Chapter 24 - Olivia

"Bigby is still trying to push us to go to California," Rosa says, "at least just Kaila and me. He thinks things are getting more unstable around here, especially with the news of the commander."

"Right," I say, chewing on the side of my nail. "But you're not going?"

"I mean," Rosa says, laughing, "don't you think we've wasted enough of our lives hiding out? Plus, I don't want Kaila to miss Christmas in Rosecreek."

Though we've only been here for six months, it feels like much longer than that. I take a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling. We slept for only a few hours when we got home from the emergency meeting. I woke up when Byron was climbing out of the bed. He leaned back, kissing me on the head, saying he had something he had to do.

When he left, I moved to the couch, curling up. I woke up to Rosa calling me, wanting to talk about the commander thing, and re-hash what happened to me when I was cursed. Then, like all our conversations, it spiraled into a thousand other discussions.

I'm in Byron's apartment, head hanging off the side of the couch. When I first came in, my eyes fixing on this spot, a shudder ran through me. I couldn't stop thinking about what we'd done, how it felt to have him inside me.

Releasing inside me.

"Listen, Rosie," I say, clearing my throat.

"Shit," she says, amused, "you only ever call me that when it's serious. Are you going to say you think we should go? Because I'm only doing that if you come, too. I mean, you're the one in real danger, here."

"No," I whisper. "I think you should stay. There's actually something…else. That I wanted to talk to you about."

"Please tell me this is Byron-related."

I laugh, closing my eyes, images of him, naked and flushed over top of me, flashing through my mind.

"Yeah," I say, voice choked. "It's about Byron."

"Well, spill!"

"The other night—"

I stop when the door bursts open, and Byron stumbles in, his eyes red and his face flushed. He looks like he climbed a mountain in freezing weather. He's breathing heavily.

"Rosie," I whisper, "I have to go."

"Olivia?"

I hang up the call, sitting up on the couch, my eyes trained on Byron, who looks unstable. Like he might take off at any moment.

"Hey," he says, his voice low and gravelly, and I realize he's been drinking.

"Byron," I say, worry burrowing in my chest. "What is going on?"

"It's nothing," he says, starting past the couch, but I reach up and grab his hand, stopping him so he drifts back in my direction.

"Hey," I say, quietly, not wanting to lose whatever progress we may have made when I accidentally loosed all those memories on him. "Don't do that. Please. Don't shut me out."

He takes a deep breath, then rubs a hand over his face.

"It's Zane," he says, throat working. "I went to meet with him this morning. He said…he said he wanted to stay in Rosecreek."

"Oh," I say, trying to stay neutral, even though that sounds nice to me. It would be good for Byron to have him around.

"Yeah," he says, "and I—well, I just told him the truth."

"Which is?"

"That I don't believe him when he says he's going to stick around?"

"Byron," I say, hurt blossoming in my chest for Zane. "I mean, that sounds kind of harsh."

"Harsh?"

"It—yeah, it probably hurt his feelings."

Byron lets out a cold laugh, pulling his hand out of mine.

"Right," he says, shaking his head. "And Gods forbid Zane has his feelings hurt."

"What happened between the two of you?" I ask, staring at him, thinking that if I had any siblings, I might know what this was like, might understand whatever he's feeling right now. I never got along with my parents, but I would still give anything to have them back.

"It's a long story," he says, shaking his head.

"I'm listening," I say earnestly, taking his hands in mine, leaning forward, meeting his eyes. Inside, I feel a refrain building, saying open up to me again and again, willing him to finally let his walls down.

He looks at me, his eyes darting back and forth between mine. He sighs again, rubs his hand over the back of his neck, and grabs a throw pillow, settling it in his lap, playing with a loose thread.

He's going to shut me out again, keep this to himself, always leave me on the outside of what he's feeling—

I was fourteen when our parents died , he sends, his eyes locked on the pillow. I hold perfectly still, like he's a woodland creature, and the slightest movement might scare him off. Zane was sixteen. He'd always been a wild child, getting into trouble and stuff. After they died, I thought he would step up and take care of stuff. But he didn't. He was gone all the time, doing some shady stuff.

He'd come home late at night, leave after just a few hours. The lights were shut off. It was Detroit in the winter—I was piled under blankets and still freezing my ass off. I had to figure something out and was already messing around with coding, but I got serious.

I'd get out of school, go to the library, spend the whole day there figuring stuff out. Practicing. After a year, I finally got good enough to be able to do projects here and there. A year later, I was paying for everything. Bills, groceries, books, clothes. Zane still just came and went. Sometimes I'd leave cash on the counter, sometimes he'd take it.

That's right around when he left.

I bite my lip, eyes tearing up at the thought of Byron, just a little boy, lost and alone in his house. Zane hadn't shared this part of the story—that he left his little brother alone as an eighteen-year-old, technically an adult.

I think about the lengths I went to for Rosa and Kaila.

But, then again, I was a real adult, not recently eighteen. By the time I lost my parents, I'd already come into myself. And I chose to go with Rosa, knowing what Amon was capable of.

My parents chose to continue living in his pack, knowing what he was capable of, and seeing what he had done to others.

I lived on my own. He was gone for a full year—no contact, nothing. Before, it was hard, but he was at least, like, around. We'd talk, sometimes, even if he was hardly ever home. It still felt like I kind of had a family.

It was my sixteenth birthday, and Zane brought a cake. We stayed up all night playing games. It was one of the most fun birthdays I'd ever had. And then, the next morning, he was gone, just like that.

That—that made me feel like every good thing that could happen would be capped off by something terrible. Automatically. That it wasn't possible to feel joy, to feel close to someone, without them taking it away from you.

As quietly as I can, I reach up, brushing away a tear from my face. I wish I had known this was how he was feeling. If only we had talked to each other, instead of him running off into the night, leaving me there on the pavilion.

Everything that happened to me as a kid—made me feel like families are just possibilities for hurt. As bad as it hurt to lose my parents, I know it would kill me to lose a kid. And then what? If you have several, you're just there, going through the worst pain of your life, and you have to get through it for them? My brother wasn't capable of doing that for me. And it probably runs in the family. I don't think I'm strong enough to be a dad. I don't think I could do it, Liv.

"But you did, " I say, reaching out and wrapping my fingers around his forearm. "You got through it, and you came to Rosecreek, and you made a new family."

Something flashes over his face.

"That's what Percy said."

"Yeah," I laugh, thinking about Percy, thinking about everything the Rosecreek pack has been through. I clear my throat, meeting his eyes. "You know something Bigby told me the other day?"

"What?"

"He said that only about ten percent of shifters find their mates. Did you know that?"

"I knew it wasn't high."

"Right—it's only ten percent. Of the whole shifter population. Already, that makes the Rosecreek pack pretty remarkable."

"Sure," he says, tilting his head, like he's not sure where I'm going with this.

"I'm just saying," I say, running my fingers up and down the soft skin on the inside of his arm. "That—I think there's a lot of love here. I think Linnea, as Luna, kind of disperses that love, I think everyone here is so strong, because we've all been through something. And I don't think that makes it harder to love—I think that makes our love special. Earned."

"Right," Byron says, clearing his throat, and when he looks up, his eyes are glassy. "Like Percy."

"Like Percy."

"You deserve love, Byron," I whisper. "Take it from me—it's not worth it to avoid hurting if it means missing out on love."

He stares at me for a moment, then reaches up, tugging on my arms until I fall forward, collapsing into his chest. He slides us down, cradling me in his arms, and we fall asleep like that, nestled together.