Knox is more of a victim than the rest of us. Sure, we all have baggage. Stolen from our families, raised to be killing machines. Trained to be brutal and ruthless, to fight for our country and follow orders without question.
I don't know exactly what they do to train Prime Alphas, but they break something inside them. The element that makes them capable of love and curiosity.
Sure, he cares for our squad now. But it took years of shared hardship and near-death experiences to overcome his emotional barriers and forge a true brotherhood.
Halley broke down those barriers in mere weeks. Damn, maybe even days.
I find him in the corner of the courtyard where a row of punching bags are strung between pillars. He’s panting, his chest heaving, and his shirt is soaked with sweat. He clenches his fists at his sides, his knuckles white as the punching bag swings in the archway.
I don’t call out to him, just approach and hold the bag steady.
He nods curtly, his jaw clenched tight.
"I'm fine."
I know he's lying, and he knows I know. I can feel his pain and anger humming in my chest like they’re my own. I guess it’s another gift that comes from building a Pack around an Omega.
I've known Knox a long time, longer than anyone else, and this is how he deals with his emotions. He’ll be out here for hours, working the bag and punishing himself for feeling.
I brace the bag with my shoulder, inclining my head at it.
"Go on, then. Show me just howfineyou are."
He looks at me with a hard expression, but I hold his gaze. I won't back down. I won't be intimidated by him. I'm not that weak kid begging for love from a Den Mother anymore.
‘Talk.’I press, forcing my voice into his mind.
I hate it when the others make me talk. It’s not something that comes easily or I feel compelled to do. I know, in this case, Knox needs to talk. Get it out before his thoughts get jumbled up into a knotted ball which he’ll use as a weapon to beat himself up.
His shoulders sag, and he sighs. "I can’t give her what she needs…I want to, but I don't know how…"
He trails off and, with a grunt, throws a heavy punch into the bag. I brace it, absorbing the hit.
I hear between the lines. The things he leaves unsaid.
He's angry at himself. Frustrated that he can't be soft and gentle with her. Angry that his training and upbringing have stripped him of the ability to be a good Alpha to his Omega. He doesn’t have a family who showed him what love is supposed to look like.
He believes that no matter how much he wants to make it work, he’s incapable of loving without pain.
I shrug and simply say, "Watch and learn, muppet."
He looks at me, his expression unreadable, but there’s a quirk at the corner of his mouth that threatens to turn into a smile.
Watch and learn.
A phrase we both know well.
It’s been a while, but it’s something our drill instructor would say daily when we were recruits.
When the rest of our den was struggling to grasp a new technique, he’d pull us to attention, point at Knox’s perfect form and say,‘Watch and learn, muppets.’
This time, it’s his turn to watch and learn.
He snorts in amusement and focuses back on the punching bag.
I wait for him to work out the tension in his shoulders with heavy hits, processing the fact that in this scenario, he’s not first in class, but he’s not alone. He has three brothers that will help him through this.
When he's ready, he speaks again. "I don't know if I can be soft every day. Gentle. Giving her kind words and kinder touch. That’s not me."
