Page 63 of Alphahole

Even after the operation, the time I’d need to heal and all the rehab I’d have to have, it’d still be worth it.

If I hadn’t put myself between them, this last twenty-four hours would have looked very different.

Our girl wouldn’t have been sitting opposite me. She wouldn’t have been holding Flynn’s hands. She wouldn’t have been asking Ezra to check what was in a grab bag handed to us in a hurry.

“Of course,” Ezra murmured, kissing Zali’s forehead. “We’ll take it into the spare room and call you in if you need to see what’s in it.”

I sucked in a breath and bit my lip as I watched them take the bag into one of the bedrooms. Nerves fluttered in my belly. This could be big. It could also be nothing, but something told me it had the potential to change everything.

I wanted to be in there too, but I was paralyzed. Stuck still.

“Hey, you okay?” Zali asked me, threading her fingers through mine.

I squeezed tight and nodded with a quick jerk of my head. It was the best I could do, my body betraying me in its conflicted state.

We didn’t have to wait long. Ezra walked out, his face pale and tears in his eyes. “You should come in,” he said, his voice cracking.

Eighteen

Zali

Iwalked toward the room, Ezra’s hand at the small of my back. But with every step I took, it was as if my body detached further from my mind. I was hovering above myself, watching as I crossed the threshold.

I saw the items laid out on the bed. I gazed down at myself as I paused and considered them. Tris sniffed, and I saw my attention shift to him. He was crying.

He held his arms out for me, and I observed as he enveloped me in them. But I couldn’t feel his warmth. I couldn’t feel the safety of his hug.

I willed my body to move, to snuggle into Tristan’s gentle embrace and lean against his broad chest. But I couldn’t make myself lift my arms. I couldn’t take comfort from him. I was stiff. Frozen still.

I watched the silent conversation pass between Tris and Flynn, the heartbreak in Tristan’s eyes and the slap of rejection when I failed to lift my arms and hold him too. I fought against myself, trying to make my hands move, to lift my arms up and curl them into his shirt and draw him closer. I wanted to inhale his spicy scent. I wanted to sink into his hug.

But I couldn’t. My arms remained by my sides, pinned in place by the disconnect between my mind and body.

Like watching a recording of the moment, I saw Flynn step up behind me and run his hands over my shoulders. He brushed my hair out of the way and leaned in closer, trying to interlace our fingers. But my hands were limp. Unmoving.

I was surrounded by two of my favourite people, so why was I so detached?

Flynn whispered something to me. I saw his mouth move, and I imagined the warm wash of his breath on my throat like a phantom touch.

But I didn’t feel anything.

I didn’t hear his words. My ears were filled with static.

The void surrounding me seemed to grow, expanding outward and pushing my psyche further away from my body. Like an out-of-focus camera lens, the edges of my sight became fuzzy. The colours were slightly off too—they were too saturated and yet dull at the same time. I blinked, trying to clear the sensation.

I observed myself pull away from Tris and Flynn, sidestepping out of their arms. Tristan’s face crumpled, his tears falling afresh. He wrapped his arms around himself and sucked in a shuddery breath. Flynn reached for him, hugging Tris to his side as Ezra stepped closer and cupped Tris’s face. He brushed his thumbs over Tris’s cheeks and whispered something to him. I watched him kiss Tris’s forehead before he gestured outside where Ry had disappeared.

I saw the hesitation and indecision cross Tris’s features. I recognized the moment it turned into resignation.

Then I watched him leave, his head down and his shoulders hunched.

I looked down at myself staring at the bed. Mementos of a life cut short without notice—his shark reference book, its tabbed pages curled from constantly being read, a homemade lure, a handball, a rugby jersey—were right in front of me, spread out on the white covers.

I stared as I saw my hand reach forward and flip open the sketchbook. I turned the blank page over and blinked at the illustration before me.

I knew that place.

The pull back into myself was like that first dip on a rollercoaster, the rush making my gut swoop sickeningly.

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