Behind us, the door slides open.
“No.” Oscar’s voice sounds like thunder. “You give us a minute to settle her. Get out.”
This is what she needs. Us. Carefully, I run my hands through her hair. “It’s okay, Ken. Just breathe for me, love.”
Jake’s hand strokes down her arm, his voice a low rumble. “Everything probably feels too much. Take your time. We’ve got time, Ken.”
I glance over my shoulder. Oscar pushes the door closed, a first aid kit in his hands as he crosses to a slumped Theo, mumbling under his breath as his eyes flick between us. Something aboutbone-headedandknows everythingandthank fuck.“He’ll be fine in a few minutes. Just a combination of the loss and the shock. How… how is she?”
I press my fingers to her pulse again. “Little better.”
But still weak. I shift, grabbing blankets and tugging them over her. Jake does the same until we’re almost buried, the light of the room forced out in favour of enclosed darkness.
“There,” I whisper. “That better, love?”
My hand strokes her cheek, her shoulder, her hair. Anywhere I can reach as the three of us lay there. Drinking in that it’s Kenny – our Kenny – in my arms. Listening as her breathing steadies, softens. Jake’s breathing is still as unsteady as mine, though. Both of us are reeling.
When I look down, brown irises peek back. No hint of scarlet to be seen, and my breath catches, my voice shaky. “There you are.”
Kenny
Thereyouare.
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.
