Page 66 of The Rogues

“All day, pretty much.”

She looks around, her face contorting with soft surprise. “You cooked all day for me?”

“Well, it’s only a little after noon, so don’t give me too much credit.”

She huffs. “I will give you all the credit I want, Lennon. That’s amazing. You didn’t have to do that.”

I wave her off. “I would do it again and more. Now, let’s sit. I have some stuff that I promised to tell you. No more mystery,” I inform her, sitting on the couch and patting the spot beside me. “I’m ready to tell you my big, dark secret now.”

She must hear the playfulness in my tone because she giggles. “I don’t think I’d ever describe you as dark or mysterious. Cyrus, maybe, or Remi, but not you.”

“What a shot to my ego,” I joke. “Seriously though, I like being known as the jolly one. The whimsical one, if you will.”

“Whimsical is the right word exactly.”

Josie sits beside me, a lot closer than I expected. My alpha preens in my chest, and I hope the pride can be detected in my scent. The two alcoholic aromas mingle together, leaving me heady and floaty and so freaking jubilant.

“Okay then,” Josie says, patting her knees. “What’s this dark secret?”

The words halt in my throat for a moment. I trust Josie with this secret, and I want her to know all of me, but it’s still hard for me to admit this sometimes. Only my pack and my parents know, so sometimes—if I let it—I can pretend it doesn’t exist. We can keep going on with our day-to-day lives and pretend there isn’t a storm cloud over my head.

Still, Josie is now a part of my life. She is my scent match, and that means something to me. So I heave a deep breath and rip the Band-aid off.

“I have lupus.”

Her eyes soften. “I figured it had something to do with your health. Seeing you not be able to catch your breath after that concert… I should have known.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. I didn’t tell you, and we try to keep it discreet around everyone since nobody knows. But I’ve seen all sorts of musicians become winded from performing without a condition hindering them. There’s no way you could have known.”

She flattens her lips, still solemn. “It’s an autoimmune disease, right?”

I nod.

“Could you explain to me exactly how it affects you? I don’t think I know the full extent of it off the top of my head.”

“Well, my energy levels are affected the most, and my lungs. When we were doing our first mini tour, I was really fatigued, and breathing became very difficult. It was so unlike me. Normally I could push through anything, but I wasn’t able to anymore. We all thought the tour was getting to me, but then I went to the doctor and got diagnosed, and I realized that it’s just a part of who I am now.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“It’s chronic, so I’ll have it for the rest of my life. I have to check my blood pressure every day, rest more often, and stay away from smoke areas for long periods of time. I don’t drink anymore, either. I get a checkup every couple of months to make sure my kidneys and lungs are still functioning.”

“Does anything help with the fatigue, at least?”

“I have meds to help reduce inflammation and prevent severe symptoms. I have an inhaler, too, because sometimes stress can stir up an asthmatic response, but I don’t use it very often. I often forget to pick it up, so Cyrus always goes to get it and lectures me about forgetting it when he gets home.”

Her face flashes with something fearful. “Do you have it with you now?”

I nod. “Yes, I do. Cyrus always makes sure we have a few with us just in case.”

I can practically see the question circling in her head, hesitant, shy. My hand goes over hers. “You can ask me anything you want about it, Josie. It’s okay.”

She nods solemnly, still thinking over her words before she speaks. “I’m sometimes—” She pauses, biting her lip. “Sometimes I have a hard time reading the room. Will I know when you need something? What if you start having an asthma attack and I don’t jump into action in time?”

Despite the fact she is currently spiraling from what-ifs, my heart swells at her line of thinking. She wants to be adequate for me. She wants to be able to give me what I need, but is afraid.

I lean closer to her, inhaling her sharpened scent. “The fact that you’re even thinking about what I need at all is worlds better than I anticipated. My illness is something I have to deal with. I don’t want to burden you with it.”

“But… it’s not a burden,” she protests. “You’re my scent match, Lennon. I know it’s not a walk in the park for you, but this is something we can bear together.”