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Freak.
That word has been screamed at me more than my own name has, and I can’t blame anyone for it. It’s true. I am a freak.
I’m not a protector like Axel is. I’m not a leader like Bash. I’m not a good, All-American boy like Reid.
I’m just a fucking freak.
People die because of me—whether I’m the one killing them or they’re being killed, it’s always because of me. Either way, it’s always my fault they end up dead. I don’t do the right thing because I don’t care about the right thing. I’m not a good person and I’ll never pretend to be.
I care only about myself and the few people around me who have proved themselves worthy of my time and loyalty.
Kennedy deserves someone better than me, I know that. But when she said my name—myrealname—something inside me clicked into place. Elaine always told me I’d know when I found her—the one. My soulmate. And when Kennedy looked at me and said Ezra, I felt it. I felt it deep in my fucking soul.
She’s the one.
She’smyone.
So even if she deserves someone far better, I’m who she’s getting.
Kennedy
Itiptoe out of my bedroom, trying to stay quiet so I won’t wake Ezra. He slept on the couch again last night. There’s no way that was comfortable for him. His legs dangle over the opposite end so his head can be flat on his pillow. I offered him my bed again, but he just said no, kicked his boots and cut off, and laid down.
I don’t know what happened.
His mood was different last night—hewas different last night. I’d never seen him like that, so upset, so opposite of him before. I wanted to joke with him, but he wouldn’t say a word to me. His eyes were vacant in a way I’ve never seen in anyone before.
I hated it.
That wasn’t him. Whoever that was outside the bar last night was not Kiwi. It wasn’t Ezra. It just wasn’t him.
I poke my head into the living room, surprised to find him awake. He’s lying on his back with Rasputin sitting on his broad chest. His large hands dwarf Raspy, making him look a lot smaller than he is. It would be funny if Ezra’s eyes weren’t damp.
I freeze, unsure of what to do. Should I make myself known? Should I go to him and make sure he’s okay? Maybe that would just embarrass him more to know that I’ve seen him crying. But if I don’t do anything, this will eat me alive. I can’t let him suffer alone.
“I know you’re there,” he says quietly, his voice raspy and deep from sleep. He slowly turns his head toward me, looking even more withdrawn.
“Good morning,” I say as I walk into the room, wringing my hands together. “How’d you sleep?” He snorts and looks back at Rasputin. He wheezes, and his tongue flops out of his mouth as he pants. Ezra’s brows pinch tightly together as he smooths his hand down Raspy’s back.
“Should he breathe like that?”
“He’s fine,” I say, taking a step closer. “It’s just his flat nose.” I scratch behind his ear, and his breathing gets heavier, and Ezra chuckles. “He has asthma, too. But pugs usually have breathing problems.” He nods mindlessly, his eyes trained on the dog.
“What time is it?” he asks. I clear my throat and glance at the clock by the front door.
“Nearly ten,” I say, and he looks up at me.
“You don’t have to go to the café today?”
“I’m off.” I let out a long breath, feeling awkward. “Are you hungry? I can make–” I look toward the kitchen and groan when I remember the lack of food. “Well, I don’t have any breakfast food. But I can make fried rice or pasta or something. I’m pretty sure we have instant rice and frozen veggies.” He snorts again and shakes his head.
“I gotta get going.” He lifts Raspy as he sits up and puts him on the floor. He trots down the hall, probably to jump into my bed or paw at Ian’s door until he lets him in.
“Going where?” Ez stands and lifts his hands above his head, groaning as he stretches.
“The clubhouse,” he says. “Need to talk to Bash about some shit.”
“Oh.” I look down at my feet. Why do I feel so awkward? “Ez?” I risk a glance up at him, finding him already staring at me.
