Page 103 of Impossible

I bark out a laugh. It’s a nasty thing, and Joshua’s brow creases with concern. “What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Just… fated mates. What a joke, right? Four supermodel alphas and me. Indie the Ignominious.”

Joshua’s lips purse. “Ind—“

“And don’t start going all ‘no, Indie, don’t be mean to yourself’ either,” I cut him off. “I’m well aware that I’m also melodramatic and ridden with teen angst. Add it to the list of reasons you guys shouldn’t want me.” I’m getting worked up now. The words come easily, cutting and sharp. “But you do, right? Because that’s all it is. Hormones and knotting and getting me naked. Damn the sense of it, the logistics, fuckingreality,whether we even reallylikeeach other or not, none of that matters. Fuckingflesh.That’s all you care about. And it’s not your fault; you’ve been taught that that’s ok! That it’s normal! Little paper memos of whose penises I should consider to fucking ‘manage’ me, right? That’s all I am, a puzzle piece, a hole for a knot. Right? That’s why you invited me over, even when you’re not on the list. Gaining my trust, hedging your bets, and getting me in bed for the next one, right? Sorry to burst your bubble. Not happening.”

The car lurches to a stop in front of the Complex. Joshua doesn’t look at me. His neck is splotchy red. His hands fall to his lap. He stares at them.

There’s no air in the car. How could I have just said that? To sweet Joshua, who gave me poetry andNocturnesand nothing but kindness?

The air burns.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I don’t know—I don’t know why I said that.”

Joshua’s jaw works. He doesn’t look at me. For a moment I worry he might cry. I want to touch him, dosomethingto alleviate the pain I just caused.

Fated mates.

A cruel joke.

If that’s us—which I know it is, no matter how impossible it seems—then why is everything so hard?

I have never wanted anything so much as I want Midas Pack, and I can’t imagine anything as terrifying as actually having them.

Joshua is still silent, head bowed, fists clenched. His petrichor scent has gone full downpour, wet granite, rain-soaked muddy jungle. I am over-steeped, citric acid sharp.

“I’m sorry,” I fumble. “I’m so—”

“It’s ok,” Joshua says. His voice is not ok.

He gets out of the car, retrieves my crutches and book, and helps me to the ground. His hands are cool and dry and leave mine too quickly.

“Joshua…”

“I’ll see you on Monday, Indie.”

I have to say something, anything, but nothing comes. I can’t let him think I want him. I can’t want him. I can’t.

He waits for me to crutch into the building before pulling away.

30

Manifest

Risk

“Risk.”

I am all Joshua, zeroed in, bond electric.

Shame and fear and long pauses and soft words. Indie is afraid. Indie is hurt. I hurt Indie.

“RISK.” Hollis is anger anger anger and words words words.

Joshua is smaller smaller smaller.

“I swear to god—”

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