“Fine.” I bite my lip. “The same. Some nosebleeds.”
“To be expected.” He sighs. “Are you following the plan we put together?”
“Absolutely.” Leaning against the wall, I glance down the street. Shops are starting to open up. My legs burn, courtesy of the walk down here and my shift last night. “I’m so rested I’m bored. But I have a question for you.”
“Of course.”
My mouth twists. “Theoretically speaking – if I found my mates, myactualmates, but the bond was rejected… would anything happen to them? When I – when it happens?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Theoretically? Because that could possibly change things for you, as you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” My throat tightens. “Humor me, Doc.”
He hums for a moment. “I’ve never come across or heard of a case where a bond was rejected at this stage. Your illness is rare enough, without that added complication. But… I don’tthinkit would affect your mates, at least not in the long term. I would be interested to see if an existing bond – especially if it was rejected – had any sort of effect at all on the omega, however. The answer is that I don’t know, but I would imagine the alphas would survive. Of course, the best outcome would be an accepted mating bond on both sides. As you know, that might increaseyourchance of survival.”
“But not by much, right?” It was always a slim hope. Slim enough that it doesn’t change anything for me.
“No,” he admits. “Not by much.”
“Could they find someone else?” I whisper those words. My heart begins to ache. “It wouldn’t hurt them? I know it wouldn’t be the mating bond. But they could… choose someone?”
“I believe they could, yes.” Abrams hesitates. “Kennedy… are you sure everything is alright?”
Scrunching my eyes closed, I tip my face up, feeling the sun on my skin, the kiss of the morning breeze. “Thanks, Doc. For answering.”
Something settles in my chest. At least this thing inside me – this poison – it won’t spread to them. Won’t taint their pack, ruin their futures.
They can be happy, even if it’s not with me.
“Sure. Have you spoken to the Center at all?”
“Not yet. But I’ll probably need to soon.” I bite down on my lip as the screen flashes in warning. I don’t have any more change. “I have to go.”
“Call anytime. And take care of yourself.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
***
I feel like I’m counting my last days in filthy dishes and nosebleeds. Sniffing, I rinse off another plate and add it to the stack to be dried.
By me, because Mick is a stingy bastard who doesn’t employ enough staff. “I’m taking my break now.”
I make it to the dingy little staff bathroom in time to stem the flow, hanging over the toilet and grimacing at the red and black that spreads across the tissue.
Nobody ever said dying was pretty.
The lightbulb over my head sways, throwing shadows over my reflection in the mirror.
I look like a ghost. My skin is wan and ashy, the circles beneath my eyes big enough to hold a damned circus. There’s a streak under my nose, and I run the tap, scrubbing at it until the skin reddens.
My face blurs as I look up.
Puffing out my cheeks, I blow the air out. “Not long now.”
The Kennedy in the mirror looks almost relieved at the thought.
Pushing the door open, I eye the dishes again. But I glance over to the door that leads out to the diner.
