Page 56 of Impossible

“Well then shoo!” I wave her away. “You have flirting to do.”

“He wasn’t flirting with me!” Cecilia snaps. “And you shouldn’t have signed me up to tutor him. I’m on Indie duty until you’re out of that chair.”

I roll my eyes. “You are clueless. And officially dismissed from service. Go!”

“Fine, fine, but I’ll be back after to get you to your next class, ok?”

“You don’t have to do that,” I protest.

“It gives me somebody to walk with,” she shrugs, her voice suddenly quiet.

And just like that, I am Indie the Imposter once more. Did I ever look at Rose and Cam like Cecilia is looking at me now? With such unguarded hope?

“Yeah, ok,” I smile at her. “Thanks.”

17

Mossy

Joshua

Realclothesfeelweird.Mine are kind of musty after sitting in my closet untouched for six weeks, but I pull them on anyway. Dark-wash jeans, black sweater, leather boots. The sweater used to be tight over my muscles. It hangs loose now.

I stare at myself in the mirror. A stranger stares back. He has fine features. Chapped lips that he can’t stop chewing. Hollow cheeks and purple circles and a strange glint of hope in his pale blue eyes. His hair is wet and long and in need of a proper curl treatment.

Leon used to do that for me. Risk never had the patience and Hollis never had the time, but Leon would sit on a bench in the shower while I sat on the tiles at his feet. He’d run the mousse through my wet hair curl by curl, using his fingers to craft each one. I wonder if he can do that now, with only one hand. I strain, trying to remember his method, whether he used both hands or not. I can’t.

I scent Risk before he opens the door—he doesn’t believe in knocking. He’s dressed for work, black sleeves and grey cargo pants and laced up boots. His hair is back in a ponytail and he’s traded the gauze taped to his forehead for bandaids. They’re nearly the same color as his skin. He’s amber and rust. I am paper and pewter. His nose ring matches the chain on my neck. Our earrings match too. That’s always been us.

He stands next to me and I smell the drugs. I don’t know what he’s taken, but his pupils are dime-sized and his pulse is sluggish when I take his wrist. He looks at us in the mirror and I can tell he’s just as bewildered. Who are these men staring back?

Risk is concave. Like the bond has been pulled out of him and he’s collapsing in on the space it once filled. Coldness seeps into me. I don’t have enough to reach him. Not without the bond. I can only be so much.

We are in no shape to meet our omega.

I tug his ponytail loose and reshape it, brushing out the bumps with my fingers. When I’m done, I rest my forehead against his neck, hiding behind him. I don’t want to look in the mirror anymore.

“While I pondered, weak and weary,” Risk mumbles. Poe. He feels my smile against his skin.

Hollis is downstairs, which surprises me. I figured he’d stay late at work to avoid driving with us. We haven’t spoken since yesterday’s fight. For the first time since we all got back from the hospital, he didn’t bring me breakfast this morning. I realize now how much our little ritual meant to me. How hard he tried to care for me, even when I refused to be cared for. I shove the thought away, too angry to give him any credit.

Leon brought me food instead this morning, telling me about the mixer. How Hollis and him were going to go, and Risk and I should too. How Hollis originally ordered him not to tell us. I knew he felt guilty, but I didn’t have the energy to be mad. Or to comfort him in his guilt.

Hollis is angry when he sees me coming down the stairs. I don’t need the bond to know why. My post-disaster debut.

So, an omega will get you out of bed, but not your pack?I can imagine his cutting tone. I wonder if I’d be brave enough to talk back. I want to conserve my energy for Indie.

He doesn’t say anything. He’s in work clothes, black suit and blue shirt and polished leather shoes. Hair gelled, face shaved, watch glinting, politician’s face,on.I swallow my inadequacy. He is everything an alpha should be.

The SUV is silent the entire drive to the Complex. Risk and I sit in the back and I take his hand in mine to keep him from scratching the skin on his forearm off. His fingers beat a rhythm on the back of my hand instead. I don’t know why I get finger taps and he gets friction burns. Why his energy is so sweet for me and destructive for himself.

When we park, Hollis’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror and a strange flash of understanding passes between us. Even without the bond, even with the anger and hurt and resentment thickening the air, we’re thinking the same thing:What if she doesn’t like us?

We’re the only two she hasn’t met yet.

Risk has been beside himself all day. I only know this because of the delivery of knives he made to my room this morning when he got back from work. He didn’t want to be tempted.

Part of me wanted to be alone, but I pulled him back into my bed anyway. He practiced his apology for the better part of the afternoon, when he thought I was sleeping.

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