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They all pile into my room, onto my bed with me, and the comfort their nearness brings is something I didn’t realize how badly I needed. Miles throws an arm around my middle and I sleepily take his hand, pressing him in closer. The others snuggle closer, too, and before long, we’re all asleep.
TWENTY-FIVE
—
F O X
Thane is furiously choppingvegetables when I walk into the kitchen the next morning, like he’s preparing for a cooking show competition. His face is thin and withdrawn, his mouth tight, and I can’t take his stubbornness anymore. He locks himself away emotionally, preferring to take out his tension on work or cooking or activities around the house, but he never actually talks when he needs to talk. That stops now.
“Thane,” I command. “We need to talk.”
He startles, putting the chopping knife down on the marble cutting board. “What? What’s wrong?”
I go to the refrigerator and open the freezer door as wide as the hinges will go. “Look at this. Really, look at all of this.” I grab the back of his skull and force him to look into the overstocked freezer. Every inch is filled with frozen casseroles, desserts, soups, and any other perishable dish he could think of stowing away. It looks like he is preparing for the apocalypse. “I can’t even pull anything out, it’s packed so tight.”
“That’s what she said,” says Levi, coming into the kitchen and stealing a snickerdoodle—one of at least eight dozen cookies Thane has made in the past week—from the counter before leaving again. I flip him off as he strolls out the door, humming around the cookie.
“Can whatever you’re making here wait?” I ask, staring into the cold pot of soup on the stove. It’s some kind of vegetable broth, with carrots bobbing up and down in the water like ducks on a lake. I hope he doesn’t make me chop up parsley for it.
Thane frowns at me, his gaze drifting back to the half-filled pot. “I haven’t turned on the stove yet, but—”
“Then don’t.” I clap him on the back, and he stumbles forward. “Go get changed into your workout clothes. I’m taking you jogging.”
He shakes his head adamantly and steps away from me. “No, I don’t want to leave the house. What if something happens while we’re out? What if the hospital calls?”
This poor man is wrapped around Riley’s finger and refuses to admit it to anyone, least of all himself. He’s going to drive us all insane with the intensity of his denial. “Thane, we will literally be running. If they call, we continue running, just in the direction of the house.”
He sighs and leaves the kitchen. When he returns a few moments later, dressed in running shorts and an old college t-shirt, I nod my approval and we head out the door.
Five minutes later, we’re a block from the mansion, and though Thane is keeping pace with me, his breathing is much, much choppier than mine.
“Dude,” I say. “Look at you. You need to be running more.” He’s in shape for sure, but his endurance isn’t what it used to be. We used to jog daily, but that fell by the wayside years ago.
“No time,” he pants as his feet strike the pavement. “Sometimes I have time to hit the hospital gym, but it’s mostly just sit-ups and push-ups in my bedroom for now.”
“Like in college?” I used to hold his feet down while he tried to break his own records for sit-ups. One time, he did so many, he rolled over and vomited all over the dormitory floor. Those were the good old days.
We run silently past parents with strollers, speed-walking retirees, and the occasional dog-sitter until we hit the one-mile mark. Then, I strike at last. “Thane, you need to make a decision about Riley. You’ve been stringing her—and us—along for too long. It’s bordering on cruel, and I know you’re not cruel. Or at least that you’re not trying to be.”
His pace falters, but he doesn’t stop jogging. “Wouldn’t it be just as cruel to stick you guys with a dying Omega? What kind of a leader does that make me? What kind of a friend does that make me?”
“It makes you a good leader and a good friend to consider factors like those. It makes you agreatleader and friend to consider the values of taking risks. Man, what’s the point of waiting for the perfect Omega? What if they never come, and we’ll have wasted our entire lives, alone and incomplete? Worse, one of us could die tomorrow? I could break my neck in a game, or you know, one of your soups could blow up in your face.”
He laughs, but the huffed sound is full of bitterness. “That’s not going to happen.”
I snort. “Dunno, man, death by chili could be a thing.”
I’m trying to make him laugh, but he slows to a walk, rubbing at his chest and taking heaving breaths. “If it were just me, and I didn’t have to think about you three, I would bond with her right now. I would take on the burden of eventual grief. But to make it part of your future as well, I can’t help but feel that you will regret it. That you’ll all regret my choice.”
If I were Levi, I would hug Thane right now and whisper something assuring and thoughtful. If I were Miles, I would hold his hand and cite events in history and facts that would prove Thane wrong.
But I’m not. I am Fox, football player extraordinaire, so I do what I do best—I tackle him to the ground.
Because I’m a smart guy, I at least aimed the tackle so we both landed in the soft grass on the tree lawn. I roll over him to pin him down, and he growls, swinging a left hook at my face. It connects, right in the jaw, but it isn’t as hard as what he’s really capable of. Soon, we’re both laughing and wrestling, and maybe a few tears are shed too. But neither of us will admit to that.
Finally, we lay on our backs, looking up at the bright blue sky. Hazy clouds flow past, and our silence is comfortable. I spot an elephant and a boat among the white fluffy shapes. I should bring Riley here sometime. She would love it, just lazing about in the grass, watching the clouds go by.
I can’t take it anymore. I need to know. I can’t keep thinking about a future I may never get, and it’s all because of the man beside me.
