Page 95 of Knot What She Seems
“He’s your twin, right?” Harper asks as I place the key in the lock. “And he’s been on some secret mission or something?”
“Or something.” I haven’t told Harper the explicit details of why I need to pretend to be Teddie. That’s not my secret to share.
Fortunately, Harper doesn’t press as I push open the door, grab the key out of the lock, and skip inside.
“Caran! Teddie! Your favorite omega has arrived,” I call, kicking off my shoes. Harper is much more hesitant as she bends to unstrap her Mary Janes and sets them beside mine on the front mat.
All of the lights are off, which is strange.
Are they not home? We meet every Friday in the afternoon to have dinner and debrief. Maybe they had to stop at the store or something.
I direct Harper to the kitchen, where she immediately begins unloading the grocery bag, ever the docile, sweet omega. She grabs the taco shells out first, then the ground beef, then the seasoning. Tacos are Ted’s favorite, even though Caran grumbles every time I make it, claiming it gives him gas.
Harper and I work in silence, and I continually flick my gaze to the front door, waiting for my brother or his mate to step through.
They don’t.
I bite down on my lower lip as an uneasy feeling arrows through me.
Where are they?
A half hour later, the table has been set, and Harper is wringing the hem of her blouse.
“Maybe they got held up somewhere?” She offers me a reassuring smile, but the ice in my veins refuses to thaw.
“I’m going to check out the rest of the apartment. You stay here,” I instruct, every alarm in my head blaring. Wrong, wrong, wrong, they all seem to scream simultaneously.
Harper gapes at me, her eyes comically wide, and whispers, “What if there’s someone in the apartment with us?”
“Then they would’ve probably murdered us a while ago, when we first started cooking dinner,” I deadpan.
My omega friend narrows her eyes. “Sometimes I hate your twisted sense of humor.”
I snort. “You love it. Just stay here. I’ll be right back. Maybe they left a note for me or something.”
Harper makes a strangled nose. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll just stay here…by myself…in an apartment that may or may not have a murderer inside of it. Right.”
“You either watch too many horror movies or don’t watch enough,” I retort as I step into the hallway.
Harper flips me off but doesn’t verbally respond as she begins to clean off the counters, muttering under her breath about “annoying princesses.”
Caran and Teddie’s room is at the end of the hall, and the door is shut.
I hesitantly rap my knuckles against the wood.
“Car? Ted?” My heart pounds in my chest. For the longest moment, there’s no answer, but then I hear a wet, ragged cough from the other side of the door.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I push it open and stumble inside, practically tripping over my own two feet in my haste.
My heart sinks the moment I see him lying there, motionless. The usual playfulness in his features is gone, replaced by a pale, sickly sheen that makes my stomach churn. He’s always been the strong one, the loud one, the one who never let anything slow him down. But now, he’s just…still.
“Teddie?” I whisper, my voice cracking as I walk closer, reaching out to brush the sweaty hair from his forehead. He doesn’t stir, though a tiny bit of blood drips down his chin. Without thinking, I wipe it away with my sleeve.
The silence between us is suffocating, and I can’t help but wonder how long I’ve been ignoring the signs. Why didn’t I notice he’s been getting worse? How long has this been going on?
I think of all the messages I’ve sent him that he hasn’t replied to. While I’ve been bitching about sexy alphas and class work, he’s been fighting for his life. What kind of sister am I that I haven’t noticed? Selfish, selfish, selfish.
