron he was still wearing and pressed his tongue to his palate to keep from making an excuse. But then his father stepped forward and dragged him into a hug—tight and without any back pounding.
When they separated, his dad was eyeing him carefully. “Alright?”
“Yeah.” His voice was low, raspy. He wasn’t sure if it was a real question or just a greeting.
Then his father’s gaze fell along his body. “Your legs okay?”
Oh . He dropped his gaze, stiffening. Of course, his mother had told him about the paralysis, and it wasn’t like Kallen didn’t want him to know. “I... It was only for a week.”
His father reached out and squeezed his shoulder, and Kallen nearly jumped out of his own skin. “It shouldn’t have happened at all,” he said, sounding angry.
Not at Kallen, he hoped, but he wasn’t sure. His dad hadn’t got angry often growing up, leaving that to his wife. Kallen’s mum, for all she was sweet and mild-mannered, could be pushed into a towering rage under the right circumstances. Graham Guin had much preferred to diffuse the situation with a joke, or simply dismiss any objections as easily overcome by willpower.
He couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that. Of course it shouldn’t have happened, but did his dad mean that Kallen should have seen it coming and avoided it? Or that—
“We should talk, after dinner,” his dad said, cutting off his circling thoughts.
Dinner passed in a bit of a blur. His mum tried to draw him out, but gave up when Kallen couldn’t quite keep track of the conversation. The flight hadn’t been that long, but the experience of leaving his life behind had left him wrong-footed. He mostly wanted to grab a shower and go to bed, but of course now he had the conversation with his father hanging over his head. If he tried to postpone it, he’d probably spend all night tossing and turning.
At least he could be grateful that he was able to toss and turn now.
“I want to make you an appointment with Uncle Mike,” his mother told him, completely out of nowhere as far as he could tell.
Kallen raised his head. “What for?”
“Uncle Shel’s husband.” She pushed a plate of broccoli towards him, which he summarily ignored since she’d boiled it into mush as usual. “He’s a neurologist, remember?”
“I don’t need a neurologist.”
His mum sighed. “What would it hurt to check?”
He could have argued until the cows came home, but instead he told her the truth. “I think I need a psychologist.”
The surprise derailed her enough that he could go back to eating, and after that his dad started talking about Paul’s new job and they seemed to forget about him.
THE BOTTLE OF WHISKY on the coffee table announced that this was a serious conversation. Kallen nearly turned tail and walked out right then and there. But that would have been ridiculous, and even if he was tired and sad and all he wanted was to hide, he couldn’t bear to do that in front of his dad.
Not when he’d already disappointed him.
There were two tumblers on the table and with a glance of acknowledgement, his dad leaned over to pour. He pushed one of the glasses across the glass top. But instead of taking that seat, Kallen chose his mother’s favourite armchair to the side. He ignored the whisky, rubbing at his knees instead. He didn’t know why but all he could think was that his dad hadn’t even asked him if he wanted any.
It'd always been that way. The first time he’d drank hard liquor had been in celebration of being accepted to Gresham, and it’d felt like a reward. Then, of course, he’d almost spat it right out because whisky was a very acquired taste. One Kallen hadn’t in fact ever acquired; he only voluntarily drank it when he wanted to be intoxicated.
“Your mother told me about what happened. With your legs.”
Kallen glanced his way, swallowing. He still didn’t know what to say.
It wasn’t a problem, his dad did. “Your team should have been there for you. Your mother said all they did was send over a nurse ?” The way the last word dripped with disdain made Kallen want to speak up for Brad, who’d been integral to getting him out of his slump and out of the wheelchair both.
But his dad seemed to be on his side for once, and he was under no illusions Management had known Brad could help him beyond making sure his muscles didn’t atrophy.
“The doctor came the first day and he said it was...” He vacillated but then shoved through. He’d overcome it already, and if that wasn’t fucking enough for his dad, he could fuck off. “In my head.”
His dad snorted. “And so what? They thought they’d just leave it in your head, marinating for a while? What kind of idiot is this doctor?”
Kallen shrugged a little. He’d never liked Maslow, but he hadn’t considered he might not be good at his job until this moment. Except even if he was one of the family, Management wouldn’t have risked their players like that, would they?
And Maslow had diagnosed him correctly. He just hadn’t offered any kind of useful treatment. If he’d known Kallen’s problem was mental, why had he not hired a psychologist as well as a nurse to help him with it? If Kallen had been able to work out what he needed to do to get better with just a little help from Brad, Levy and his mum, then his dad was right; a mental health professional probably would have been able to help him.
If his team, the people who’d promised to be his fucking family , had bothered to engage one for him. And if they hadn’t, the only alternatives were that Maslow was fucking useless at his job, or... Or that it hadn’t served the interests of the White Cats to help Kallen walk again.
It wasn’t like he was their only forward, but he was their only omega.
“I... I don’t think so,” he said, voice rough and hands clenched. His heart was battering in his chest and his eyes were filling with tears, but he blinked them away. He didn’t want to cry; he wanted to scream . “I think Maslow wanted me on the wheelchair, so they could—” He slammed both firsts on the arms of the chair, not even feeling the pain of the blow, and shut his eyes as if he could somehow keep the storm raging inside from spilling over.
“Kallen!” Heavy hands landed on his shoulders, squeezing tight.
He hadn’t even noticed his dad standing up. He squirmed backwards, biting out, “ Don’t .”
His dad let go of him, but didn’t step back, kneeling by his side instead. “Hey, lad.” His hand was awfully close to Kallen’s knee, and he knew his dad was just trying to comfort him, even lowering himself to seem non-threatening, but he couldn’t bear it . He didn’t want to be comforted, he wanted...
“Don’t go making up horror stories in your head, that way lies madness,” his father said.
Kallen opened his eyes again, glaring. “ Madness? ” he hissed. “Madness like letting thirteen men take turns fucking me? Madness like agreeing that if I got hurt enough, they could make me productive by breeding me ?”
His father looked like he’d been slapped, still on the floor looking up at Kallen. The pale skin they shared had gone blotchy red. He closed his mouth, then opened it again but no words came. Finally, he stood up and turned away.
Kallen’s eyes follow him, every muscle in his body ready to snap. And he didn’t know why, but the retreat was unbearable too, to have his father once again look away from his pain. Fucking hiding from what Kallen had no option but to confront. Leaving him alone with it for all his pretty words about having his back.
“You know what’s madness?” he asked, gritty and hurt. “It wasn’t fucking enough. All that and it wasn’t enough. You wanna know why my legs stopped working?” he asked, and all the terror thrumming to him couldn’t hold a candle to the hatred gorging up his throat, acidic and poisonous. “My captain—” His throat seized, resisting him, and he shoved through with vicious fury, no compassion left for whatever part of him that was still afraid. “My captain,” he said again, slow, each sound a battle against the muscles of his own face. “Rr—raped me.”
He jerked forward, hands landing on the table, and just like that his whole self was convulsing. Pain shot up his chest from his belly and he was throwing up, all of it erupting out of him, putrid and disgusting and completely out of his control. He couldn’t stop, not when the tears won their own battle. The hands on his shoulders, on his hair, holding him as his body seemed determined to tear itself to pieces, barely registered except for how he didn’t have to worry about not falling forward anymore.
By the time it was over, he was shaking, inhaling desperately through his mouth. His nose was completely blocked, which was probably good because he’d made a mess of everything, the floor, the table, his clothes.
“Shhh...” His dad was saying, a hand on his forehead, cold against his burning skin. “Shhh, you’re okay. Just breathe.”
He had an arm around the back of Kallen’s shoulders. Maybe it was that closeness, or maybe it was just the relief that it seemed to be over, but Kallen found himself slumping forward, his exhausted muscles letting go completely. His dad caught him, drawing him close until Kallen’s face rested against his ribcage. “Just breathe, lad.”
It made absolutely no sense, but being called that struck a chord in him, a place he hadn’t allowed himself to visit for years. First a sob and then another escaped his lips, and he lifted his limp hands until he could clutch at handfuls of his father’s t-shirt, just like he would have as a kid. Just like he’d forbidden himself from doing back when he’d thought being a kid was bad, a weakness, something he had to outgrow.
His dad’s grip on him tightened too, and Kallen let go—of the tears and the fears both. He simply couldn’t hold them inside anymore; his body wouldn’t allow it. And he’d said it and somehow his dad was there, hugging him. Like he wasn’t dirty and disgusting and damaged.
He was there. And that was enough.
THE REST OF THE NIGHT was a haze. His dad had made him drink a glass of water and then sent him to shower and sleep it off.
He woke up right into the middle of a dream where he kept running into a room and then another, deeper and deeper, slamming doors behind him, heart pounding, knowing that if he stopped for even a breath he’d be done for.
For a moment, all he could do was scrunch his eyes shut and tell himself it hadn’t been real, even as half his mind was still desperately searching for a way out.
Then he noticed the gentle tapping on the door. That’s what must have woken him.
The drapes were fully open, and sun was pouring in, but he’d been so exhausted he’d been able to ignore it. He grunted in acknowledgement but couldn’t manage to sit up. His head was stuffy like he had a cold and the most he could do was stare at the ceiling above to have something in his head that wasn’t the dark corridors and endless doors.
“Do you want something to eat?” his mum asked through the door and her voice made him flinch like she’d run a lance right through him.
She knew .
It was completely obvious in the softness of her voice.
Of course she knew, his father wouldn’t have kept something this big from her.
All he wanted was to roll over and suffocate himself into the duvet. He swallowed, wetting his throat. “Yeah.”
He sounded like he had been screaming, and it felt like it too. Maybe he had .
HE GOT THROUGH THE morning somehow, using his sore throat as an excuse to keep quiet. It wasn’t untrue, but he was all too aware that he didn’t want to talk. For some reason that made it feel like he was skipping his homework. Half to avoid his mum and half to make up for it, he went for a walk around the neighbourhood. The leaves were turning reddish already, and even this far south, the air was getting crispier.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been outside. He wanted to go back in, to Paul’s room, to bed. But he forced himself to go around twice more.
It wasn’t until that afternoon that he thought to check his phone. He was shocked to discover it was still in his coat pocket and on flight mode. Levy had sent two messages, five hours apart. Knowing him, it was restrained. Especially when Kallen had kind of dropped off the map for over twenty-four hours.
He hadn’t even let Levy know that the plane had landed, he realised. That was undoubtedly a dick move. Maybe Levy and he weren’t... what they might have been, but they were friends.
[All good. Home safe]
[Sorry] he added. Even in writing, he didn’t have the energy to explain himself, but he could manage basic civility.
He waited with the phone on his hands for a ping back, then realised that with the time difference Levy would still be in afternoon practice. Assuming it wasn’t a game day, and Kallen actually had no idea if it was.
A couple weeks ago the team travel and games calendar had ruled his life and now... He’d forgotten all about it. Was that a good thing or was he just hiding?
Levy’s response was there the next time he touched his phone. [You okay? Call me...] he could see in the preview.
But there was also a message from Brad, who he’d forced himself to text for the first time on the plane so he couldn’t chicken out. Maybe the other omega had just been trying to be nice, sure, but Kallen hoped he’d meant it, and that they could be friends somehow, odd as it seemed with the way they’d met.
It made him feel a little weird, because Brad had been paid to help him, but he’d gone so above and beyond that it was difficult not to feel in his debt. And it wasn’t a debt Kallen could ever imagine repaying.
Brad had made it all seem so simple, not just helping him but making it feel like not such a big deal to accept that help. And it wasn’t, was it? Kallen hadn’t minded defending Benny to his brothers, had he?
Maybe it felt strange because it’d been years since he’d had a good friend. Unless he counted Levy and... Well, that was complicated to say the least.
He’d never been the life of the party, but as a child he’d had neighbours and classmates he played with regularly. Somehow, he’d lost touch with everyone as he’d progressed in his hockey dreams. It’d felt like the only way, when they couldn’t follow him as far as he intended to go. It’d been easier to be alone while he pushed himself past his limits.
What would the kids he’d played toy cars with say about his choice of career? At such a young age, it’d been a mix of all phenotypes even. In fact, he suddenly remembered Analisa from down the street. He was mostly sure she’d been an omega too, but what stood clearly in his memory was how obsessed she’d been with baseball. They’d argued a lot about what sports to play until their mothers had forced them to come up with a schedule.
When had they stopped hanging out? And where was she now? It wouldn’t have been unusual for an omega to be mated and married at her age, but... Maybe not. Maybe she was playing baseball or something.
Maybe she was happy.
He opened Brad’s text, which turned out to be spelled phonetically in ways that made him wince. Once he figured out what he meant, he laughed. The guy was outrageous, but even though they’d known each other for such a short time, it was impossible to forget his kindness and care. Even his blasé attitude seemed designed to help. Kallen could imagine how he’d have reacted to a guy his age coddling him.
Like Levy had. But it’d been different with Levy. Levy had let Kallen take care of him . It was supposed to be that way, wasn’t it? Even in an alpha-omega relationship, there was a balance of give and take. The fact that Levy wasn’t fussed about who was supposed to give what had made it just about perfect.
Huffing, he shook himself and started typing a response to Brad. He was going to be a good friend, as fun as he could manage under the circumstances. And he was not going to obsess about a guy he couldn’t have, even if he was sweet as fuck and still offering to listen to him now that they were miles away.
[Odd to be back. Needed the sleep] he sent Levy, not acknowledging the offer. It felt a bit mean, but he had said ‘if you want’, but Kallen didn’t.
He did want to hear Levy’s voice, and he scrolled in hopes of a voice message. But since they’d basically lived and worked together until two days ago, he didn’t have anything but texts and emojis.
He huffed, more annoyed at himself than frustrated at not finding any.
It was for the best and he knew it. Maybe he was a bit addicted right now, but he knew it would just be screwing himself over long-term if he kept going. If he had called, he wouldn’t have known what to say, or he’d have said too much and ended up crying on the phone.
He didn’t want to cry, and he didn’t want Levy to listen to him cry. His friend had put up with more than enough of his moping around. And Kallen had done more than enough feeling sorry for himself.
That was over. He was hurting, but he wasn’t going to stay on the ground. Maybe his career was over, but he was still the man who always got back up when he fell down.