But she doesn’t know that. Knives slide into my chest, one after the other, as my mate gets to her feet and looks around, another whine rippling into the air. She takes a few steps toward the glass, my shirt still in her hands.
Three feet.
Two feet.
One.
And then she’s rightthere. Only a few inches away. Those vivid red eyes stare out at us, a slight buckle above them as if she’s confused.
“Kenny,” I breathe. Her name breaks on my lips.
And then she’s gone. My shirt falls from her hand as she snarls at me, at the glass, backing away until she reaches her corner again. Empty and bare, the things she chose abandoned on the floor. My shirt with them.
My forehead slumps into the glass. The hint of excitement that filled the air shrivels away, replaced by something closer to resignation.
“We shouldn’t have included mine.” My words are tight, forced out around the lump in my throat as my eyes close. “She might have responded better to yours.”
Of course she doesn’t want my shirt.
“Wait,” Oscar says sharply. “Look.”
My head snaps up.
Kenny is moving again. Except this time, there’s a focus to her actions as she darts for the pile and begins digging through it, tossing things aside until she finds what she’s looking for.
A crumpled blue cotton shirt that I recognize as Oscar’s.
An oversize, dark green sweatshirt with Jake’s baseball team scrawled across the front.
Max’s work hoodie, a mix of orange and green.
She bundles them all into her arms and backs away, her foot pressing into red flannel, abandoned on the floor.
Kenny pauses.
And then she scoops my shirt up too, before tucking herself back into her corner. She keeps them cradled in her arms, the bundle of material held tightly to her chest. She doesn’t move. But she doesn’t let go.
The backs of my eyes burn.
Jake sounds as if he’s on the verge of tears himself. “That’s good, right? A good sign?”
“Yeah.” Oscar sounds like he’s taken his first full breath in weeks. “Yeah, it is.”
Day 119 – Max
Ipressmyfingersintothe 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.”
