Brothersong (Green Creek #4) - T.J. Klune Page 0,15
easier.
It didn’t, but I got better at ignoring it.
I stayed away from the major cities, knowing Livingstone would most likely do the same. I had conversations in my head with my father, with my mother, with Joe and Ox, with Kelly, justifying why I’d left, telling them that I owed it to him, that Gavin would do the same for me, trying to make myself believe that was true.
We’re looking for him, Ox told me.
No. You’re looking for Livingstone.
We want to help you find him, Joe told me.
Like you wanted to find Robbie?
You can’t do this alone, my father told me.
You’re dead.
You should have trusted us, my mother told me.
I don’t even know if I trust myself.
But it was Kelly I talked to most. Kelly who was sometimes so angry I could almost see the spittle on his lips as he shouted at me. Kelly who would be there waiting for me as I closed my eyes. Kelly who would sing along with me when an old rock song came on the radio.
He wasn’t there.
But I could pretend he was.
I said, “I’m sorry.”
I said, “I know you don’t understand.”
I said, “You might never forgive me.”
I said, “I wish I could see you.”
I know, he’d say. And, Turn up the radio. I like this song.
I did, because I would do anything he asked me.
It was getting easier to imagine Kelly was there.
Sometimes I could actually see him sitting next to me.
It should have scared me more than it did.
THE FIRST NOTE I FOUND was after I’d seen a ghost. I’d left Green Creek behind five months prior, and it was one of the bad days.
It was my birthday.
I turned thirty-one years old.
I was talking to Kelly, telling him that if I was home, there would be food and presents and everyone would be smiling. Kelly and Joe would make breakfast. I’d wake up, and they’d bring it into my room. We’d sit on the bed, just the three of us, and Joe would eat my bacon, and Kelly would slap him on the back of his hand, telling him to leave some for me. Joe would flash his Alpha eyes, and we’d make fun of him for it. We’d stop talking after a while, listening to Mom in the kitchen, singing about Johnny and his guitar.
And then we’d run with the pack. All of us together.
“It’d be good,” I said, staring straight ahead but lost in the dream. “We’d run as fast as we could.”
I’m faster than you.
I snorted. “You keep telling yourself that. We all know that’s never been true.”
Is Gavin there?
That felt dangerous. “I… don’t know.”
It’s okay not to know. Do you want him to be?
“I don’t even know him.”
And yet here you are, chasing after him like he’s the most important thing in the world.
“I….”
What would happen then? After we ran.
“When we were done, we’d all come back to the house. There’d be no Omegas. There’d be no Alpha of all. We would just… be. All of us, together. The furniture would be pushed back, and there’d be blankets and pillows and everything would be soft. Everything would be warm. I’d get to be in the middle.”
Not-Kelly was quiet. Then, It sounds nice.
And then I said, “Do you think about it? What it would be like?”
What?
“If we weren’t us. If we weren’t… Bennetts.”
Who would we be?
“Unimportant.”
And since he wasn’t real, I expected him to agree with me. He was part of me, this figment. He was my creation, and he should have said yes, yes, I wish that all the time, I wish we weren’t anyone at all.
Instead he said, “Here. Here. Here.”
It was so real.
Like he was right there.
I jerked the steering wheel as I snapped my head over. For a moment I almost convinced myself he was sitting next to me. There was a flash of blond hair and blue eyes and white teeth behind a small smile, but then it was gone.
The truck began to bounce as it left the road, dust kicking up behind me.
I lifted my foot off the gas, forcing myself to stop from slamming on the brakes in case the truck fishtailed. The truck slowed as I pulled it back onto the road. I glanced in the rearview mirror. There was no one behind me. There was no one in front of me.
My hands were sweating as I brought the truck to a stop. I put it in Park before letting out the breath I’d been holding. “Fuck.”