“Oh, good idea,” Mei approves, getting out of the way and heading back to her overturned bucket.
Rand’s already pale complexion turns bloodless at the threat as he flashes a look at Mei like she’s betrayed him in some way.
“Oh, not that whole wear you like a coat thing. She’s so bloodthirsty, isn’t she?” Without waiting for Rand to reply, Mei continues in her rapid-fire manner. “Though seriously, dude, keep this to yourself. This is prime besties’ info. No, what I meant was, after having the ace talk with my moms, the last thing I need is to try and explain why I have a naked boy in our backyard.”
He nods like this is sound reasoning. “Is it okay if I shift back? My clothes are at home.”
“Yes, please,” I reply, preparing to go into all that is Connor and me. I hope Connor wanted a confidant, because he’s about to get one.
Right before Rand shifts, he assures me, “And don’t worry about the whole being a super witch who killed the previous alpha and brought Felix back from the dead. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thanks,” I mutter while he settles beside Mei. She goes back to petting the top of his head, despite literally seeing him as a teenage boy only seconds ago. They look up at me as if I’m about to tell them a bedtime story instead of a piece of the emotional rollercoaster that makes up my current existence.
My life is so weird.
Chapter 2
Felix
Rain pings off the upstairs bathroom window as if the sky itself is telling everyone to go the hell home. All morning, it’s been tight smiles and “Do you remembers?” while James’s friends, teammates, and family welcome me home in one breath and try to do the impossible in the next—get me to become James again.
Washing my hands in the white porcelain sink, I stare at my reflection longer than is healthy, the heat of the water turning my skin a vibrant red. I’ve had this face for over a month, so one would think I’d at least be moderately used to it by now, but nope, it still feels like the stranger that this body is.
“With so many body snatcher movies and TV shows, you’d think I’d be better prepared for something like this,” I mutter to James’s reflection.
I take extra care soaping the palms of my hands out to the ends of my fingers, and a clean sea breeze scent fills the air from the lathering bubbles. My hands are bigger and covered in calluses. My fingers are thicker and stop at blunt tips. The skin on my arms is darker since James was a crazy person who actually went outside, even in the colder months. My muscles hurt if I don’t exercise, and running actually makes me feel better and my head clearer now, instead of howmylungs would feel like they would explode out of my chest at any moment every Friday in gym. Seriously, calling it a fun run still doesn’t make it fun, except now it is because I live in Bizzarro World.
With all the mental headache that is just being James, the weirdest part is taking a piss. I know it’s technically my junk now, but it looks and feels different. I peed sitting down for the first two weeks before I got the nerve to hold it properly… let alone dealing with morning wood. Put together enough pent-up days, and even the periodic table starts to sound sexy.
“Maybe it won’t be so bad once I get to see Callie in person,” I reason with the reflection. “This was all about being able to be with her, after all.”
I pause for a moment, my reflection showing off a judgmental squint, and think about what I just said. “Wow, I sound like such a creeper when I say that out loud. Maybe it’s a good thing I haven’t seen her yet.”
My heart aches just the same. I miss her. I miss my friends. I miss something that feels remotely normal. Every blissful moment where I can feel, smell, and taste things again keeps being drowned out by the overwhelming pressure tobeJames. At least I get to see Callie and the guys Monday for my first day back at school.
I turn off the water and dry my hands on the sea green hand towel hanging beside the sink, taking a little too much care doing so and hoping that by the time I’m out, all of the stragglers of the welcome home party will be gone. There were so many disappointed faces when all I could do was shake my head and apologize story after story, name after unfamiliar name. I rub at the tight knot building in my chest and take the controlled deep breaths Kaleb recommended.
“I can’t tell which is worse—not recognizing your best friend since grade school, or not recognizing your niece and nephew,” I declare to James’s reflection, getting more irritated with its former host by the minute. “You had so many people that loved you. Why the fuck would you do something so stupid as drink and drive?”
There’s a sharp knock on the door, and I freeze, expecting it to be Bree or Dave or the countless other people that meant so much to James and I have no recollection of. Instead, a gruff man’s voice asks, “You okay in there, son?”
James’s dad… er, my dad? Even in my own mind, I don’t know what to call him, and I’m worried that eventually, that duality will spill out of my mouth.
“Yeah… Dad.” The title is awkward on my tongue. “I’ll be right out.”
“It’s okay. Take your time. It’s only your mom and me now. Everyone else went home.” There’s a kind of knowing in his tone that makes it a little easier to breathe.
Since the doctors told James’s parents that there is a high probability that I’ll never get my memories back, he’s been more active about treating me like a new person. James’s mom is still holding out hope, hence the welcome party.
“Mymom. Not James’s,” I mutter to myself, hoping that saying it out loud will help cement it into my thoughts.
I regret calling her mom in the hospital that first night. Maybe things wouldn’t be so hard for her now if I hadn’t. A slip of the tongue has become a small beacon of hope she refuses to let go of.
There’s a long pause, and I think he’s walked away, but then he adds, “When you get a second, I’d like to show you something.”
Since I’m technically done and just hiding in here at this point, I brace myself for a different angle of “Do you remember?” and open the door.
He’s standing alone in the hallway with a brand-new binder gripped tightly between his hands. His feet are bare on the pine-colored carpet, giving him an air of uncomfortable vulnerability I’m not used to.
